The Snarky Indian

Part 2: Aeroplane

I'm at the Bangalore airport. Alas, I shall now, FINALLY, try and live life by my terms.

You see, we're kind of conditioned to live by the whims of the parents. We get our freedom, of course we do. Except its never enough. I've always wanted to be a journalist. Instead I studied a subject I hate for four years. It was like I was just running through the motions. College reopens and you start attending. You sleep in class. Yes, that was what I did. Don't be deceived by my CGPA. And again, yes I have a high CGPA and I will flaunt it. Also, I like saying CGPA. It gives me a sense of satisfaction. Then after a weary day in college, sleeping, you get back home and eat. Then you sleep. After a month, you study through the night for your internals. This goes on every month. Monotony is my middle name.

So, anyway, my father helps me with my luggage. You know, I get why they call it luggage. You have to lug it along with you. You know, like wink become 'winkage', lug becomes 'luggage'. I digress. Notice I tend to do that a lot. Apparently people with high IQs tend to think faster *mental smirk*.

Ugh! Ok ANYWAY, I 'lug' my 'luggage' using a trolley. From this point on, if you don't have a ticket, you ain't following. So I turn to say goodbye to my parents. My mother looks constipated, the kind where you want to cry but you don't want to seem weak. Yes, she has trouble expressing her feeling. Runs in the family. My father though is grinning his ass off, what you would call a 'shiteating grin'. I don't like that expression. It sounds very .... dirty. My father and I try for a hug, unfortunately, we aren't used to it. So it, well, ends up being an utter fail. He comes at me with his arms stretched out but he has no clue where to out them. Shoulder? Or waist? I, on the other hand, like the genius that I am, stand there blinking at him. We all end up laughing. I suppose its a good 'farewell' memory.

My mother then starts, "Don't forget to call us when you reach. And make sure you have currency in your cell phone at all times. And Ana, do NOT eat too much junk food, you'll get fat. Call us everyday so that we know you're alive. They say U.S.A has a lot of serial killers, their list is so much longer than ours. So carry that spray I bought you. Try to get a weapons license also. You may need it. Ayyo, we should have agreed to let you learn that karate thing you wanted to. Don't drink and eat meat. And don't even think about smoking and drugs. I am your mother, I will find out. Don't go to those parties that they have over there. All drinking and marijuana. Don't--", my father then cuts in saying, "We have raised our daughter well. She studies and she has never done bad things. Why are you so worried? Let her go study there in peace."

Thank God. My mother watches too much TV. And News. My friends always did say that whenever they came home, someone would always be watching the news or stock market stuff.

I say,"Don't worry. Just chillax. I'll reach and call you guys up. We've got Skype as well. So we can video chat. Amma, pappa will explain everything about video chatting. And you can text me on WhatsApp. No worries, people. Keep calm and praise Ana."

I wave at them as I turn to go. The usual 'I love you's aren't very usual in an Indian family. At least in mine. It was always the unspoken communication. Like, all the times my parents slept through me studying out loud, the times when they woke up early to make me a cup of tea, when they calmed me down when I had a nervous breakdown before exams, which was basically every exam. For us, the saying 'actions speak louder than words' was literal. We hung onto it for solace.

I sighed and turned back once. They were standing and staring at my retreating self. I waved and they waved back. I went through the security checks and sat in the waiting area. My mother had made me chapatis, rolled up with pickle and ghee (lots of ghee) on the inside. One of my favourites. I love butter and cheese and ghee and milk and potato and pizza and .... okay I guess you get it. I abso-fucking-lutely adore junk food. Hey I wasn't a zero-figure but I was thin. Okay, so maybe I looked thin because I was tall, but I wasn't that tall either. I was 5 foot 7. Tall for an Indian girl. I've been told many time that it would be tough to look for guys when I have to get married, because of my height. I say, the tougher the better, because then my life as a spinster would be longer.

I stuffed my face with my chapati role and looked around. I caught a guy staring. Hmmm ... okay looking. I looked away and at my cell phone. Then I discreetly looked at him. He was looking at me in interest. HA! I smirked while hiding my face with my long black hair. God I loved my hair. It was long, a few inches above my waist and it was BLACK, like, jet black. I swear, if I wasn't an Indian smartass, I'd totally be goth.

Why a smartass, you ask? We have this classification amongst us youngsters, Indian youngsters are classified as the 'chamche', that is, the ones who do EVERYTHING their parents tell them to. The rebels, who totally oppose their parents wishes. And finally, the smartasses, who do whatever their parents tell them to in front of said parents. We 'partayyy' when the 'rents aren't around.

So, yeah, back to this 'okay-looking' guy. He was still staring. I swept my bangs out of my face and straight up smiled at him. He looked shocked and my smile widened. I couldn't blame him. I was wearing a chudidhar, an Indian traditional dress. So, all in all, I looked like a 'chamche'. Albeit a very pretty one. Yes, I have no modesty. I was pretty, with an oval-shaped face, full lips and moderately wide eyes that gave just the right amount of innocence to my expression. Plus, I get dimples when I smile.

Yes, you should be jealous.

Oh and did I tell you I can raise one eye-brow? I didn't? Well, I can. And it conveys the perfect skeptic look.

HA! I scared the guy away. He isn't looking anymore and he looks very interested in his cell phone. I can tell he feels uncomfortable by my reaction because he's shifting his position on his seat a lot. I laugh and go back to checking my texts. Most of them are from my college, school and pre-university friends. A lot of 'Happy journey', 'Travel safely', 'have fun there', 'all the best' and even a few 'don't find some hot guy and lose your virginity there's.

I grinned. We'd all made a pact that we would tell each other about our first time.

*sigh*

I was going to miss those idiots. Vij, Shammy and Jazz. I love those freaks.

I text back, 'If I do, I'll send you an audio recording of how much I scream, videos are just too mainstream.'

Suddenly, there's an announcement. A lady with a very fake American accent says,"Passengers for flight 2995, Air India please begin boarding."

There's my que.

I push down the excitement and stand in line. Yes, we have queues to board planes in India. The line moves slowly. Painstakingly slow.

I look behind and notice that the person behind me is none other than Mr. I-can't-handle-it-when-a-lady-catches-me-staring-and-smiles-knowingly. I turn back front, smirking smugly. The line moves and before I know it, I've put my bags up, switched off my cell phone and taken my seat.

The seat next to me is then occupied.

By Mr. I-can't-handle-it-when-a-lady-catches-me-staring-and-smiles-knowingly.

This was going to be either extremely interesting or horribly boring.

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Hey guys, this is my first time writing a book. So please be a little lenient with me. That being said, I would love some constructive criticism as well.

I hope you liked it!

Fingers crossed.

Picture of Ana to the right. It isn't apprearing on my screen for some reason. So you can check it out by trying this link- http://www.apnatimepass.com/deepika-padukone-wallpaper-3.jpg

I'm Mad. Mad_Hatter95 :P