Back!

Back in Kathmandu, back online! Fucking NTC and its fucked-up ADSL scheme.

The trip back was even more eventful than the trip to Kolkata, especially because my myopia and some foolish choices along the way. Once more, there was the tenderness of contact among strangers, and the relentless assault on one's sense of injustice that is the proud flavor of Bihar. I mean, that place is fucked up.

I think I will write about the return trip for next Sunday, make the misery pay, so to speak. I will put it online in the next few days.

In other news: IPL is in full swing. I think I have also worked myself into a hole regarding work, and might not be able to dig or scramble my way out. But, I have determined that the way to go forward is with a big, fake grin of confidence pasted on the face, giving it nearly all [never entirely all... man must also play], and, essentially, not taking myself too seriously, although I must, and I will, take the tasks at hand seriously. But, I am not willing to lose my sleep or appetite or even an hour of comfortable posture over it. There.

Seriously, I think might need some help by the end of it all... within the end of next month, for sure.

This for Macwan, and others who know Savanna: I did meet Savanna, although Eli couldn't make it to the dinner. Kasnatscheewa, Savanna and I went to Sholo Aana, Behngali restaurant, and ate plenty of rice and a bunch of different curries, including jack-fruit and banana leaves and snake-gourd. The food was finger-lickin' good. Then we went to a mall nearby, where the ladies got a gift bag with a single bottle of shampoo each, I think for the entirely forgivable crime of looking fabulously pretty and foreign in an Indian shopping mall.

I got zilch, if I don't condescend to count the jealous and askance looks of many a Bengali man. I mean, at the end, I didn't get the bottle of shampoo, and I'd have really appreciated a gesture of that sort, you know, stroking my ego as I absentmindedly stroked my hair. I am trying to grow my hair long, which was at its ringed, although pathetically-thin but-gloriously-long best in 2004, which Rachel Ferguson cut short before she headed off to a semester of sleeping in tents. I want that same head of hair back, and perhaps parlay it into a role in a Nepali movie, perhaps as a moobed, mustached, paunchy bad guy who is clearly too vain to cut his sparse-over-the-crown hair. I think I would look pretty. Hella! Just like you, Macwan, except, prettier.