Allow me to ‘roll’ back to this same day a week back in time: Camping under an adolescent moon at Balu-ka-Ghera, a trek of 2 days on foot beyond the exploited hills of Manali. Allow me another 3 hours of rewind, and you will find us all crammed inside our little 2-man tent: the 5 of us tossing about in search of a warm, spacious Out camping, there is little that vies for unique. It becomes a question of what separates us from a similar bunch of kids. In my imagination, every things stays: they drink in stealth, indulge in “vicious” banter (at least we kept things inside the circle of propriety), clown over the food, have a roll labeling the others ‘gay’ or ‘chutiya’ or ‘kaminey’; fill their diaries with similar dribble in retrospect.
To condense, however, are my hasty observations on our symbols of being one-up (or more like ten-up) that we bring to the table:
- Yogi’s social themes of discussion
- Sam’s discourse into the weird, the advance science, and the weird advance science
- Daaru's silence, that, eh, seems to be growing all the more mature
- O'Toole’s plethora of misinformation and worldly anecdotes.
- My laser prowess, disbelief into conjectures, and the playlists that nobody wants to listen to
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