For the last three months I have been residing in Boston, USA (America, States, US, Or whatever tickles your fantasy). I have this single bedroom apartment overlooking a beautiful park (which I have never been to but admired from afar plenty). Moving away from Delhi to this faroff land has been a rather solitary and strange experience.
For one thing, no matter how many times I cook breakfast for myself in the morning, I will never stop hating my life so much as in that instant. Buying groceries and carrying them home still makes me feel like an exiled prince (the kind who was tired of the easy life back in his kingdom and decided to go on a merry go round to experience the hardships of the world but soon realized he had bitten more than he could chew).
The words “freedom comes with a price” have never ringed truer to my ears. I am not trying to say that my life back home was fucking roses and rainbows but it was definitely easier.
So anyways, let’s talk about States for a moment. All the Indians who have come to this glorious country have had to make a decision. A decision that can make or break their life. A choice of life and death. Yep you guessed it. Whether to stick with their India accent (and have the Americans go what? Pardon? Huh?) Or try to imitate the suave American accent (and still have the Americans go what? Pardon? Huh?). I have personally decided to stay with the Indian one because it’s just less work. Accents are not that important anyways. Hitler had an accent that made you want to cut your ears off but people still listened to him (granting he had the most advanced war force by his side. Yep, no article is ever complete without a comparison to them Nazis.).
One thing about Boston, people here run a lot (from what? I wonder). Runners (by the way did you guys see The Maze Runner, pretty great huh?) are everywhere and at all times, at 6 am in the morning, which I am supposing, since I have never been out on the street at that beautiful and ungodly hour (beautiful and ungodly to describe the same thing? I think this is the premonition of what this article is going to be all about), or in the darkest hour of the night: men wearing the tightest shorts and women the shortest (I am only complaining about the former). I am guessing it’s for the preparation of the Boston Marathon or maybe people here are just really into running. I once saw at least 20 Harvard students wearing shorts of very questionable length running in perfect synchronization on the street, a setting that reminded me of that scene in the movie Juno. Which brings me to the question, where this rambling of a discontented teenager was destined to go from the start, when the fuck will I find my Juno? I am asking you, God. Don’t pretend like you don’t see me.
P.S. excuse my usage of inco,rrect comma, if any (ha-ha see what I did there), the mystery of comma usage has always eluded me. Also, I am not really looking for a Juno type. I am more into the Megan foxes of the world. So if you look like Megan Fox (or are of the female species), call me!
atpugddis 