As I entered the Indian restaurant, the brightness of the colours and the loudness of the noise thrilled the homesick me to bits.
After the starters, sunk in to the Parathas and Bhaingan masala. The food was hot and tasty
I noticed a good looking, long-haired Indian speak in an alien American twang "Dad, look at this. We can get the same food in this restaurant that we would get back in India. But then, we dont have undergo the hassle of clogged drains, bad road and hot weather like the folks down there".
Just then I noticed, the rice wasnt well cooked and the Bhaingan masala had way too much spice.
Quickly called the check and left the fake India.
Most of the artisitic minds in the planet are hidden behind factories, programmer's cubicles, management boardrooms, rickety offices. The turbulence here is that of an artist emerging out of a serenely settled engineer's life...
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Chennai
There are beaches I surfed
Girls I loved, streets I loafed
Now, whenever to Chennai my thoughts wander
Its invariably to you they meander!
Girls I loved, streets I loafed
Now, whenever to Chennai my thoughts wander
Its invariably to you they meander!
Hosur Road
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