Summertime and the livin' is whiskey doused

Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain. I'm in my verandah. A lovely breeze plays with my hair and floats around my ankles. The occasional cawing of crows and the continuous calm shhh that only the rain can make as a shower winds to an end. There is a hum of people talking and the para boys playing football in the park but it seem to be coming from far away and it's all white noise. In the midst of this absolute marvel, I have brought out my laptop to type something, anything- and then it starts. Loud Bangla announcements from speakers hidden insidiously throughout the government quarters. I don't want to let it affect my happy, but but the stupid man won't shut up. And now the bangla's gotten so rapid that I can't even understand what he's saying anymore.
Sigh.
I discovered new music yesterday- all this blues stuff that I knew existed, but had been too lazy to download individually owing to my bad luck with computers and deprivation of utorrent. BB King, Hooker, Clapton and Tom Waits. I met a little girl yesterday, who told me that she wanted to grow up to become the Prime Minister of India so she could make it more clean. She's just moved to Calcutta from Bhutan, doesn't have any friends and hates it here. Very outspoken and extremely sure of herself (Giving birth is dirty, swearing is unladylike, you can't take off your shirt if you're a girl). Are all children like that? So secure in their conviction of something as being undeniably true - "my mother told me, Teacher said"- or was it just her? I don't remember being like this. I hate to think of my memories and personality from my younger years just slipping away from the crevices of my brain - blowing away like sand from the dunes. Its strange how much we change, and how much we remain the same. But if the very idea of who I used to be starts to elude me, how am I supposed to compare?
The stupid man has finally stopped. Poor man, maybe he's not stupid, just earnest or saying something terribly important, and me an old crankypants grumbling to the wind. My shoulders feel strange, my head feels woozy and everything is slooooow. I don't know if after-effects can last this long or if its just my body, gently reminding me that my recent behaviour has been incongruent with the person I thought I was. Everyday, everything changes just the tiniest little bit, edging it closer to becoming something that will never be the same again.
June has been a month of excesses. May was anticipation. Let July be balance. I have been pissing my folks off royally, not listening, not even pretending to. I'm not even close to the bhodro Banglai meye they wish I was- and I really don't want to be. I used to think neither did they, but I'm beginning to realize that they would probably be relieved at having a daughter who comes straight home after work, likes to potter around the kitchen and is superdedicated to porashuno, family and gaan-bajna.  I love my family, I enjoy spending time with the gramps, but in a scrambled sort of way. Family resents the fact that I try to squish and smush everything I can into one day- it's us or nothing, they say. But why won't you understand, my time is so limited and I'm going away. That's the point though. I shall make them happy this week and stay mostly at home. Cycling shikhbo, boi porbo, report likhbo, transcription korbo. I'm glad today is a Sunday. Don't want to go out. Want to reeeelax.
I shall go for a walk at some point later today. I have been walking around the city so much, that my poor feet have started to resemble a labourer's- scuffed and dirty and the skin's come off the top and started bleeding, so I can wear nothing except hawai chappals. I think I like it this way. I feel like Rusty or a Ruskin Bond character and it's making me strangely satisfied, if not happy.
I haven't been running in three days. Terrible, terrible. Must be rectified tomorrow. Also must stop reading 10 books at a time.
On the agenda for this week:
Monday- Visiting the original college and a book swap- 'Confederacy of Dunces' in exchange for 'The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian'. Daab ice cream.
Tuesday- Breakfast-in-the-evening with new friend. Waffles with belgian chocolate sauce. Possibly crepes. Or even pancakes.
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday- Return home early, spend time with the gramps, work on report and transcription.
Everyday: Go for morning run, exercise, learn cycling, read. At some point draw something. At some point, meet the best friends.
Right now, I have three best friends. Exactly three. It's been that way for a while, and I don't think it's about to change. This summer so far, has been interesting. Can't complain. It has potential, yessir.