AA (1st Jan 1990 / Allahabad)

Rajasthani Platter Vs Sarangi Beats Amidst Feminine Divinity

The fading memories of the godly instrument must be penned down before goddess of Amnesia takes her toll.

The sacred event occurred in the chilly winter of North India, when I was in no mood to be disturbed in my eternal sleep. It was an era when I preferred romancing with my solitude. Wings of nostalgia were not strong enough to lift a person living in his eighty plus weight category (Since, I am the author I can dictate terms about my weight) .

The January weather was as usual fogged up. The environment was damp and serene. Me and my group of friends decided to hit a theme food park. [At this weight, I am fonder of food parks than water parks; for some great heavenly mind (that mind is mine) has already said, ‘A bite of extra paneer will give you enough fat to store in your most troubled days’.] Having set my philosophy of life based on agnosticism – I really feel that one must live for eating instead of eating to live. I firmly believe that God showers his blessings on epicurean people like me; and I openly summon the wrath of underworld to fall on those who feel contrary.

In the backdrop of my dreamy love sequence with my gourmet files – a mystical musical instrument struck my ear-bells. What is this? In the 21st century of instant noodles, where on earth has such an instrument emerged? For the first time, even the wafting aroma of delicious food couldn’t make me stuck into my chair. I stood up and followed the seductive beats till I reached a tribe of Rajasthani folk singers. I gazed at the eldritch instrument till blankness appeared in front of my eyes. I had woken up from a state of trance, just to reach another. The engineer in me wanted to understand the physics of sound production; but I let my spiritual senses take control of the situation.

I requested the tribe master to lend me his instrument so as to have a finer look. Sooner my wish was fulfilled. The music producing enthralling Sarangi was now in my clutches. [My precious! ] I am now the father of Tansen. Everybody should envy me. I will now control the menial earthly beings with the palette of my musical tones and overtones. Devilish Chuckles! ! !

My chuckles however, didn’t last long. The tribe master maybe overheard my soliloquy. He took the instrument back and started playing it. The atmosphere was again filled with the myriad of emotions. He somehow managed to instill life in inanimate objects. Even the mild breeze started to sing with the band of musicians. I could hear the chorus of the trees. The dusky fragrance of the earthen lands could be easily felt. In a quick turn-out of events, the entire ecosphere became full of life. Words are certainly crippled to describe the aura of this scenic liveliness. I leave this petty job of scene description to uncouth painters.

Anyways! A new wave of energy emerged from the ground and made my bulky body dance like a true disciple of Lord Natraj. I never knew that I could dance, and that too better than Michel Jackson. But this is just my servile opinion. For the bystanders, it was just another shaadi dance. SHAADI DANCE! Eww! Are all my efforts in vain? You pour out your heart and this is all what you get. SHAADI DANCE! What a pity! Unfortunate events occur in the life of every individual. I am no hermit, to enjoy satanic patronage of God.

Not bogged down by the murmuring of the evil fellas, I continued to dance. It was at this very moment than a mystic feminine figure entered the dais and made swift moves like a belly dancer. Why has the femininity been so adept in dancing? This is just gender biasness? No one doth complain about this. This is serious business. It is these things that must be discussed in parliament. Fiscal deficit could be easily left with economic goons to handle. Huhh!

What can now be done? I am like a warrior lost in a battle. Feeling deserted, I just ate my dinner (afterall, I had already paid for it) and left the Shangri La of my dreams; only to fall in love with my solitude, again.

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