Sleepless in *Stockholm* - part 2

wokay!! so the headaches never seem to disappear..(hmm maybe you know its going to be like Ill die of some tumor in my brain and I keep mentioning my blinding headcahes and nobody cares and then one day Pppphhhh am gone- dead! and then the whole world talks about blogger girl who died and that somebody shud have done smtg ...grrr!! ) I think melodrama is genetically stictched into my genes- and I think it comes from my mom's side. Anyways, so we are in stockhom and I am all tired and just hoping that I make it to Mango before the bus arrives to take us back. And I keep mentioning to people around me that we should stop walking in circles and just relax in a shop, smell the clothes etc. But nobody listens. Everybody has taken a sudden interest in city tour and the small alleys and souveniers. And I am all like pissed off but then again it was fun, coz we stopped at a coffee shop and fought over change and then walked by the bridge saw a rally and all that. Now the problem is that when you dont you intend to write a sequel to your post and then you dont attempt to do it for a week plus, the story sort of dissolves away. Like there was sooo much to say, but then sooo much more hapenned afterwards and then soooo the whole point of telling you the good stuff is not there anymore coz theres more good stuff. And no it has nothing to do with getting laid.
So, here I stop about the trip to stockholm. It was great and I just can't seem to remember the details of it anymore (considering 3 whole months have passed by), the photographs are doing their job now.

Sleepless in *Stockholm* - part 1

Just when you think you are all super cool and don't need any body else other than owl, its gets even worse. So I had my cruise and it was all fun in the whole cruise sort of way? Did I just say cruise sort of way? I think its time I visited my shrink. Anyway, so the boat was great, the trip to the boat was quite hazy as I was busy working hard at getting drunk and alarming a poor Bengali guy (iit-ian/culture shocked/adamantly refusing to confirm with Europoean culture for the time being kind!), who was sitting next to me in the bus. I am pretty sure he decided that I am an Indian wihtout a soul or smtg but then when I offered him a free beer, I guess he pretty much thought that I could be a nice girl if I wanted to be. Oh these boys! But its nice to scare them you know...! Like they think Oh! finally theres an Indian girl. And he thinks (when he first lays eyes on you) that you would be all so sweet and end up visiting the Pyyniki tower with him and take his snapshots in front of the eiffel tower which he could then send it to mommy dearest and then have nights ( being between 7 and 8 only) filled with daal channa and chawal! Amazing! But the problem is that in approximately 10 minutes of meeting me, they run in the opposite direction and I usually end up having *yeah-its -good-to harrass-em* sorta smile on my face. Its just very simple. Most Indian guys ( especially if they have been brought up in a sort of middle class way) end up leaving India for a masters program or Phd. just in time to find themselves refusing to believe that this isnt familiar territory. Their lives tend to be within campus, they eat only Indian food (which is cooked by them) and then stay at home if the University is closed. They talk to girls, only the Indian ones. And they try to remind each other constantly about their Indian ness.
Such Bullshit I have never seen in my life. Its sad. And then, people ask you why Indians are so shy and why tey keep to themselves. Define India they say! And honestly i can't coz its way too complicated. Coz you find an assortment of sorts here. There are people like me who are just plain loud and passed out most of the times and then there are the bengalli IItian types and trust me theres plenty more. It tough when you ask me to define my country. Verrry.
Anywaih, soo back to the cruise. Well, it was bus trip then onto boat and here, at this point I was imagining myself to be all Kate winslet (in search for a better character though) living in the elitist top deck sun bathing and trying to jump off the ship just in time to find cute boy from lowest deck holding my hand...aaaaah!!!
so the story turns out that apparently, I was in the lowest deck possible. Sun decks there were none, and cute boy dis-apparated. Soooo lonely girl and her poor friends who all lived together on poor deck just had to manage to find the fun amongst themselves. Oh! by the way before I get on with the story. If there is any one of you returning to my dad with my drunken tales.Please stop. I must confess that I do drink but then I also exaggerrate and I also have sex on the roof. and I was a monkey yesterday. So lets just enjoy the blog and leave it at that Okay? Okay!
Its actually quite nice to party and await Stockholm and its also super to know almost everbody on your deck which means if you need a brush, all you have to do is knock on the next cabin door or maybe if you can't find you pair of jeans you can do just the same. You get the picture right? So after a night of adventures trying to find a dear friend (J boy) 's clothes and trying to refrain from clobbering Loud boy who was trying to scream through the microphone to wake up everybody, we jumped onto the bus for the tour. The thing is we were pretty much wasted. All of us. And all I could think of was sleeping under my quilt till maybe the next whole week, but unfortunately, you get reminded harshly about how lucky you are to visit a wonderful city eat all you want and get laid all for 80 euros and you think Damn! Fine! Ill see the city if you want me to. So off we went and that is where all the trouble started. Two cute boys gave us the tour with explanations about nothing in the city which in a funny way taught us more about the city than one could even imagine. Then they left us all bewildered on the streets of Stockholm, and disappeared. We were told to meet back at the starting point later on in the evening and I fell in a goup with Jboy and it was tough coz the Turkish girls with us kept screaming and running up and down the street. Pretty cute. Hmm.. while J boy and Vboy etc all pretty much having no clue where they are walking away in opposite direction and one had to hold onto them to make sure if you got lost, you get lost together in big bad city. My thoughts however was on Owl (few minutes every hour) and then on the Mango and Zara shops.
I think I have a blinding headache now, but I can continue the story in part 2, which gets more interesting as thats where I decide to forget owl. Not on purpose but the big brown window stories were abandoned. Just like that.
Theres more to the story than meets the eye. You know that.

Being Delhi

It's just simply the world's best feeling. To be in Delhi. Its also the world's best feeling to be in Cochin, but Delhi wins by a tad bit more. Those colonial white houses take my breath away. Those white kurta pyjama clad newspaper reading chachoos, cotton sari clad maasees, the cook who makes the floor matte clean, the steel pots with unsuitable water, the steel plates neatly arranged with pickle, aloo paratas and yoghurt- It is comforting. I miss those things even though I almost never stay in Delhi- I am not a familiar Delhi-ite. But the few days that I do manage to grab a bit of Delhi are always happy. I love to get my money exchanged, catch a rickshaw and head to the bazaars. The bookshops. Those yummy shops smelling of fresh print and ink...MMmmmm. You can get lost in the world of books in Delhi. Well, you can get lost in any bookshop. Its easy when you love books. But the ones in Delhi make my heart beat faster. It makes me want to wear fab India, makes me want to read the White Mughal in an hour and write a thesis in JNU. It also makes me want to eat a quick gulp of paani puuri and paapdi chat and drink a whole glass of Lassi.
It makes me want to talk to the rickshaw driver and ask him how his kids are doing or his wife or lover. It makes me want to give a crisp 10 rupee note to the poor kid tagging at my kurta. Delhi makes you want to do a lot of things. Even the bath after you come back home, the clean white bathroom tiles and the chana roti dinner awaiting you is part of the city. You can then just pull your cotton kurta up, sit back on the wooden chair with cushions, fold your legs and cuddle with a book. For me even the Outlook magazine and The Week gives me a shiver down my spine to read about my country, its problems, the issues, the politics and the last page with page 3 gossip. Its all part of the city life. It is what I think I might enjoy some day when I go back. I crave for it now though.