every other person in Jim Jeeves is looking at cyber-matrimonials.
I have figured out where I am living at school in the fall. I have figured out what classes I am taking at school in the fall. I have a good campus job at school in fall. None of this has made the fact that I will actually be at school in the fall any more real or less frightening.
I finished my short story the other day. I like it. It's the first piece of creative writing I have done in a long time. It feels good.
Yesterday we went to Satya-da's house. Satya-da (his name is Satya, pronounced Sho-to, and the da refers to "elder brother") is the cook where Bailey, Peter, Ross and I live. He is the heart of my homestay, and one of my favorite people in India. Of the ones I know, that is.
All nine of us took a 7:15 AM train to the boonies of Kolkata, where the grass grows green and the cows look slightly less emaciated. The experience on the train was like something out of a movie. I did not have to hold on to anything, as I was smashed up against everyone so tightly that my range of motion was nil. People were hanging out the sides (no doors to speak of, only open doorways), and at every stop I was ready for the next day's Stateman to headline that a dozen people had been killed in a train-exiting stampede. We arrive in Lakshmipur (Laksmi is the goddess of propserity, a fitting title for such a wonderful town) sometime around 10:00, board pseudo-rickshaws which consist of a wooden platform attached to the back of a bicycle and arrive at Satya-da's house around 10:30.
I would trade visits to twenty-five Mughal forts for one day like yesterday. We were treated to scrumptious prawn curry, naps in the shade, cool coconut milk, walks through the town, conversations in benglish, and the purest form of familial warmth. For once, I did not feel like I was a half-assed celebrity goodwill ambassador, tromping through a village, looking at its citizens like animals in a zoo. While we certainly did create a stir on that tranquil Sunday afternoon, I was made to feel like a part of the commotion, not the cause of it. It was lovely.
Bailey bought a mango today and we ate it with lunch. Satya-da did not think it was ripe but we ate it anyway. It was the most delicious mango I have ever had.
I finished my short story the other day. I like it. It's the first piece of creative writing I have done in a long time. It feels good.
Yesterday we went to Satya-da's house. Satya-da (his name is Satya, pronounced Sho-to, and the da refers to "elder brother") is the cook where Bailey, Peter, Ross and I live. He is the heart of my homestay, and one of my favorite people in India. Of the ones I know, that is.
All nine of us took a 7:15 AM train to the boonies of Kolkata, where the grass grows green and the cows look slightly less emaciated. The experience on the train was like something out of a movie. I did not have to hold on to anything, as I was smashed up against everyone so tightly that my range of motion was nil. People were hanging out the sides (no doors to speak of, only open doorways), and at every stop I was ready for the next day's Stateman to headline that a dozen people had been killed in a train-exiting stampede. We arrive in Lakshmipur (Laksmi is the goddess of propserity, a fitting title for such a wonderful town) sometime around 10:00, board pseudo-rickshaws which consist of a wooden platform attached to the back of a bicycle and arrive at Satya-da's house around 10:30.
I would trade visits to twenty-five Mughal forts for one day like yesterday. We were treated to scrumptious prawn curry, naps in the shade, cool coconut milk, walks through the town, conversations in benglish, and the purest form of familial warmth. For once, I did not feel like I was a half-assed celebrity goodwill ambassador, tromping through a village, looking at its citizens like animals in a zoo. While we certainly did create a stir on that tranquil Sunday afternoon, I was made to feel like a part of the commotion, not the cause of it. It was lovely.
Bailey bought a mango today and we ate it with lunch. Satya-da did not think it was ripe but we ate it anyway. It was the most delicious mango I have ever had.