Bangalore, or as they all call it now-a-days,
Bengaluru is quite an amazing place to live in. I, for one of many, like these
two particular streets, Brigade Road and Commercial Street. Not that I don’t
like MG Road, it’s just that I never have been able to distinguish between MG
Road and Brigade. Yeah, now I really sound stupid but anyway, moving on,
Brigade Road is that place where you see your dreams and aspirations and
everything glitteringly good. While, Commercial Street is where you buy those dreams and aspirations and
everything glitteringly good. But I must say, Brigade has been a true
inspiration for me to plan my life ahead and then go back home and sleep.
Recently, I and a friend went to Vero Moda because she had to buy something
(and I didn’t know shops now provide invisible stuff to customers with low
expectations about their future and no money) and I swear to God, that place is
the Mother of Inspirations. Every dress I looked at, every Jacket I laid my
eyes on, my motivation level went on a power trip and I could see myself
sitting on this big comfy chair with the dress I was holding in reality and
then I slowly revolve around and talk to my PA because why the hell not? Also,
my only purpose of ever going to Brigade is Blossom Book Store or Krispy Kreme
or I don’t know, use the Metro to go to Indiranagar. Indiranagar, uh huh! This
place! I’d like to call this place The 50 Shades of Range Rovers. At first I
was like, aaaaaaaah! Range Rover! Now I am like, eh, Range Rover. You name it,
I have seen that Range Rover. But I like Indiranagar for a different reason
altogether. Goethe-Institut. I did my German A1 and A2 there. Ich liebe dich.
And no, I haven’t learnt the slangs yet. I loved Toits with those three very
funny people I went with, one who happened to have had a Long Island Ice Tea at
one go and survived to tell the tale. Yes, I have superheroes for friends. I
loved Heiken-something where I had a “fucking orgasm over Foosball”. I did; not
even kidding. But I am sure, if I ever went shopping in Indiranagar, that’d be
an inspiration too, for my you-know-what. Another really fun thing about
Bangalore is fighting with the autowalas. They think they have bad Hindi
skills? They should meet me. Hah! Also, when they are really pissed, they start
shouting in Kannada and I just sit there like, Really? You gonn’ shout at me
with that? You wanna go down that road? So be it! But honestly, I have never
once shouted in Assamese at them. I’d love to, however. Once when an autowala
did shout at me in Kannada, I just ended up saying “You might wanna do yourself
a favour and talk to me in a language I understand” in Hindi. He must have
figured out, that if I have such a bad Hindi skills, Kannada must be Pluto for
me. And they can speak English! Which is awesome on many levels, but sometimes
it’s unnerving. Like, when I first moved to Bangalore, the maid who cleans my
pg room started talking to me in broken English and I was left with a
whaaaaaaaaaa just haffen!? I once talked to her in Hindi because that might be
easier for the both of us (because speaking a language I am not really good at
is my speciality) and she gave me a look which reminds me everyday why I shouldn’t
talk in Hindi with people with greater Hindi skills. Not that I can speak
amazing English like Tom Hiddleston. I stutter a lot. And a lot really means a
lot. See, when you are learning a foreign language, the language you always
converse with takes a sabbatical. For example, in German, the verbs have
different positions for different tenses. While in English, anything that
sounds remotely correct becomes a rule. But on a serious note, I have come to
realise that English has a lot of rules that we never even knew existed. I have
also come to realise that I am going off topic. So, anyway, Bangalore is a
really good experience and a really good source of entertainment when you have
friends who can gulp down a full glass of Long Island Ice Tea and people who
call you whore for no reason. “Hi, Deepa. You look really good today” “Shut up
you fucking whore” “Wow, someone’s pms-y” “I know right!” *sudden hug*. And
look, we also have Mount Carmel College, where people have weird traditions and
awesome people. Like me.
