The Snarky Indian

Part 10(ii): Chiseled indeed.

*sigh*

It was expected. I was good, really good. I'd recorded myself playing and listened to it enough to know that I was good. Or maybe I ended up thinking that because of the number of times I'd recorded and listened to myself playing.

Huh.

Naah. It's because I'm good.

Did I want to be a part of the band? Hell yeah! It had been my dream from since forever. The only reason I'd sidelined it was because of my parents. Actually, 'sidelined' makes it seem inconsequential, it was more like I'd squashed the dream. I'd staked it, squashed it, stamped on it, set fire to it, and thrown the ashes into a flowing river. 

"Earth to Ana. Hello. Hello." Suddenly there was a large palm right in my face. I snapped out of it and looked up at the twins with a blank look. One of the twins smiled, no, smirked. "You okay?" He asked with mirth dancing in his amazingly green eyes. I seem to have an unhealthy obsession with this guy's eyes. Before I could start staring at him like a creepy stalker, I gave them both a small smile and nodded. 

"Was that a yes or a no?" He asked. I gave him a slight smile at that. I called it 'The Indian Bobblehead'. We Indians are famous for nodding in such a way that people (other than Indians) get confused as to whether we're nodding or shaking our heads. Every engineer know the Indian Bobblehead. It's our savior, our hope in the midst of darkness, our solace. Basically it helps us give a neutral response to our elders, as long as the job doesn't have to be done. Like, 'did you clean your room?' *Indian Bobblehead* 'okay well done. I'll get you some chocolates'. It's helped me in a lot of places, like when my college friend asked, 'so my boyfriend is so handsome, right?' *Indian Bobblehead*. Phew! And you're saved!

"I'm fine. About the band, is it okay if I give you my reply after some time?" I asked. Abhi nodded eagerly and I got a little apprehensive. It's a classic Indian trait. When you're at a stall, and the vendor has divided the fruits according to type and price, we prefer the costly stuff when compared to cheaper. If it's sold at a low price, maybe there's something wrong with it. The same way, when I sensed just how eager he was, I couldn't help but feel that the band wasn't all that good. Maybe an interrogation was required, and so I began my questioning.

My way of questioning is inherited from my father. We ask so many questions that the guy who's selling us the product just goes 'okay enough. Please go away. I don't care about selling this shit.' And our bargaining prowess. We are just plain awesome at that. Most Indians can get a commodity's price reduced from 1,000 rupees to around 700 rupees. My father and I? We can get it down to 200 rupees. That's how good we were. And proud. In Indian, you survive if you bargain. In case you suck at bargaining, prepare to get ripped. You'd end up paying 700 rupees for something that probably costs 150 rupees. How, you ask? The vendor will probably regale you with a tragic story involving many kids and an ill mother, making you feel bad and out of the goodness of your heart, you'd pay extra. On the same night, you would find the vendor happily partying at a bar. That's mostly how it works, though there are many honest people. It's kind of rare though. 

My interrogation continued for two hours. I like to know my material. 

Abhi's band, called 'The Chiseled Guard' was an alternative rock band *whoop whoop* which was recently formed. Apparently 5 years counts as recent, but I overlooked that when Abhi used 'alternative' and 'rock' consecutively. They'd been playing in a garage for years and had performed a fair few times. Aryan snickered when Abhi mentioned 'fair few times' which lead me to conlcude that they'd NEVER performed. When I asked about the previous guitarist, Abhi went all nervous and said "Well, we don--He moved to Alaska." Meaning, the 'he' Abhi mentioned was non-existent. My faith in the band dwindled further when he mentioned that they'd kept the band name 'Slimy Jellyfish' for around 3 years. I mean, who names a rock band 'Slimy Jellyfish'. Oh right, Abhimanyu Daniels does. That tidbit brought out a huge bout of laughter from Aryan, which was suppressed when Abhi pushed him into the drum kit. On both counts, I couldn't keep a straight face, and I laughed like a hyena.

While Aryan was cursing his brother and arranging the drums, Abhi began pitching his band like he was in a business meeting. I stared off into space and kept nodding. Okay fiiine. I was staring at Aryan. Dude was stretching around, and I couldn't help it. He was hot. 'nuff said. The chiseled guard suited him. I'd totally tap that. Yes, I know I'm a virgin. Doesn't mean I can't talk/think, okay!?

Ugh! Stop stretching around! Jeez! It's like he's wearing his school time's shirt! I really have to ask him what he eats to be so darn fit. And his nose twitches when he's pissed. Adorable.

Hmm.

Yep.

Commence stalking sting operation.

I kept nodding even after Abhi's band pitching was done, prompting him to wave his large palm in my face. He was giving me a slight smile and possibly the hint of a knowing look. I shrugged it off and stood up to leave. Abhi quirked his eyebrows at that, I merely said, "I'll think about it. I've given performances but not on a huge scale." I knew it was an excuse, but I dreaded to think what my parents would say if I told them I joined a band. It would probably be the same 'you went to USA to study or to do all that nonsense?' tirade. I did not need that right now. I needed some time off of everything in life. 

I nodded at Aryan and just made my way out of the music room, feeling much more tired than I was up on entering. Next time I'm going to lock the door. Probably keep a huge-ass sofa in front of it. Bloody everyone comes in when I need some alone-time. 

Fuming, I made my way back to my dorm room.

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