a knot in my gut tells me, look mate, you don't want to be here. Every muscle in your body screams, run away, You BIG, FAT, SENSELESS, five-toed sloth, GET OUT!! but wiser counsels (dunno who they are though) bid me stay, for fear of losing my employment. so, i sit. and wait.
a few smiles, and a few drinks later (of which i have had none, which is reaally bad, for i know not what lies in wait for me) the conversation turns to music. this could be good, or very very bad. it takes only a few seconds before i know, it's bad. they seem to think i know a lot about music (i thought so too. not any more though) but strangely, it's almost as if i am from a different country, a firangh. i'm lost in a sea of vague names and (to me) vague songs. strangely, i'm the only one. next to me are people with boisterous voices, swearing that they have listened to Mr. Mukesh kumar since they were born, and they burst into song. i listen. hard. really hard. i try to fake knowledge of the song. a second. two seconds. and then i give up. i can't recognize the song. i send my brain into standby. the titbits on the table need no cranial activity. so, i feast.
i'd heard stories about an akshayapatra, which was lost in the sands and mists of time and epics. after some time gorging and feasting, the plate seemed just that. This is not good. i'm in front of draupadi(or was it her), and she takes the plate away, and presses something in my hands. it must be a sondesh. no wait this isnt anything like that. this thing has a tail. and a very rounded head. it's faintly metallic. this isn't right. i'm dreaming. This is REM. snap out of it. i look up. and i wished i never had. i was holding a microphone. THIS IS BAD. i look around, and everybody is looking at me. why am i not surprised? my boss tells me, come on boy, sing. Everybody's done. It's your turn.I protest,and profess to a complete lack of the art/skill of singing. But no! I'm a fussface. I'm just trying to be pricey. Yeah right!! I'm Tansen, and i'm going to make rain!!...
I've often read about OBE. it's really interesting trying to figure out how it would feel to be out of your own body.. seeing yourself.. watching you make a total, utter, complete, FOOL of yourself. And now, I'm living it. I can see myself open my mouth to sing. And then it happens. The words flow out of my mouth, my vocal chords struggling hard to put word, beat, and scale together. and i sing.
i sing.i sang. and then its over. i had sung. i look around. i'm happy now. there's adrenaline rushing through my veins. i can see some of my colleagues swallowing hard. and they're desperately trying hard to smile at me, and say, thats great addi, you sang really well!! i'm getting good at this. a rush of warmth courses through me. With parties like this, who needs vodka?
i smile, and return to the food. mission accomplished. another group of people who will never, ever ask me to sing again.
a few smiles, and a few drinks later (of which i have had none, which is reaally bad, for i know not what lies in wait for me) the conversation turns to music. this could be good, or very very bad. it takes only a few seconds before i know, it's bad. they seem to think i know a lot about music (i thought so too. not any more though) but strangely, it's almost as if i am from a different country, a firangh. i'm lost in a sea of vague names and (to me) vague songs. strangely, i'm the only one. next to me are people with boisterous voices, swearing that they have listened to Mr. Mukesh kumar since they were born, and they burst into song. i listen. hard. really hard. i try to fake knowledge of the song. a second. two seconds. and then i give up. i can't recognize the song. i send my brain into standby. the titbits on the table need no cranial activity. so, i feast.
i'd heard stories about an akshayapatra, which was lost in the sands and mists of time and epics. after some time gorging and feasting, the plate seemed just that. This is not good. i'm in front of draupadi(or was it her), and she takes the plate away, and presses something in my hands. it must be a sondesh. no wait this isnt anything like that. this thing has a tail. and a very rounded head. it's faintly metallic. this isn't right. i'm dreaming. This is REM. snap out of it. i look up. and i wished i never had. i was holding a microphone. THIS IS BAD. i look around, and everybody is looking at me. why am i not surprised? my boss tells me, come on boy, sing. Everybody's done. It's your turn.I protest,and profess to a complete lack of the art/skill of singing. But no! I'm a fussface. I'm just trying to be pricey. Yeah right!! I'm Tansen, and i'm going to make rain!!...
I've often read about OBE. it's really interesting trying to figure out how it would feel to be out of your own body.. seeing yourself.. watching you make a total, utter, complete, FOOL of yourself. And now, I'm living it. I can see myself open my mouth to sing. And then it happens. The words flow out of my mouth, my vocal chords struggling hard to put word, beat, and scale together. and i sing.
i sing.i sang. and then its over. i had sung. i look around. i'm happy now. there's adrenaline rushing through my veins. i can see some of my colleagues swallowing hard. and they're desperately trying hard to smile at me, and say, thats great addi, you sang really well!! i'm getting good at this. a rush of warmth courses through me. With parties like this, who needs vodka?
i smile, and return to the food. mission accomplished. another group of people who will never, ever ask me to sing again.
5 comments:
So did this really happen, or was it during the REM phase? If it did really happen, then I must say that ITC parties got a much deserved dose of what entertainment is not. What did you sing - Unforgiven?
my my my!! Adiboy bloggin!! Thats gr8! and singing too? ha ha ha.. good to see you here man.. and yeah, I'm really interested, what did you sing??
well adi...i guess they can't appreciate real talent!!!...one day u'll regret not joinin the music troupe!!
um.. who be anonymous?
hmmm..so the devil unleashes himself on a gathering of unsuspecting onlookers. so what kind of niose emanated from thou diabolical throat?
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