A nostalgic look at schooldays and for three Asian lads at Harrow they were the worst rather than best of days. Attempts to find their own identity in hip-hop culture and music result in the predictable embarrassment that only adolescence can produce. And then there’s the mortifying parents, common to all cultures. For all who remember the pains of growing up, but particularly for those who are interested in how hip-hop translates into Gujerati.
Anand was all over the place, trying to mount the small pool table, a cacophony of energy commanding the eyes of the room, a rambunctious force of attention-seeking. Nishant was oblivious, in the middle of attempting a carpeted moonwalk. Anand was grinding and flaying his hips like a Chippendale who'd been doused in hot oil. Because of his antics, no one could see that I was nearly rapping in time.