Random reflections

The winter break has just set in and despite my repeated attempts to resist going back to India after every single semester, I sit in a burgundy yellow colored seat of Air India, (insert random number) miles above sea level making my way back to home sweet home. Speaking of sweet, did you know that Air India's gajar ka halwa smells like Vivel soap and tastes like soggy oats? This is something my taste buds have discovered in the past few distinctly unappetizing minutes aboard this flight. So here I am typing away on my half-charged laptop (that I cannot charge because there isn't an outlet) mainly to give constructive criticism to Air India but mostly to make time go faster. You see I wouldn’t be in this uncomfortable position, twisted at odd angles like Ram Dev baba- bored out of my mind had it not been for certain circumstances created by Air India. Unfortunately, I don't think Air India can do anything about the baby crying somewhere right behind my head, becaus

I bought a six dollar coffee this morning that is four hundred and twenty Rupees on just caffeine and milk! I could have had three meals in that much money in India. I could have bought 42 packets of 10 Rupee  Lays . This is outrageous. I think I am hyperventilating. That is me from one and a half years ago. Why was I like that you ask? Read on, I’ll tell you. When i was in high school, I could take up to an hour deciding what to wear, but I didn't need much time to decide that I wanted to migrate all the way to the United States of America to get my Bachelors in Journalism. My middle-class Indian parents supported my dream to become a writer; my father shed a good chunk of his savings (money he had saved for my marriage apparently) and my overdramatic mother emptied her stack of home made pickle. Sitting huddled together with our faces inches away from the laptop screen my dad, my mom and I, scrolled through the list of top journalism colleges in the US screening those t