A Week Earlier
An outstation trip tells me how badly I need to get out of Bombay a lot more often. A year of frustration doesn’t move too quickly when you point the way out, and I felt mentally constipated on my first day out of Bombay in nine months, a bit stunned at the cheek of the shit in my head. Sitting here on the terrace of a cute little bungalow in Nasik, my childhood friend and I are celebrating life as always, with drinks and laughter.
Bhardwaj is happily married, with a nice job and everything else set, including a friend like me who listens to unbelievably cool music. Cruising Nasik, the mind’s bowel loosens itself and peeks out of my brain instead of the usual hole. Megadeth’s Endgame has been on repeat since our ears fell on it, and I smile as the chorus of 44 Minutes comes on for the nth time, knowing Bhardwaj is equally delighted to hear Dave Mustaine back in full form.
I’m up by 7 am, which is the best time to do most things. Drink chai, take a shit, smoke a joint, fuck or just sit in the balcony in the company of your mom’s plants and let a grey, sunless dawn come to terms with itself. I blame the lack of intoxicants in my system for having me up & about, the way I was before shaking hands with the poisons.
Venom reminds you of what it can do even on its way out, and addictive as harmful pleasures can be, one is sure to feel tremendous relief almost immediately after the body, mind and spirit begin to adjust to a new life. Some pain does last, but far greater is the pure joy you feel when you put a palm over the part on your chest where your heart once was, knowing you cannot be broken. You’re forced to bleed when the most precious thing you have turns on you, and you disbelievingly embrace the pain because there is no one else to hold you.
But I’m here bloodletting, and I have been liberated.