Born and raised a Hindu I never considered my religion as a part of my existence at all. I grew up opposing things I could not make logical sense of. Customs that did not have any practical significance and spiritual logics that worked within their own interests like politics. But it’s eminent that the GOD factor hits you in life every once in a while. When you question yourself, does he really exist? Especially in times of need and despair you tend to gravitate towards the idea of religion. One fine day in February 2007 every bit of my worldly possessions besides the clothes I was wearing got burnt in an apartment fire. I lost documents, pictures, clothes, money, and my school work, basically everything I had been working so hard for all this time.
My mother heard of this and went to do what she normally does in times of a problem, pray. On top of that she went to a “Jyotish baje” (fortune teller) and he recommended that I worship lord Shiva. Every time I talked to her she kept insisting that I become a little more religious or do as she says. I craved for an answer rather than a blatant remedy. I wanted to believe in something for a change but I just did not find the right direction. My way of being religious and answering to my mother’s request was to go get me a tattoo of “Om Nama Shivaya” on my forearm. That way I see the hymn dedicated to lord Shiva everyday for the rest of my life. But all this sudden changes faded away as time passed. But not for too long though.
Life got rougher by the day and to add to the trauma my grandfather who I was really close to growing up passed away. I could not even say goodbye or just be with my family. It took a heavy toll on me. Depression sunk in to me like a sinking freight ship .Deeper and deeper. I went on the 13 day long fasting as a mourning process, shaved my head and did what my culture and religion demands me to do. I used this time to do a lot of soul searching but it only brought more misery than answers.
One day I was at work feeling really depressed, down and tired of long shifts. A Sikh man with the traditional turban and a notebook in his hand walked into my work place. His eyes were distinct and piercing. His voice was soothing and comforting, especially at a time when I was restless inside. He asked me to show him my palms. In my mind I thought “Where the fuck did this guy come from”?, an Indian guy reading palms in the suburbs of Dallas. Just did not add up. But his persona was so strong he drew me towards him. It was almost as if I was under a spell. On a regular day I would not believe this guy telling me about my future by looking at my palms. But I was vulnerable at that time. I was in dismay when he mentioned a loss of a close one. I asked him who sent you here. He just said , “He can’t come so he sends people like me.”. To prove his point further on he asked me to think of a bird and put a piece of paper in my hand. He told me to open the paper without revealing to him what bird I was thinking of. When I undid the folded paper it had “Pigeon” written on it in Hindi. And that was what I was thinking of. The guy went on for about five more minutes bombarding me with blessings and guidelines. I could barely keep up with his tempo of doing things. He gave be a blessed piece of black stone that he proclaimed had an image of the lord Ganesh on it. It wrapped my fingers around it and told me I should wear it around my neck with a black thread. This seemed all too familiar but at a very unusual time and place. I was confused and to add to all this semi hallucinating experience the guy got down to business. “Son donate some money to the poor”, because if you give you will enjoy a larger return. Quiet an investment scheme he had. I offered a small amount of $10 which he blindly refused. I was so much in his spell I handed him; let’s just say a larger amount.
Throughout the remainder of the day I could not gravitate to what had just happened. Did the guy just con me? But at the same time his touch felt like it took off a load off my chest. I felt calmed and serene. Out of all these years I have worked here, I had never before seen the man. And as he walked away I felt weak and emotional. I thought of my grandfather.
December 13 is the “Death” anniversary of my hero and one of my favorite music personalities, Chuck Schuldiner from the legendary death metal band called “Death”. I was still growing up when Chuck and his band were touring and writing music. But about a year before Chuck passed away due to brain cancer I laid my hands upon the iconic album “Symbolic” . Back then I wasn’t really into heavy music as much , I listened to bands like Pantera, Metallica, Sepultura, etc. But the first time heard the opening riffs of the song ‘Crystal Mountain’ I knew that this was the greatest shit I had ever heard. Lot of people label him as the godfather of Death Metal but I look at him more like a pioneer of innovative heavy music. Progressive might be another word that might describe Chuck. At an age when glam and thrash ruled the world Chuck chose a different path. He created a sound that was never heard before. Beautifully harmonized melodies, thunderous blast beats, guttural vocals and dark-philosophical lyrics. And often people accredit him for his guitar skills but I always thought Chuck was an amazing songwriter as well.
Do you feel what I feel, see what I see, hear what I hear
There is a line you must draw between your dream world and reality
Do you live my life or share the breath I breathe
Lies feed your judgment of others
Behold how the blind lead each other
The philosopher
You know so much about nothing at all
“The Philosopher,” Individual Thought Patterns
You be the judge.
His work truly is, ART. His influence on me personally is endemic. Some argue about his stint with Christianity before his death. It is contradicting to his work, yes, but I hate assholes who think they are conformist to the so called anti-social lifestyle.
Like this paranoid asshole.
http://www.anus.com/metal/about/metal/chuck_schuldiner.html
How metal can you really be? This asshole wrote to chuck’s mother and says this in his own writing “Judeo-Christianity, or Christianity; however you prefer, is the mindset that drives the hatred which drives a desire for a new way or possibility in metal”.
I would like to say to the self proclaimed advocate of Metal, “Speak for your own self- Asshole”. The same lyric that’s quoted above has been used by our friend at anus.com as Chuck’s defense of being a Christian. Chuck was Jewish by birth and our friends at anus.com I believe are Christians by birth, and if anus.com wants to talk about being pro-choice well I do not see why they dislike chuck. He made a choice, he had skimpy voice doesn’t necessarily mean he was gay; he loved cats thus he wore t-shirts with kittens on it. May Leonardo Da Vinci was a homosexual but does that discredit all his works?
Ps. No wonder it’s called anus.com, because it’s filled with assholes.
Chuck was a regular guy, shy, loved animals, cooked and took his mother to the mall for shopping. He was a musician. And just like preachers and god goons people that try to glamorize stuff like Satanism or any ideology about following something are on the same platform to me.
I didn’t wake up this morning wanting to write a blog about chuck but I got provoked and disgusted by the article that I linked above. The Sound of Perseverance is truly the sound of perseverance. I am not glorifying the man here gratuitously but glorifying his work, his art and his talent. What he was in his personal life has nothing to do with “Death” irrespective to all the propagandas. I don’t believe in them and more importantly I really don’t care.
The last show I had seen was the Cannibal Corpse/ Dying Fetus tour back in December 2006 with Sushant and it was quiet an eventful night. We had come very close to getting a DUI or a Public Intoxication charge. Memories.
I had contemplated watching many shows in between this period but some how it never did happen. Last Monday Charles, Sushant and I headed out to lower Green Ville in Dallas to watch what would be my first night to watch a Metal gig in almost two years.
Let me tell you why this gig was special.
First, I had not been out just as my old self in quiet a while. Put on my favorite attire (an old Band T-shirt and Jeans) and caring less about the rest of my life. Obligated to have a good time and listening to the music that shapes my persona.
Lastly, the front man of Soulfly is Max Cavalera. The front man of the old Thrash /Speed/Death Metal band Sepultura. As a teenager my choice of music was Metal and now it governs my ideologies. One particular band that had a very radical impact on me growing up was “Sepultura”. A Brazilian band that became world renowned singing songs of frustration, political injustice and just the misfortune of being born in a third world country. It reflected what I felt and I could relate to the music they played like it was meant for me. In particular the album “Arise” stands out due to the fact that it was the first record I had heard from the band Sepultura. Every time there was a riot in the streets of Kathmandu I had a severe urge to crank up “Refuse/Resist” on my stereo. I had a poster of the band on my wall that I used to pride upon and emulate Max to the snap shot. I loved to wear camouflage trousers and when I had an opportunity to get on stage with my old college band we belted out half of the “Arise” record. It was almost relevant to the time and events that surrounded us as young adults.
I got to see my idol up close and alive.
The laundry basket lies overflowing in the corner.
“The laundry machine is broken, what do you want me to do?” she hollers.
The damn thing has not drained itself in three days. I suggested she call the maintenance. But somehow help never came. I finally had a day off and the stench of the dirty water was starting to pollute the air inside the apartment.
I have had enough. I had to do something about it or spend the rest of my day in the foul air. I have no clue as to how a washing machine works. Never have had any experience with machinery, or any kind of repairs. But this agenda demanded solution and I was determined to find it. I gathered all the little tools I had around. A couple of pliers, battery operated screw drivers and few old screws and bolts. But some thing was missing.
Beer!
Got me a six pack and off I went. I tried to study how a washing machine works and all its components. It was me against the machine. It took me a good thirty minutes to disassemble the whole thing. Basic physics and some common sense is all it took to figure out the working mechanism of the machine. The only reason the water could not drain out, had to be a clog in the drainage pipe. That was my diagnosis. A good twenty minutes of scuffle landed me at a drainage tube which felt suspicious. From just feeling it from outside, I could tell the problem was exactly at that spot. I could feel almost a round soft object just stationary at the juncture of the hose and the excretion line. The factory made equipment was tough to disassemble. After finally getting the clips off the hose I reached in and grabbed a single piece of sock out.
A single sock had ruined the day. I made a mess by spilling the dirty water all over the place after releasing the clog. But the joy that I obtained by just figuring this out was an elevation I had never attained at any kind of work. I needed a replacement for the clip that held the hose to the disposal pipe. I found a radiator hose clip, modified it a little bit to fit my needs.
The magic of working with your hands, Ice cold beer and sweaty arm pits and fixing shit, every cell in my body oozes manhood.
The storm outside had just settled. Jobless and locked in the house for days, we were itching to get out.
Binod had been watching some reality TV garbage all day when he turned to me and said, “Let’s go shoot some pool, bro.” I complied.
We headed out to this local pool hall by the freeway. On our way Samrat called and said he was going to join us after work. All this while Subin and Suman had gone to Weatherford to see some folks that had been visiting Texas and had some gift from their parents they wanted to pick up.
It was a cold -dark night, Samrat showed up rather anxious talking on his cell phone, while Binod and I were engrossed with our game in hand. When inquired with Samrat and he mentioned that Subin and Suman were on the side of Interstate 20 trying to get his worked up Kia to start. Lately, Subin had been talking about trying to sell that car and get something reliable. They were going to get help while we were on standby as rescue, if they needed to be.
Almost an hour passed by but no response from the two. We even presumed that the car must have had a bad battery or someone might have helped fix it. We tried calling them to check but both their cell phones said they were out of range. After several voice mails and text messages it got to a point where worry started creeping in. Samrat suggested we go take a look to check for them and without any hesitation Binod and I were in his car on I20 west. Samrat had an idea on where they were stranded but all of us were rather unfamiliar with that part of town.
I sat in the back seat unaware of what Samrat and Binod were talking about. My eyes were fixed outside the car. We got past the city and farther we went there was more of nothing to look at. The temperature outside must have been close to freezing. Some what like Kathmandu, during the cold winter months. I was having flashbacks of home since I had not been here in the US for too long. Lot went inside my mind, made new friends, was looking for some old ones and starting a whole new life in a totally new place made me miss home and family even more. But somehow the company i had and the hope that still was alive in me kept me smiling and moving on.
We now were about forty minutes into the drive and Samrat lowered the radio and started to point towards the other side of the freeway where the two of them were supposed to be. We spotted them but had to drive further up and make a U-turn to get to them. They were both standing outside with the bonnet up and fiddling with something as if they knew what was wrong.
Once we got there, Suman jumped into Samrat’s Honda, “Turn the heater on man, my balls are about to freeze”.
We got out to see what we could do to resolve this issue. Being relevantly new to this circle of friends and to the country itself, I did not have much to say. I was an audience, lets just say. I used to hit it off pretty good with Suman so i stepped into the car with him and he told me what all they had been doing for the last hour and a half. He showed me his cell phone which had no signal at that spot. He joked about how they had gone out into the fields with nothing but a Wal-Mart shopping bag to find water since the radiator had overheated.
Next thing i know Samrat was digging up his trunk looking for something and i asked Subin, “What are we going to do?”
He said that they were intending to pull the car to the next gas station to leave it overnight as it was no point trying to stand there in the middle of the night in that cold looking like a bunch of idiots. They had even called 911 and a patrol did pass by, asked them what the problem was and left them there with promise of help. May be a tow truck. So, my friends decided to take the matters into their own hands. Samrat pulled a rope that did look like it was made for towing with hooks on each side to latch onto each car. I helped and watched as they prepared to actually pull the Kia with the help of Samrat’s new Honda Civic.
All set and I was in the back seat of the Kia with Subin on the driver’s seat and Binod in front with him. I instinctively chose the Kia since I was closer to Subin and Binod I guess.
But Subin turned around and said, “Bro why don’t you go sit in the car in front since you are fat it might be easier to pull without you in here”. Subin and his fucked up humor.
” Yea! Really funny”. I moved to the car in front with Suman and Samrat. Suman was lying down in the back seat and I went and sat next to Samrat in the front passenger side.
Both had their four-way lights on and off we went. We were pulling the little Kia with not much discomfort. After about half a mile when both cars gained a steady momentum the Kia started to swerve right and left. I kept watching it through the rare view mirror until it was swerving a little too much out of my comfort zone.
I said to Samrat, “May be we ought to just let the car be on the side of the road, this does not look like a good idea. “
“We’re almost there”, Samrat said. I decided not to look at the mirror no more. It only bothered me more and more. At that hour of the night all other vehicles on the road were eighteen wheelers carrying cargo into town.
About two minutes after i had made that comment to Samrat, I heard something that sounded like an explosion. And next thing i know i am holding on to dear life while the car we are in is spinning out of control. And as the car spun it was like everything was in slow motion. My mind raced so fast that it could not make sense of what was actually happening. But all this while i can see Samrat gripping onto the steering wheel and looking blank as white light. His mind probably went though the same thing as mine and Suman’s in the back seat. What in the hell just happened here?
After about two complete spins the car swerved on to the grassy patch separating the two sides of the interstate. I finally let the breath out that i was holding all these twenty seconds of unrealistic chaos, the car came to a stop. Almost unanimously we all gazed at each others eyes. But we had nothing to say to each other. I wonder what would be the right thing to say.
Samrat got out of the car immediately and I turned to Suman in the back who was grabbing on to the seat dazed and confused and he uttered almost in a whisper “What the hell just happened dude?”
I answered with a question “Are you all right?”
And without answering each other we just jumped out of the car. Still unable to access the situation we walked towards the eighteen wheeler that was stopped in the middle of the road. An older white man stepped out of the cabin with a flash light in his hand asking us if we were all right. He seemed weary and kept rubbing his eyes as we screamed at him in anger how he could not see two cars with all their blinkers on.
A cold chill went down my spine when I saw all the debris from the Kia scattered on the freeway across fifty odd yards. I saw a large piece of the bumper which was bent in half in the middle of the road. My mind was still racing with thoughts and i felt weak in my knees thinking about what I might have to witness tonight. Binod’s face kept flashing in front of me as I thought of the worst. Subin’s comment about me sitting in his backseat kept ringing in my ears to the point of dizziness. The Kia was visibly destroyed after taking a hit from an 80,000 pound big rig moving at seventy miles an hour.
Subin and his fucked up humor. It seemed like a fat joke saved my life. I almost fell sick in my stomach and i squatted down leaning on to the wet road and I saw the front portion of what was remaining of the Kia from underneath the trailer of the rig. There seemed to be a figure trying to open the driver’s side door in the pitch darkness.
I instinctively started to run towards it.
Recent Comments