Saturday, November 23, 2019

2659 : Ball and chain

I have not seen you in months, or so it feels. If I was a chalet, my walls would have missing posters with your photo plastered on it. Can you imagine that? Frayed sheets of particle paper, with your mug shot dangling at the center, hanging in just about there.

I remember you singing jazz, attempting a silken voice, but actually sounding like what I always used to call as "Goan Trash"....You used to hate me saying that (notice the past tense...., odd. is it not?)

How you would attempt "Dream a little dream of me" and fabulously fuck it up. And I would call your accent a mish-mash of Asian Chop Suey and Pad Thai....essentially a cesspool :-).

The other day I was strolling in our favorite music store, and I thought I saw someone turn a corner. And I was kind of sure, bloody awesomely sure, it was your shadow that I saw. Something in that contour had your likeness, and the corner of my eye trapped that pattern.

A brief moment to contemplate, and then I briskly chased that apparition. As I turned into that aisle, the aisle was empty. Empty, yes....not that it had another person who I had mistaken for you...it had emptiness.

Was I hallucinating?

Probably yes. I stood there staring at the empty aisle. Studded with records and CDs of legends, some of whom I had never met, but I always felt a deep universal connect. Stand corrected, "we" felt a deep universal connect.

And as I stood there, staring at the album covers, some mugshots staring back at me...portraits of strangers....and yet....with some of those I share(d) a deep personal connect.

I felt like searching those racks, those portraits, those images staring back at me. A strange thought had enveloped me in that moment. I almost believed that in some sinister sort of way, I would inadvertently find you starting back at me from one of those records. A record where I will have probably 8-10 of your songs...akin to memories, a common trove of shared blitz.

Thats what you have become, another record in a collection that I don't own, but I immensely value. The corridors of these records are where you seemed to have been trapped. And yet, while you were the one trapped, I am the one who is your prisoner, for time eternal. 

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