Saturday, March 31, 2007

My Favourite Mistake



Dedicated to pi.

N.B: This post is best read while listening to trance. Infected Mushroom's "Classical Mushroom" comes particularly recommended.

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The tablet felt like nothing. Swallowed. Nothing.

Damn it.

I walk into the haze. Anything gaseous must be and will be inhaled. The music moves in ripples. The party's kicking. I smile. I've been waiting for this for a while now. For escape, for my freedom. It's simple. Jump to the music and I'll be free.

The sweat is all pervasive. So is the sex. I can't think in too many syllables. The bass kicks in. I can't help but move. A body brushes against me. I can feel everything, the arms, the breasts, the hair, the smell. The bass kicks in again.

BoomBoomBoomScratchBoomBoom.

My head bobs, someone sucks on my lips. It's all good. I smile again. I don't see my friends. I don't have any friends. I suddenly exist on my own. There is no pain. Heck there is no tomorrow. There is only now. I'm in "Now". The music spins around. Left ear. Round the back of my head. Right ear. Nails scratch the side of my neck.

I close my eyes. The music stops.

It's a green meadow. Shit, just like they show on TV. It's all birds chirping and brooks babbling. The water sparkles, clear as hell. It smells like sunshine. I jump. I float. I smile.

I open my eyes. The beats pumps again. The laser spins again, the lips are now somewhere else. Boom, boom, boom. More sweat, more sex.

I close my eyes. I'm back in the meadow.

This is not good. This is good. I feel like molecules.

The eyes are open again. I'm back again.

The meadow comes and goes. The beat stays. The water splashes on my face. And then it's raining in the music.

The tablet. It worked. My eyes begin to flood. With colour. C# is now purple. Gsus7 is a deep blue. Nice colours. Mauve, electric blue, bright bright yellow. The colours dance. Her sweat smells like a caress. I can't think any more.

The music looks so beautiful.

Her scratches taste like oranges. Citrus fruits, with vodka. She kisses me. Sucks on my neck. Grabs my pants. Cranberry juice. Cigarettes. Whipped cream.

I lick her neck. It sounds like a symphony. Her hair. Her neck. Her breasts. Her back.
The viola. The piano. The bass drum. The harp.

And suddenly I'm in the open. The sea smells like oysters. For once a sensation that makes sense. She throws me on the grass and suddenly she's on top of me. Skin against skin. Symphonies, cigarettes and electric blue. All at once.

It builds. My eyes are open the whole time. I think. I don't.

The particles slowly float in the light. Like little fireflies. She screams. Vodka and Red. Deep Red. A very deep RED! I scream.

I breathe. She sleeps. The sun rises.

Acid. My favourite mistake.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Free Speech for the Dumb

Indeed.

Scream

Scream if you will. Quietly in a little room. With gritty flashing images of wind-chimes and blood. I don't like writing anymore. I don't like it. I used to write for an audience, and then it got tiring. I used to write for images and then it got boring. I hate the emptiness of my creativity. I hate that I can't think like I want to.

I want to scream.

Until my throat first itches because of the frequency, then scratches, then hurts. And then I want to go hoarse and lose my voice. I want my lungs to hurt so much that I stop feeling the need to express myself. I hope the blinding pain will blank it all out. I am being escapist. So fuck you. Fuck you all. Don't even try to protect me or say something about this because I don't want anybody to understand.

I just want to scream.

The Travelogue from Hell - Part 1

After having spent the last week in a haze, I believe it is time for me to break out of my state of vegetation and tell you a story. To borrow from a Spike Lee flick,

My name is Sahil Kini. Listen carefully because I never repeat myself (this of course is bullshit because in the course of this post I will reiterate myself several times to indicate cynicism, redundancy and plain balls-out frustration). That takes care of the "Who". The events described here-in took place over the course of 60 of the most excruciating hours from the night of March 13th to the morning of the 16th, so therein we have the "When".

The "What" is taken care of by the title. But I'll say it again just in case you can't read bold white letters [FontSize32] on a goddamn black background. This is a travelogue. The most confusing, hellish, painful, excruciating, *insert random word from thesaurus* travelogue you will ever have the misfortune of experiencing. The "Why" is because my dad asked me to. He felt religious. [InsertSardonicChuckle]. The "How" involves every imaginable mode of transport that can be conceived of, except a ferry, but goddammit how much can you want from a story.

That leaves the "Where". And therein, as the bard would tell us, lies the rub.

[PanFluteMusic]

At 7.30 on the evening of the 13th I had to leave for Thirupathi. The abode of the Lord. The good, kind, benevolent Lord. Who closes his gates to none. And so I set off, which hope in my heart. No bile. I swear. And besides I'd been prudent. I'd taken with me, my bag with clothes, Ananya (my beautiful creative Zen Vision:M loaded with episodes "How I Met Your Mother" and "My Name is Earl", perfect of a night of prayer and contemplation), my wallet, cellphone and a heart filled with hope. No really!

And no toothbrush.

No that's just the beginning.

So I get to the main gate. If right now you're imagining a great big map in your head with a blinking dot in Adyar, Chennai... don't. You do not want to follow that blinking dot. A bus ride takes me to CMBT (Chennai Mofussil Bus Terminus). I am now a Chennai veteran, I brush right past the auto-drivers at the CMBT entrance. I was once told that after a point women just say "fuck this shit" to eve-teasing and fail to even notice the roving eyes. My modesty seems to have been affected in a rather comparable manner. I felt proud. Round about this time Bob Seger was talking about his Night Moves and there was a gust of evening wind. The lights were fancy and I felt like I was in a movie. Going good so far.

9.30 pm, APSRTC bus Chennai-Thirupathi for Rs.61 (Who needs MasterCard?) I get that feeling everytime you buy something cheap and you're 21 years old. I think to myself "Aah. The life of a student. Here I am roughing it out. I'll look back on this 20 years from now and say 'Those were the days!'" [GrumbleCough]

1.15 am, Sri Nivas Bus Terminus, Thirupathi, with 4 hours battery depletion (Ananya runs for 14). Dad's ETA 3.30 am. Pick up a book ("Surely you're joking, Mr.Feynman", mighty fine book, get yourself a copy) and read it interspersed with those episodes I talked about earlier. It's right about now that I get my first omen, sign from the chap I'm visiting et al. Lights at the terminal go off. And suddenly I realize my cellphone is not in my left pocket.

I panic.

My cellphone is ALWAYS in my left pocket. Fuck. So there I am in the dark. And the only thing I hear is a "Legendarrrry!". I shut Barney and Ananya up. And frantically frisk myself. Once, twice, thrice. By this time I look like I'm doing something that isn't considered appropriate in public. It's not on me.

Fuckity fuck.

I then look behind the chair. Now that's one place I shouldn't have looked. No really, the smell of ammonia and cigarette butts and bandicoot that's a foot and a half (across) is the last thing one needs in a state of panic. Then I stop. Because the old lady 2 chairs away is freaked. My bag vibrates right about now. And that, believe you me, was the first time I was glad to hear about the new "Hello CALLER Tunes for latest Tamizh Movies at Airtel" I wanted to call them and thank them for the erm... public service announcement.

Ok so now I'll skip the religious bits. Suffice to say I went. For a brief moment did actually feel something. And then, was felt up. And we came back to Thirupathi from Thirumala in yet another tour bus. So there we are in Thirupathi at 1.30 pm with the sun beating the crap out us, which of course leads me to dread the MasterCard bus trip home. And feeling all safe in the company of daddy dearest, I air my woes. I need comfort, I tell him. I’ve been studying very hard, I tell him.

My dad has an idea. “Why don’t you come to Chittoor along with us?” And since they’re traveling in a fancy pilgrimage Volvo (complete with a PA system into which we receive blurbs on how to be religious in 3 languages) We have a word with the driver who “ass-shoores” us that there will be a KSRTC Volvo reaching the dhaba on the outskirts of Chittoor at 2.30 which will take to Chennai. Air-conditioning, reclining seats and a short ride home. The perfect deal. [Snort]

So I went. [Stop sniggering]

And at 2.30pm somewhere on the outskirts of Chittoor, somewhere in AP, somewhere in South India, my dad has to take his bus back to Bangalore. I wave nonchalantly and say “I’ll be fine day, I’m not a kid. I mean seriously, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” He nods and waves goodbye. My kid sister does a very entertaining goodbye routine too. I saunter up to the Security Guard dude. He tells me in a mixture of Telugu and Tamil (I have a wee bit of trouble following both languages) and sign language and lots of pointing that the bus is a wee bit late and will be there at 3. I say “Hey, what the heck, you can’t have everything right?” and so I wait. Ananya’s been running for quite a bit now. About 3 hours of battery life left. Perfect for the trip home.

3 p.m. comes… And goes.

No hassles.

3.30 p.m. comes and goes.

Security guard shoots me re-assuring look.

3.45 p.m.

Security guard shoots me sympathetic look.

4.00 p.m.

Me: Dude?

SecurityGuardDude(SGD): Saar, 5.30 saar.

Me: WTF?

SGD: Saar, [Points to 5 on the watch] 30.

Me: Sir, what about the 2.30 bus (Stupid Question)

SGD: Saar, one bus come. I call. He go. Naal Mani (4 o’clock) bus come, I call, show ticket [does some scissor action thing with his fingers] he no stop. He go. 5.30 saar.

Me: DUDE!

So there I am. In Chittoor. With 33 bucks on my phone. And nowhere to go.

Having fun yet?

[Intermission]

 

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