Repercussions of the bollocks of an intimidated mind

"You think you won't become one of them. You are sure, 5 years from the day you land in America, you will actually still be Indian. Walk, talk, shout and behave like an Indian. You tell everyone back home that you love your country and you don't want to get adapted to the American culture. And that you are the Indian you always were, back in India."

I for one, believe in hope. In faith. In human service and I fear God. Sometimes my senses don't. But that is totally a different topic. I do almost everything a sane human does. I try to socialize, try to give in, try to get some love and some money outta the little things I can do with Adobe Photoshop. Sometimes, I telling people that death metal doesn't intrigue me nor does it interest me. And that, Classic Rock rhymes with Rehman. Try spreading the quantum of miniscule energy that Pink Floyd provided me since 6 years now. Also try explaining the BFF on the phone of what the British Invasion was. Beg the Fairy Godmother, the Western version of the Goddesses that dwell in the tiny cement temples we find on the streets of Hyderabad by the foot pavements, to throw me into that point, where the Indian Cult was being idolised. When the riffs on the bass guitar of a song performed in some garage in the downtrodden areas of Seattle were being tabbed, which later became an anthem of a generation. When grunge was born. When having the hairstyle ala Satya Sai Baba was the latest fad. Live the life of a tramp. Hitchhike my way to the Himalayas, and maybe run into God. Have a cup of tea with Him and not realising who He is, bid farewell.

The moment I stepped in America, I had begun fantasizing something entirely different. I wanted to take classes in poetry and literature like a friend of mine had suggested. Take guitar classes and perform alongside Chris Cornell while he was performing on stage wearing the Fruit & Loom almost see through vests that he bought from WalMart.

The moment I stepped at Kingsville, a place overcrowded with underdogs ala me, I realised, if there is anything I can possibly do, then its just buying the almost see-through vests that Chris Cornell bought from WalMart.

Now, that I actually own the see-through vest, and not just one, but several of them, I think that to expect anything more than this, is a joke.

We aren't just underdogs. We are a society of desis, living away from home, trying to rub our superiority over the fellow desis. We cannot speak up unless we are drunk. We act according to the company around us. Also, we 'act'. We won't speak straightforward. We have the same weaknesses that we had when we were in India. We cannot speak in English and whenever a boy and a girl are seen around a lot together, either the boy has proposed the girl or the boy has a crush over the girl. They are not to be considered as friends. We assume things, believe in second hand information, gossip, chat and crib. Also, did I mention? We NEVER speak straightforward.

I remember, last year at this point of time, I was cribbing about how the world hates an underdog. Of course, the blog got deleted. The post surely remains in google cached pages. Anyway, I now realise why the society hates underdogs. Because they never try to be anything more than an underdog.


Let there be Floyd, Metallica and Led Zepp.

P.S: As I am writing this post, some people are talking about who is greater. Balakrishna or Chiranjeevi. I leave the place immediately.