Listening to driving songs when drunk is never a good idea. Suddenly, I miss home. I miss Bombay. And Patna and Ranchi. And most of all, Bangalore. I miss those trips back home. The long and winding roads that spelled earthiness. The Fabindia kurtas, and most of all, the easily available chicken butter masala. And the orange walls. And all that earthiness. Oh who am I kidding. There are these moments when I miss home, much as I try to be cool about it. I miss India. Sometimes, but I do.
On the road again, always.
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