International Studies & Students

My cousin Sean calls me a scab….as in dabboodada, you’re such a scab

He is not calling me a name, he is defining me. And not wrongly, either…..

A student is a scab on the skin of society. Useful both in the short term and the long term, but presently a little gross looking and definitely an irritant as well as being scratchy and….. ummm, well, figure it out..

One of the most interesting things about being a scab on the skin of society, that is, being a student is the fact that;

a. You have enough time to actually introspect absolutely insane inanities of your life, though this is usually during the horribly boring and totally useless vacations.
b. You have enough time, during the same vacations to go completely out of your mind, either by drinking copious amounts of alcohol or by exhaustively digging through the internet.
c. You can discuss into early morning topics which make no sense, no possible use and possibly will be forgotten by the time you wake up
d. You can get bloody idiotic and the world, more or less forgives you….
e. You can get away with being irresponsible, idiotic, insane, incorrigible, obnoxious, repulsive etc etc that is, you can also be yourself…

I mean, I love being a student….I only wonder why I stopped being one a few years back.

We’re the finest species of humanity on the planet… and its no wonder that these years are most often called the golden years, the wonder years.

Talking about golden years, there are certainly golden moments of being an international student in a foreign land and sharing space with other ….ummm, students..

My Chinese room mate calls himself cougar…..like tiger, he defines as I nod along….trying hard not to grin….

The dude is so intense that he is adorable and is a real sweetheart…..especially at 2 am in the morning when I’m making enough noise to wake the devil.

His real name is unpronounceable…as mine would be to him…BTW, I call myself D….its simpler for the poor whites….and the rest of the world….

In any case, my roomie and I, have these amazing conversations and random moments of absolute insanity.

Like a few days ago, I had myself some anda bhurji, that infamously simple dish of eggs so beloved of all men who have to cook for themselves…

I mean, I can write an entire blog on anda bhurji or fried eggs….I have friends who would die if it were not for this dish, as it is the only dish they CAN make….

Eggs by themselves can keep a man alive and my pal taimoor, poor fellow, is a living example of this.....

For those not in the know, taimoor is a rather ferocious afghan who has “imaan” (beliefs) you couldn’t cut with a knife and hence wont touch non-halal food. The man has been existing on bread, eggs, kava (a salt-ish tea) and chocolates…

If you think, this is the limit, wait till you hear about another old pal from my law-school days who has been surviving here in the UK for almost 5 years now on a steady diet of chocolates, biscuits and milk….and amazingly, he is thriving on the bloody diet…

Anyway, so, I had made myself some anda bhurji the usual way, with eggs, onions and some garlic mince and chilli powder when my room mate walks into the kitchen and sees the fragrant dish being served out into a bowl

(I still love eating out of bowls – hence I have only one plate and about 12 bowls – all plastic)

Anyway, he goes like, what’s that? I say, eggs. He goggles at me and says, You’re cooking eggs? You don’t cook eggs…..eggs are not supposed to be cooked, would you cook an apple?

I am inured to most international cuisines by now, so I am like, yeah, well, WE cook them and LOVE cooked eggs…

My poor roomie shakes his head at my weird ways and starts making a sandwich out of bread, strawberry jam and chicken…boiled chicken, that is…

I goggle back at him and ask him what he is doing and he offers to make me one….says the chicken is quite fresh…

I say thanks, but no thanks…

So there we are, sitting and eating anda bhurji and Strawberry Jam & boiled chicken sandwiches ….. trying not to look at each other's plates/bowls…

My roomie is also quite musical …. He plays two different types of flutes and also a stringed instrument called the “cushin” which basically looks like a sitar lying down and taking it easy…

Today, my roomie was practicing his stuff when he said that he would play me my national anthem….I was quite surprised and …to be honest, a little intrigued….

So, anyway, I was like, cool dude…lets rock…and stand at attention

So, the guy starts strumming his instrument and the melody though quite recognisable, is not the Tagore composition we used to bray out in school and in my NCC days…..and I listen with and at attention….

After he finished, the poor guy grins at me and explains that he heard me playing it on my laptop quite often and learnt it….

I gave a weak grin and offered my compliments and my heartfelt thanks ….

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was playing Atif Aslam’s "Yakeen"….

Am planning to go to Edinburgh for the wildest street party in Europe…. Or so it is said.

The Scots celebrate hogmanay, that’s the new years out on the streets and am hoping to go and see that… will blog on that later.

But my cousin Tony’s advice on behaviour during this eminent festival based on personal experience goes as follows –

Have party passes, don’t drink beer, don’t drink urine, don’t snog girls, don’t make sexual advances at animals….

(This blog was delayed due to lack of internet connections at my halls of residence for nearly a week before new years eve....Managed to study a bit therefore...wait for the Hogmanay special ...or as we called it HOP MANY !!!)