Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Skipping wheels of rhyme

Those of us fortunate enough to live surrounded by trees will have noticed that the wind through the leaves on a stormy night sounds like the ocean.

Last night Super Girl came over for a spliff or two. We were sitting on the terrace and it was absolutely still till we complained of the heat.

Also noticed that the Ashoka in front of my house looks sort of like a horse sitting on its bum. And when it turns, it looks like a dog..

The ocean is a view I'd love to have from my bedroom window. Preferably a bedroom in a cliffside hacienda overlooking Vagator Hill where I live with my Brazilian model girlfriend.

Every time we've gone to Goa, we've lived on the beach despite the ancestral pad and relatives crawling in the woodwork. Considering the ancestral pad is in the middle of Divar (an island on the Mandovi river, which you have to take a ferry to get to) and the last ferry is at 9pm, and the house is surrounded by nosy relatives makes it .. umm ... unfeasible.

The past few times I've gone, I've had the misfortune to have gone with people who hadn't been to Goa before. So I couldn't do my thing.
My Goa vacation is getting up early around 8 and heading to the nearest shack in a sarong with rolling bowl, towel and fiction novel.
Grab a beach chair staring at the horizon, spread the towel, order a fresh juice of whatever fruit, roll a sparker, spread some suntan lotion and cook.

Around lunch, follow the rest into the shade for beer and crab, before roling one more and heading back to the lounger.
Approximately around sunset, roll one more, towel off and head back to the room for a shower. Post showers, everyone meets at a pre-determined place for dinner, after which, its time to hit the clubs in Baga, Anjuna, Calangute, wherever.. heading to the open parties some time after midnight.

The first time I popped ecstacy was in Goa too... Millenium New Year's Eve night at Disco Valley in Vagator.
I remember nothing happening for some time after I swallowed it and then a rush of something warm in my stomach that compressed into a ball before exploding mildly to stick to the sides of my stomach. This sensation then slowly spread to the tips of my fingers and toes till I felt like my body was humming.
I bounced once and immediately went doiiiiiiiiiing!!! felt like I was on the moon, I was higher than the DJ sitting in the cliff, looking over my shoulder, I could see the lights of the ships rolling over the horizon. I came back down and took off again.
It was an incredible feeling... the rush of air through my hair as I reached for the stars, the catch in my gut as I came floating down to land..
I remember the sun coming up and trying to touch it... burning my fingers in its yellow gel..

I woke to see my feet dotted in orange-sized blisters (since I'd been jumping barefoot) with assorted cuts and bruises. Coudln't walk much for the rest of the trip.

Lucy is another seductress I'd like to see occasionally, but not often.
Danced with her in PV once and was walking home with the some buds.
This was in winter and PV had tendrils of fog weaving in and out of empty plots, creating different worlds under the orange street lamps.
Everything looked like death... random rickshawwallas floating by shrouded in sackcloth, a forlorn stray dog staring out from under a parked car and everywhere the deafening sound of silence.

We turn a corner and down the lane, through the mist, to our horror, we see a house on fire!
The entire three-storey structure was in flames with people running up and down with buckets of water; shouting and commotion filling the night.
We start walking faster but the closer we get to the house, the fire begins to dwindle till when we reach the spot.....
It was two security guards warming their hands by a fire.
Their shadows, on the wall behind them, looked at us and laughed.

I don't like the coke high.
With Mary, Lucy, E and mushies, it's always a colourful trip. With coke, it's this grainy, nerves-on-edge world of grey.
With aforementioned four, sound can do wonderful things to your brain. With coke, music turns to the screeching grating of a train wreck.
Methinks everyone wants to do coke because they think its cool to do coke...


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