El Nocturnae

Nocturnal is nice. The darkness envelopes a lot of the scars, cracks and pits that the sheen of the sun seems to usher forth. I write after a word drought of close to 4 months, or more. Things have changed. Nicely.

Work is humdrum, taxing, belligerent in its arrogance. My manager is Scottish, likes Glen Fiddich and Hibernian, thinks Manchester United is okay just because they got the Ferguson.. I got the hots for a female colleague, actually 3 of them, but they seem too nice. Hot and nice. Hmmmm.

The Goa trip made me feel relaxed, if not over the moon. Lots of KF Premium, Mysore stash, ol' friends, Honda Activas, Baga and the late nights spent doodling on bikes on dark empty roads towards Palolim, more Mysore stash, Okocim Palone and Carlsberg, 3 days away from civilization inside civilized morning glory.

Mysore trips and the fabled Esteem rides, commencing after the 2.5 hour ride on a Volvo B7R tottering at 100 kmph on a highway made exclusively for Audi A4's and BMW Z6's in a state where politicians are confused about their ideologies and about the content and after effects of alcohol. BUt Mysore is still an upliftment. Purple Haze and the DJ who loves Moonspell, although he cannot spell half the name. He also adores Lacuna Coil but only because they have a female vocalist. Bangre waits tables at Haze, and he likes to take over the jukebox before 7 every evening, playing some Zappa, Hendrix, hair metal and also Porcupine Tree. Hence, respect. The drive to the Twilight Zone at 2 am in the morning becomes a trip as we vicariously whupp a Mumbaikar's ass, while jiving to Massive Attack, albeit with such subtlety that his kevlar-based cranium could let very little sarcasm percolate through. CHEERIO!!!!!

Late evenings sitting at Koshy's, meeting new people and reminiscing the old. Getting wasted over Filet Mignon and KF Premiums yet again. Checking the digital wrist watch to apprise oneself of the time, the deadline, the curfew. The rush back home, a quick shower and a quicker change of scene. Some sit and watch at Eastlands, some root for the Stretford end. But all watch with bated breath, hoping for the ball to find the opposing net. Furious chants and even furious screams of contentment. It's all in good faith mate.

Opeth and Bleak, Heir Apparent, Moor's Lament, The Drapery Falls and The Grand Conjuration, in an open air theater in IIT Madras that was constructed only to accomodate the more illustrious Bollywood stars. Opeth made it look like a walk in the park, showering us with brutal intensity in the midst of vociferous tonsil vibrations and head oscillations. It was heaven, hell and everything in between. And the 4 hour risde back to Bangalore from Chennai, at an ambient speed of 120 kmph, in a hotbox of a car with the A/C on. Touch it while you can.

It is good to be back. I shall consume the last morsel of Lay's before I crash for a rather long night at work. It's saturday tomorrow, so should be fun.