Falooda!

Time machine, after life, crystal ball gazing, alter ego and more…all through a single medium – Music. Lilting tunes or ones with percussion and bass give a feel of vast expanse and the likes of riding the wind. But of course it doesn’t always have to be subtle. Landscapes ranging from cold, green to arid and inbetweens; callused feet, horny nails, dust spotted cheeks to trundling wagons, leather boots, a cigar; mid-eastern turns cowboy and a whole gamut of unnamed unplayed roles. Music is the conductor and our senses the orchestra of drama. Languages are known...we don’t need to disseminate the words…the essence morphs us into whatever it wants us to be. Ethereal to thrillers…music is a spring of the a priori.

Some of the songs I’ve been living lives to…

Maybe tomorrow by the Stereophonics…Am the girl in the bubble. Tis autumn. I stride down the pavement. Time is mine. It moves with me…the only person who counts. My blue Reebok sneakers streamlined with silver skitter…I’m running and this time in my head through time. I ram though the places I’ve been…the ones that have moulded me, made me be. They stand undeterred, content and composed in the knowledge they had to do what they had to to formulate another vat of bubbling, boiling, frothing experiences. This one’s a little red turning purple. Fermentation? Can’t do the composition otherwise now can I? Do I go looking for another salt? Or do I explore this vat and nestle in its spinning nucleus? “So maybe tomorrow I’ll find my way home…”

I pause to catch a wisp out of The Magic Numbers. Slowing down I spot a bench and burrow into tunnel vision. They all open up before me. The night at UTC on a cold, ridged stone bench swapping family problems with vanilla coke and a brownie…the drive down chitoor road with purple-yellow canopy …the first night we stayed up with vodka and noodles…the first time I sneaked out of home to another city…but above all that the love, the care, the affection, the fun, the thrill of indulgence, the fights, the kadis, the waiting, the longing, and the looming end (?)…maybe I would've been happy a lotos eater or maybe not… “maybe I’m a fool for walking in line. Maybe I should try to leave this time… Love is just a game broken all the same…”

Am snowed in by great blazing balls of lights and my legs go rubber. Jive baby! Mint green halter, knit cream skirt, transparent pumps, silver hoops…hey I’m not my designer! There’s an oracle of fashion for music. Patrick Swayze look alikes swirl around but I kinda like guiding. Hmmm so guess it will be one of my girlfriends. “ Work work…shake it shake it baby…I can mash potatoes. I can do the twist…. tell me…do you love me” Yeah do the aaatha!

Yeah we all do the ho…the ho who’s got her sex toys in control ;-) “Cause your filthy and ooh your gorgeous!” Scissor Sisters…orgasmic clubbing! Wine red raw silk skirt slit upto my thighs, black tube top, and orbit lights...gyrate, grate, chew gum loudly and flash them! Oh but I'm not just any ho...I got a colt strapped to my garter ;-) Mission - get de pimp who takes the 'e' out of the aesthetic out of sex and instead misplaces a 'p' upfront. Yeah yeah am the righteous ho after the gonads of those who trade the unwilling.

Change the sets for the disco hustle…two groupsters doing the groove. Am competing with this terribly cute dude from office in my capris, stilts, and sailor cap… “do that thing on the floor…shut up and dance!” A mumbling Shaggy calls the shots…

Seen that Levis ad, where this boy and girl blast through alabaster walls to jump off a giant red wood? Well, I’m gathering that pace now to Eddie Brickell’s What I am. Gone anime now in a blaze of lights…rushing freestyle through harsh lit walls over transparent hurdles - cosmic vision. Now pointing my hand to receive your words and jumping over all those stepping-stones that failure sprouted in my wake to pave my way to wherever. “I'm not aware of too many things, but I know what I know if you know what I mean…What I am is what I am. Are you what you are - or what?”

Contemporaries of be-bop got me now…well, not exactly…just Marvin Gaye. If there’s a man I so wanna make love to it is Marvin ma man. Can anyone else sing the rhythms of sex so sensually?! Pant pant! Bliss…am doing it in my head and doing the grind with moulding, soft, silken air…what else? Don’t need no man…just the song and me…escalating. “If the spirit moves you let me groove…let your love come down…ohhh…get it on babe…lets get it on...”

I could go on…Janus just had two. But dammit! I love every single one I dorn…here’s a wee bit of stuff on a lil mo so that the tunes don’t as revenge go out of key on me.

Floyd’s Wish you were…yep, all psychedelic and am doing my own mer song on land...brackish sky, wheezing ageing and now whimpering wind, dreads whipping around my neck and choking my retorts. The existentialism, the choices that make you walk the plank either way…yeah it’s just supersonic pain -numbness, gobsmacked helplessness in a Dover Beach atmosphere.
“...And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?”

Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald’s Dream a little dream…this is one Vyjanthi Mala and Gemini Ganesan black and white sequence ;-) Hide and seek, back to back on pillars, hand grappling and teasing, full moon, and bougainvilleas.

Elton John’s Tiny Dancer…there’s only one night and one person I dream of…always soft filtered lighting in this one.

#41 by Dave Mathew’s Band. This has got me doing a road trip in a red convertible. Uhh am really bad with car brands, but it’s a lot like Ramarajan’s in Karagata kaaran only much faster :-p Beatnik attire…yellow, kaadhula poo, white rimmed googles…sometimes my friends, sometimes a Dalmatian, sometimes a banjo, sometimes tender coconut water and a happy angler.

Am a lot like those playwrights who fall in love with their roles…actually am one of those heroines who trip on their talented, goateed, older directors…mine is music.