I feel alone.

I want Oscar Wilde and Cranberry Breezer.

And, I want people from Delhi and Hyderabad and New Jersey and Australia and Trivandrum and New York and Boston and Bangalore and other assorted places.


I demand that all of you come back. Each and everyone. Like, right now. And hang out in my room, and listen to music and watch movies and bitch and get drunk and talk and talk and talk until the yellow lamp glows dim, and then everyone can fall asleep. I will even cook breakfast. Luchi and aloor dom, and machher chop and cheesecake. I make a really mean cheesecake. Or else, if the weather permits, all of us can go for an early-morning tram ride. And have piping hot tea from the jhupri, with the 2 takar lero biscuit. Or we could make a stop at moharani for the kochuri and the jilipi. We can also have port-wine rattirbela. And I have a whole book full of cocktail recipes I want to try out. Anyways, I digress. I am rambling. I have not had an exhilirating conversation in AGES. Not with these people anyways.

I miss my friends.

Come back you. You, and you, and you.


Gah.

House of Cards.

Not really. Not at all. If you take into account the incredible, INCREDIBLE energy of the little Santhal kids dancing, singing and acting away to glory at Gyaan Manch yesterday. It was rivetting. It was humbling. Cynicism, at least temporarily, packed its bag and left.

I have been to this particular auditorium numerous times. Almost always to watch random intellectual plays, which did nothing for the pretentious soul that I am. This time, however, goosebumps did come.

As a teacher pointed out, amongst all the people around us, our ex-headmistress is probably leading the MOST meaningful life of all. I am just so incredibly glad that I know someone like her.

I will probably ( why probably? almost certainly.) go back to being the cynical, pretentious, empty-talking, card-playing no-gooder in a few days. Till that old self comes back, however, I shall quietly bask in the goodness all around.