But all of us friends had other friends too. M had prepared well for this. Already high from a generous dose of local hooch the previous night, he fortified his mental acuity with local weed, cheaply obtained from the many friendly vendors on the campus
A bright sun broke over the horizon and temperatures were in single digits on this February day in 1974. The college campus sprawled over several hundred manicured acres at the edge of the Thar Desert and we would do anything for a break from the dreary routine of classes and mess food. Then came the news that the film club of the adjoining national research institute would screen the definitive film on Woodstock, the rock event of 1969 when half a million people had communed with the best music in the world. Several of us crossed the gates and beelined to the tiny auditorium that ran a special show for students hitherto limited to a weekly diet of popcorn movies from Bombay.
But all of us friends had other friends too. M had prepared well for this. Already high from a generous dose of local hooch the previous night, he fortified his mental acuity with local weed, cheaply obtained from the many friendly vendors on the campus. P was of a different mould. He believed only in the best and reinforced his innards with tablets of different hues. R helped procure them from Delhi, and shared the costs by reselling contraband on campus for marginal gain. K, god-fearing and meticulous, always partook of his alcohol after droplet offerings to divine forces. His involvement with botanical sources of mental nourishment was yet to evolve, and this outing plays an important part in his exploration. Feigning the high moral ground, I trudged along with the company desisting from tasting the manna, mainly because of a cardinal fear of the unknown, as well as a rather light wallet.
The show began. A haze of flickering images of large masses swaying in the wind to the beats of power performers, interspersed with shaky and grainy montages of giants with guitars and drums imposing a compelling rhythm on our minds and senses. A wandering guru-type dispensing wisdom. Trusty Ravi Shankar attempting to stir these lost hordes with a sprightly Manj Khamaj.
And then, quite suddenly, everything billowed out of our minds into the cosmos.
What would you think if I sang out of tune?
Joe Cocker poured gravel into the notes and they overflowed as liquid bliss deep into our hearts.
...I’ll try not to sing out of key
K swayed a little, touched more than moved, and looked across at me. F***! he mouthed. Either the alcohol was working or Cocker’s idiom was permeating his brain. P’s glazed eyes changed little, but from the tremor in his fingers I could sense a tiny revolution in the making. M was a little more circumspect, awaiting a further injection of pop wisdom that would change his universe entirely. It arrived soon.
Would you believe in love at first sight?
Yes, I’m certain it happens all the time.
What do you see when you turn out the light?
The lights in the auditorium were out, only the screen pulsed with polychrome that reflected on our upturned faces. M turned to K expectantly. Da, it will happen now. K wasn’t too clear what would. But he was game anyway. A fierce flash of platinum white light illuminated the gently rocking audience. It also lit up the bright face of Chikki, away in the far corner of the room. Chikki, black locks ringing her bulging eyes, mouth a little agape, immersed in the views of brawny rockers against grassy paddocks. M goggled too. Look, Da, turning K’s attention to the apparition in a blue frock. K veered his somewhat dilated pupils from Chikki to M and back to Chikki. Yes, man, this is just what Cocker is saying, he drawled.
Would you believe in love at first sight?
Yes, I’m certain it happens all the time
What do you do when you turn out the light?
I can’t tell you, but I know it’s mine!
This is it, Da! She’s the one! R came into the scene. What’s with him, he enquired of K. Nothing, perhaps the hooch is working. He looked closely at M, now
peering into the middle darkness with no particular focus. No, R pronounced magisterially. He’s been gobsmacked. Blown out of his mind, I helpfully whisper-translated to P. What do we do now?
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, get high with a little help from my friends
Oh, I’m gonna try with a little help from my friends
There was the answer. M looked at K, R at me. We all nodded sagely.
And then, Cocker’s primal scream bellowed out across the auditorium, spewing shrapnel, shattering the wooden speakers, shaking our very marrows. It lasted on and on. Chikki met M’s eyes. A faint smile crept out of the corners of her mouth. And she furtively looked down and away.
The five of us layered our palms together in a firm grip. With you, Da. We will make it happen! All of us friends, plus friends of friends.
M and Chikki now run a home of four kids and several grandchildren. They have six degrees between them in far-away Minnesota. They are ever-grateful for the little help from their friends.
