So my mom's friend in Philippines found my blog, scoured and swallowed it, and made a plan to call my mother for absolute revelations about the daughter she has raised. But my mother, disapproving but not ignorant, gave her best bud from high school a little pep talk about being a cool mom.

Nothing much has changed except I have holidays for a week, and have been stuffing my face and parading around the Durga Puja pandal in shorts with cousin(immediately misunderstood to be my boyfriend inviting stink eyes from aunties) looking for things to eat. I would say now that while we do this we are usually stoned but then my mom's friend from Brazil might have a problem, and some blog visitors have mentioned that they find my intoxicated rants a little....what was it?.....oh yes, mundane. 

Hmmm. What can I say, I'm a one way motorway.

My extended family, the Bengalis I grew up with, The Sens, came for their occasional Durga Puja visit.

The Sens used to live one floor above us when I was growing up.
There are six small sens(all teenagers-which is often a point in the question of why I spend every waking moment with them while they're here) and their parents.

Father Sen is a guitarist and plays in one of the biggest bands in the country. So outside our perfectly normal household complete with grandparents and god-fearing mom and dad, was SenWoodstock. My father used to run upstairs for a quick drink, my mother used to waddle slowly up for more, and Suks and I used to wander around the house curiously-stepping over drunk people in boxers. Since the Sens are a musical family, every night we used to sit down to play guitar and sing and eat pork. Now I am allowed the additional privilege of drinking.

I remember one day about ten years back when it was my sister's turn, she chose that 'Pari hoon main' song, and was absolutely horrific. Instinctively, I laughed out loud- as you do when people sing badly. What I got in return was not a following echo of laughter but surprised looks from all the Sens(some being five years old then). I was taught then never to laugh when someone sings. I was taught then to always love any art, to appreciate everything that is ever said to you, or happens to you. I was told that 'To include yourself is to live happy, Sharanya.'. I told this to Father Sen a couple of days ago, and he was taken aback with his own wisdom and got a little upset about the passing of this youth-only to pour me another drink.

I have nothing more to say except I cleaned and painted my room and changed my blog url and I like both new things.

I also am aiming and hoping and praying to be able to go to the mountains this weekend.

OH, AND I also went to the Formula one opening all dressed up and uncomfortable but uncontrollably excited and ran around the VIP section yelling in a frenzy caused partly by downing bottles of Red Bull due to the lack of any water.
Capitalism slowly kills. And I can't say that I hate it.