Popagandhi

I’m in a kurta top and Indian sandals and I’m sitting next to a monk in a SBS bus.

My top is from Bombay. My bag is from Chiang Mai. On my wrist there’s a bracelet from Tibetan Curios (Laden La Road, Darjeeling), with a Buddhist prayer on it. My cellphone’s “last dialled numbers” include the Indian and Nepal embassies, Mustafa Centre’s travel agents, a hotel in Jodhpur. Parts of myself assembled from various parts of the world, somewhat resembling my present state of mind.

I think I could be a poster child for globalization in the reverse.

Being home almost feels like being on a very long stopover. A very long stopover that demands I write term papers, give presentations, and sit for examinations, before I’m allowed to board the next flight out. I spend 8 months out of every year pretending to be a student, being concerned with internships (that make good) money (leading to) fabulous jobs after graduation (all in all) wonderful careers (but before that) GPAs (that will supposedly lead to all of the above). I need to spend at least 2 or 3, then, feeling alive. I just happen to have chosen an incredibly expensive way..