Turbulence en route to Nowhere.

It’s a fucking genuinely enlightening experience. Waking up in the morning and for that one split second, you have no idea where you are. Okay, the menu on the right side table tells me we’re not in Delhi, it’s a guest house in Chandigarh: we’re off to a fabulous start. There’s somebody singing in the shower. Also brilliant, i’m not alone in this memorable experience. My mouth’s minty, which not only means that I was neurotic enough in my habit to brush my teeth last night, but points more to the fact that it wasn’t so long ago that I did brush them. I did change too – I’m wearing pyjamas. So far we’re doing great. There’s a white shirt and a black v-neck sweater hanging off the chair next to me. Doesn’t look like something I’d wear, but then I forgot my suit in Delhi – so I ended up spending half of what I earned at the gig last night buying those two things. I did look good though. “New York Pretty Chique-Boy”, that’s what my drummer was kind enough to suggest – where I’m flattering myself is, with the ‘-que’. I believe he was going for chick. It works for me, I guess.

The gig was fun enough, but not for it’s playing. The perfect sound, with the perfect venue and just a lot of a communication breakdown. The cues were all over the place and every one was pretty confused. Well, I was making a mess. In any case, right now I just couldn’t be fucked. On the other hand, the bass tone was beyond divine. It was the kind of tone that reminded me why I play the instrument I do. It was an outdoor gig, so on appearance: It was cold and all the trees were lit up with small white lights. It was foggy and it was beautiful. The crowd was pretty receptive and if not receptive, really attractive. The pianist we were playing with was kind enough to clarify that this was a very classy gig. Man, Punjabi women. I’m from Delhi – and I may harbour some false notions about seeking intellect, but fuck it, this is beyond a soft spot. I talked to a few women last night – but at these weddings and parties it’s like being in the middle of a jungle. It’s all out Darwin.

I digress.

Back to the room. I’m obviously more than hungover. Mostly because I’m still a little high. There’s more than two bottles of white wine in my system and more than a couple of shooters. I never take shots. I guess I was on vacation last night. The edges of my eyes are still vibrating. Lets see, my wallet’s still around. What comes next? It’s funny, it’s always the cellular phone. I’m convinced that I’ve lost it. I roll out of bed and I can barely stand. I check the bass, my backpack and the table. No sign of it – anywhere. I try calling it – no luck. I check my skinnies’ pockets, nope. It’s funny how the only thing that’s bothering me is the idea of invasion of privacy. I finally move the blankets and there it is, in all it’s black cold metal. I suddenly feel sick – and it’s not the alcohol. I walked in at round about 5 in the morning, swayed in is more accurate – packed away my bass with the love it deserves, changed my clothes, brushed my teeth and picked up my phone and fell asleep with it on the other side of my pillow. Something about this doesn’t click for me. I’m not this person.       

My body and mind feels like they’re broken. Maybe it’s from drinking and dancing last night – but it’s probably from the past week. Drift usually rehearses about 4 days a week – and the schedule’s been pretty consistent for a few months now – since August to be accurate. This particular week, we got ourselves a perfect score card. Morning rehearsals Monday through Friday followed by four days and four performances. Friday and Saturday at the aman, Sunday at the Polo grounds with Nicolas and finally Monday at Chandigarh. 

Sunday is worth mentioning because I got to do and see a lot of things I hadn’t seen and done before. For starters, I’d never been near a polo ground – leave alone watched a match. I now know the rules of polo – it’s like very-up market football. The funny thing is the teams switch goal sides every time some one scores – I don’t know why though. I imagine it can be disorienting if you’re having a spaced out day – but then I imagine people don’t day dream much on charging horses. Speaking of which, I got to see a lot of horses really up close – that’s something. They have really big eyes and I like that. The crowds that turn up for these things are well, pretty self-explanatorily, the crowds that turn up for these things. I did see a guy who looked like a very colour blind and pimped out Chick Corea. The actual playing time was somewhere around ten minutes. You could call the sound system awful – but that would presuppose the existence of a sound system. I basically got handed a 50-foot cable and was told to go stand on the field with Nicolas.

When we finally had to play – it became all about latency. I played one note and then I heard a flanger-overdriven-distorted sort of sound blare out of the speaker just about one or two seconds later. It was more than  a disaster. I played through the track we were doing but it really didn’t make any sense, after a while there was just no sound, so Nicolas played moreorless accompanied. It was a bit sad because there were quite few people who did huddle up around us to watch. I don’t think I’ve ever sounded worse in my life. Faulty cables. 

It’s strange because slowly all of my instincts are telling me to pack up and fuck off. I need to wash this all off. The bad-tones, the shaky playing, the masters with it’s uncanny ability to sneak up on me. It’s probably just cumulative ‘something’, but I feel like there’s a layer of dirt on my general perception and I’m begging for clarity. In any case, I’m grounded for the next two months or more, on account of playing and more so, because of the masters semester final exams which are coming up in a little under two and a half weeks.

Detergent anybody?