The last weekend

Long before I was born they made a movie called 'The Lost Weekend'. I haven't seen it but all indications tend to point towards romantic claptrap, so I can't be bothered.

But what bothers me is this, my last weekend at Cambridge, and by extension in the West. The Occident. You see I return, by Air India of course, this coming Friday. Moreover, I return to a job. That is, in a way, the proverbial last nail in the coffin of my youth. No more running away to the hills 'cause my problem ain't moving its backside towards a solution. No more skipping out to play squash because its a great day out (we won't discuss the fact that squash is played indoors). No more sitting in coffee shops to read/write/burn papers. No more snide remarks in Hindi, muttered in the confidence that only a speaker of locally unknown dialects can have. Finally, no more carefree disregard of soceital mores - I am told that Professors are supposed to be role models for hordes of gawky and pimpled undergraduate students, and far be it for me to puncture an irrepairable hole in their character's upcoming scaffolding.

So, I will suffer silently, and be polite and nice and considerate and a role model. Though I had much rather with a model roll.

Bah.