Gratitude:
It’s earlier than I’d care to share and I’ve woken up shamefully responsibly for some one who is self-employed. To top that, I’m qualifying that self-employment with the idea of trying to play jazz – and this , is no hour any
While the rest of the world out there, beyond my four walls, is busy crashing and burning their way through showers, breakfasts and traffic, I’m sitting on the floor of the house’s spare room, leaning against the wall with my ears cushioned with headphones. It’s like being held by sound. It’s a feeling I’ll never take for granted. [Boston sunset].
I converted the spare room (Nico!) into a mini-studio/practice room. The bass is lying infront of me on a rug that I bought just for it, there are microphone stands, microphones, cables and sheets of music strewn across from yesterday’s rehearsal.
More than music-related paraphernalia, there are pieces from a million miles away, everywhere.
I look straight ahead and I see some of the sheets I printed out for the Calcutta tour a little over a month ago. I met this fab guitar player who setup a series of shows for us and found me a bass. We played a whole bunch over a week and had a crazy good time doing it. It was the first time I travelled as an independent musician, without a band and without a bass. I saw every inch of that city, drenched in rain and soaked in humidity, trying to find a bass that I could play. I went through five before I found one that worked. It was beautiful.
Within a month of getting back to Delhi, I got restless again - and after a gig with Syncopation, I decided to fly out to the States. I booked my ticket and three days later, I was out. I spent about 5 days each, in a bunch of different places – living with different people.
I look to my right and I see my unpacked suitcase. Still relatively unpacked. Still refusing to allow the introduction of some distance between the present and the past three weeks.
I look to my left, the desk is littered: with boarding passes, bus passes and train passes. With coins from here, there and everywhere – with a chain of keys that I found at a park in New York at 2am, in the rain - under the light of the empire state building, sitting there left behind. I couldn’t resist picking them up. Some poor bastard probably had a bad night. He/She can’t begin to imagine where their keys are.
There are folded up bits of paper, with phone numbers, addresses – of places I stayed and places I wanted to pop into. Bills from things I ate – and predominantly, drank.
My restless fingers even nicked two hair-bands from a friends’ car, in the States. One electric blue and one neon yellow – and now they’re intertwined and tagged to the keys of my, earlier, very black backpack. The same backpack that more than half gave in when I was walking upto my gig with Red last Friday. I flew in at 5.30 in the morning from SFO and ended up having a gig the same night. It was one for the keeping. The backback however, needs to go.
Even on the corner of this computer screen, I have open the event page for a gig Syncopation has this coming Friday - on the 26th of August. It’s at the same venue our last gig was. It’s called Circa 1193 and it’s right next to the Qutub Minar. My first gig there, was with Drift on a fucking’ cold, windy and foggy December night. I still remember watching the planes fly right over us as we played – and the Qutub looking like you could reach across and touch it. It might be a bit much, but I think it was a full moon out that night too.
All these parallel existences – past and present, here and everywhere else. All I have to do is take one second to think – of people, gigs, musicians, places – that have come and gone. There is so much love, so much life and So much light.
The only thing I’ve ever wanted from life – and the only thing I still want, is some semblance of an extraordinary existence. I don’t know what that means and what that might feel like, but as I sit here, with my eyes half closed, with a stupid smile on my face from the ridiculously gorgeous music I’m listening to, I can’t help but stop for a second and think, that I am so, so grateful, for every single moment.
..
As a parting note: I rented a bass while I was in San Francisco. My lovely aunt had the pleasure of returning it to the store after I left, this is the email that she sent me. It’s made my day twice over:
“Well, I have to admit I have more respect for you and your less-than-obvious strength after having (wo)man-handled that ho of a bass into the car today and returned her to the brothel. How the hell do you manage in your car?! You did explain that she sits next to you but, really... Intense. And then the first thing she does around the first turn is slide around like some drunk. Luckily her pimps were perfectly happy with her condition so all is well. I'll suggest flute next time.”
... What more could I ever ask for.
