Marianne

I wake up at midnight and stare at the sky
I watch the steps on the escalator go by
The last time I saw you is clear as day
Just like the Boston song you were walking away

We knew each other for longer than ever
And your love’s sunshine I shall forget never
My thoughts are frozen in time to stay
What a fool I was for I let you get away

I cannot take back the pain I have caused
You can never get back the years that you lost
Here’s hoping you find love and go your own way
While I wallow in regret ’til my dying day

(She’s A) Reptile

I met her at the sleaze-pit on Lagrange
Fell for her moves, though they were mighty strange
As she mixed pleasure with sweet pain
I poured all my money down the drain

She’s a reptile, she’s a reptile, she’s out to get you
Oh, my little reptile and her sweet stranglehold

Mercilessly she walked out the door
I had to go after her though I was pretty sore
Caught up with her by the drugstore
With an evil smile she made me beg for more

She’s a reptile, she’s a reptile, she’s out to get you
Oh, my little reptile and her sweet stranglehold

She had her way with me, you no she knew the score
One look from those eyes and I was floored
Now she’s gone but she’s always on my mind
Some will leave you broke and dead at the same time

She’s a reptile, she’s a reptile, she’s out to get you
Oh, my little reptile and her sweet stranglehold

The Commuter Rail Sonnet

Wake up everyday before the day dawns
Ride like the wind just to make it on time
Only it’s not some hellcat that I get to ride
It is a filthy green slug trailing on slime

For it’s a long way to where I have to be
My private little prison where I punch in
A diesel goliath I board to take me in
To deliver me to the corporate machine

It is a long, lonely ride and would be painful
If not for two things I have to keep me cool
The first- Led Zeppelin- on my ears to soothe
The other, sweet woman, are thoughts of you

All Hail Caesar

I am a sucker – for I had the chance to see AC/DC perform live in Boston – and I missed it. I somehow rationalize by saying that circumstances that prevented me from attending the show were too strong, but I know in the back of my head that I could have overcome them if I had only had the energy and the commitment – that has the potential to lead me into another topic altogether, so let us stick to AC/DC. I’ve become a fan of this local Bostonian classic rock FM station, WZLX 100.7. Since I couldn’t go to the concert, I was home all day not wanting to do anything else – just listening to this station. It didn’t help that they kept talking about the show as well. They were holding a pre-concert party at The Harp and giving away free tickets through a draw. I could have gone, perhaps – seen “Back In Black” (the apparently very popular AC/DC tribute band) perform, and if I didn’t get the tickets, I’d at least have had a beer or two and a reasonably good time. But I didn’t go. I seem to be digressing again. Back to AC/DC.

I was however, probably one of the earliest listeners of the new AC/DC album, “Black Ice”. It thoroughly and undoubtedly rocks. Unlike “sellouts” like Metallica, the riffs are still powerful, the guitar-work is still magnificent, the overall sound still brings it. That’s right – Angus and the boys are still bringing it. But the biggest attention-grabber is Brian Johnson – he is 61 (that’s right SIXTY-ONE) years old now and still sounds exactly the same as he did during “Back In Black”. Let’s just say his “Powerage” hasn’t faded one bit. In the great AC/DC divide of Bon Scott vs. Brian Johnson – I always take Brian Johnson’s side. I listened to the album and went “Oh, man, this guy’s gonna die screaming someday!” (God forbid). AC/DC have not sold out, and will never sell out (read my lips, Metallica) – they will keep the faith. Their album and concert, on the other hand, did sell out!

Anyway, I know missing the show is going to haunt me for some time – but I have Boston to help me get through it. I love this city for it still loves classic rock and metal so much. Where else would you still get to listen to good old classic rock and metal in almost all of the bars? Case in point – a couple of weeks ago I was hanging out at Beantown Pub – and they played Slayer. That’s right – Slayer – in a pub. I love “Beantown Rock City”. As for AC/DC, I have three words: “All Hail Caesar!!”

Base Camp Chronicles: My Night in Hell — Where the Crow Came to Die

I was running as fast as I could, but the yak kept gaining on me. All of a sudden, I found myself in my lodge room. I jumped on the bed, only to discover to my horror that the yak had made it to the room as well. With all its fury, the yak jumped on me. That is when I woke up from the vivid nightmare with cold sweat all over my body. Perfectly horizontal on the bed, my head felt fine. I couldn’t put a finger on it, but I knew that there was something that was not right with my body. I decided to get up for a quick trip to the latrine. As soon as I left the bed, the entire room started spinning around me. I could hardly stand or walk straight. That is when it began– my night in hell.

It was the night before we were supposed to head for the base camp- we were in Gorak Shep, at an altitude of 5190 meters (approximately 17000 feet). Gorak Shep is the last stop before getting to Everest Base Camp or Kala Pathar. Lying in the foot of the beautiful Mount Pumori, it is a frozen lakebed with nothing but sand, ice and stones for miles around. There is a not a spec of vegetation – not a single weed or needle of grass. As if that were not enough, it is structured as a valley, so if you were to get sick with AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness) over here (which is very likely when you are 5190 meters high with no vegetation and have had very little time to acclimatize), you would have to climb up and cross about five or six hills before you could start to actually descend.

Earlier that day, one of my friends had asked one of the locals what “Gorak Shep” meant. Gorak is the Himalayan black crow. It is larger and more agile than normal city crows and has a noticable gliding fashion– quite like that of an eagle. The word “Shep”, in the local language, means “to die”. Legend has it that a Gorak from Tibet flew over to Nepal and as soon as it reached this place, it dropped dead. So apparently this was a place where even the crow, a symbol of immortality in our culture, could not survive. This was also where what the route that the Dalai Lama dubbed “the steps to heaven” ended, implying that this was the beginning of heaven. Oh, it was heaven- alright: it was scenic, it was calm, and it was beautiful. It was hell.

Still earlier that day, while ascending from Lobuche to Gorak Shep, I had noticed quite a few people sick with AMS being escorted down to Lobuche. Now that I projected back, I realized that this route must have been the one where I had seen the most number of people descending due to AMS. I also remembered hearing about this guy from Dingboche (which is at a height of about 4300 meters, mind you) getting sick with AMS at Gorak Shep! All of this combined was in no way helping my psychological state.

I somehow made it to the latrine and back and lay myself down on the bed. I tried closing my eyes, but as soon as I shut them, I felt dizzy as hell, nauseaous and felt like throwing up. So I opened my eyes back again. It was dark. I lit my flashlight and looked at my friend over on the next bunk — he seemed to be sleeping soundly. As much as I wanted to help it, my mind started to recollect on the alleged symptoms of AMS: headache (I’d always had a mild one), dizziness (oh, boy!), vivid nightmares (remember the yak?), insomnia, loss of appetite, nausea, vomitting and so on. The words “pulmonary edema and cerebral edema” started to ring around my brain. The number “12″ kept coming back to me — 12 hours: that is how long it takes for a person to go from mild AMS to coma or death.

Sleepless, I lay there in the dark: thinking. My only wish was that I be able to spend the next four or five hours pass without getting any sicker. To hell with Base Camp: as soon as morning hit, I would descend to Lobuche. Around 2 AM, our trekking guide came knocking. Surprised, I answered. I was even more surprised to see him all dressed up.
“Good Morning, sir!”
“Good Morning? It is 2 AM!”
“What? I thought it was 5 AM! I have this terrible headache and I can’t get any sleep. I woke up and it just felt like 5 AM. Sorry, sir, please go back to sleep.”
Even the trekking guide, for whom traversing these altitudes was all in a day’s work — could not get any sleep!! I did manage to get some sleep, though — sometime during the twilight hours.

The next morning, my headache had somewhat subsided, but I was still dizzy. I asked both my friends how they were doing. Apparently, they both could not get any sleep either– both had terrible headaches and were dizzy beyond belief. My friend who seemed to be sleeping soundly was only trying to do so. If anything, their conditions were worse than mine. We had to reconsider whether we wanted to go on to the base camp or to descend to Lobuche. We decided to get some breakfast and see what our body told us.

With a weak and dizzy body and no appetite whatsoever, getting that bowl of porridge in through my mouth and down to my stomach that morning was as tough as anything. After breakfast, we all felt somewhat better, though not all that much. We reached a consensus: we had come this far, it would be disappointing not to reach the base camp. We would therefore make our way towards the base camp (5300 meters). If, on the way, any of us got any sicker, we would head back right away. In any case, once we were back from the base camp or from the middle, there was no way in hell that we would be spending the night in Gorak Shep. With what energy we had left, we would descend to Lobuche even if it was the last thing we did.

With what I can only explain as God’s grace, all of us made it to the base camp and back. As planned, we mustered up all our energy and made it back down to Lobuche (4950 meters). Boy, was I glad to get out of Gorak Shep!!

Sax Girl

You’re at home honey when you’re doing your thing
As you blow on your horn you make my thoughts ring
A shot of Jack and jazz from your lips any day
One look at you, sax girl, and I’ll be on my way

Saw you last night at Wally’s blowing, blowing away
Wandered the streets thinking of you or of some way
To take you home and make you mine and have my way
One look at you, sax girl, yes you make my day

Putting in my hours every day I’m wound up pretty tight
Moments with you and your tunes always make my night
A shot of Jack and jazz from your lips any day
One look at you, sax girl, and I’ll be on my way

Road Rage

As the poor soul that is our subject maneuvers his motorcycle through the ruthless streets of Kathmandu, there is no rest to the thoughts that race through his mind:

What the hell is up with this stupid car? Get out of the way, you nitwit! The road is wide open… either speed up or let me through!! I’ve been trailing your ass for the last ten minutes. I’ve been on second gear all along, burning all my precious fuel — half of which I had to queue up all day for, and half of which I had to buy at double the market price. Where the hell do you get your fuel, anyway? Doesn’t look like you’ve had to go through much to get it. You aristocratic scum, get out of the way or I swear to God I’m gonna ram your ass!!

Finally, the road widens and our subject manages to overtake the slow car, but not before a confused bicycle cuts him off from the left. Our subject has to brake hard to avoid hitting the bicycle.

Holy crap! Where the hell did you come from? You dumbass! Why do they let imbeciles like you on the streets? You know what, I’m sorry I braked — I should have just rammed you head on. That ought to have taught you.

Our subject carries on and approaches a turn. His mood improves for he knows that this is a wide one-way street.

Finally — some space.

As he turns, he almost runs head on into another motorcycle coming towards him against the one-way in the wrong direction.

Jackass!!

Finally, a wide enough road ahead of him provides some relief.

Aah, at last, fifth gear!!

His joy, however, does not last. In the distance, in the middle of the street, a bunch of people are waiting to cross the road. They march on without any regard for traffic. Obviously, our subject has to slow down yet again.

You nincompoops — just holding your hand out is not going to stop my motorbike. And staring at me is not going to do it either. What is wrong with you people? Have you lost all power of reason? Didn’t anybody ever teach you how to think? Retards!!

Things will only get worse, and our subject knows this — for now he approaches a narrow alley — full of potholes, bumps, speed breakers — and big enough for just one car to pass through at a time.

God damn all this… bloody potholes… why even put gears above second on a motorcycle, really!! And why the hell do they need a speed breaker every 10 goddamn meters!!

As our subject goes through a turn in the alley, he encounters an urban motorcycler’s worst nightmare: a slow moving car in an alley. The motorcycler, in this case, knows he has no choice but to trail behind the car at half-clutch until the alley opens up.

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!!

At this point, the car passes over a pothole and covers it up so our subject can’t see it. As soon as the car passes over, our subject’s motorcycle hits the pothole.

Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn, goddamn, goddamn!!!

Finally, with all of God’s graces, the alley opens up and moments of torment later, our subject reaches his destination. Parking, of course, is a whole different story.

Revisiting the attic

Well, Nepal has been a republic for a little while now. We don’t have a government yet — but who notices the difference anyway? At least we have a President — and a Vice President, also, for that matter — one who does not care much for our language, but a Vice President nonetheless — one that will live it up all he wants in Hindi in that nice little “palace” neighboring my favorite bowling joint. We have gone from being a dysfunctional monarchy to a dysfunctional republic. In principle, however, the latter is always better than the former.

I haven’t been to the attic atop Prithvi Narayan Shah’s Nau-Tale Darbar in Basantapur since I went there for the first time a couple of years ago and wrote about it in this very forum (see Bliss in the attic — http://www.everestuncensored.org/585/2006/06/04/bliss-in-the-attic/). Not that I did not want to go — a couple of things got in my way. The first and obvious one would be that I am as lazy as anyone can be. The second one would be the fact that a woman threw herself with her child off that very attic and killed herself. Since then, they don’t allow visitors up there. I am glad I did go when I had the chance, though.

Anyway, my own memories of the attic are pretty vague at this point. The couple of years in my life following that visit were pretty eventful and contributed towards blurring my recollections of the so called “bliss” I felt that I refer to in my original entry. I just stumbled on to the entry and felt its relevance given that we are now a fresh republic. I foresee some other schmuck like me visiting a museum someday that will inhabit the current vice-presidential “palace” and hearing voices of the vice-presidential spirit that will haunt it then. It will probably utter one of the following lines in its ghostly, pro-Indian voice.

“This is where I was headed when I was asked to do something stupid. I did as I was told. The mob arose and asked me to back down. I did the right thing. My own people slaughtered me, but the country was saved for you to live in.”

“This is where I was headed when I was asked to do something stupid. I did as I was told. The mob arose and asked me to back down. When I didn’t, they strung me up. What could I do? If I had backed down, my own people would have killed me — and trust me, they are way more ruthless than any lynch mob. Anyway, that is what led to the state of extreme anarchy that you currently dwell in.”

“This is where I was headed when I was asked to do something stupid. I did as I was told. The mob arose and asked me to back down. I didn’t, and nobody cared. You see, Nepal used to be much bigger than it is now, but that was what led to the gradual process that caused Nepal to split into all these bits and pieces — and that is eventually what led to all the genocide and ethnic cleansing that is going on right now… oh, not to mention the famine.”

I have been told I am overtly pessimistic, but I don’t think it’s my fault.

Gasoline blues

Lord, I am down, I am down as a soul can be
I’m stuck in a limbo, and stewing in misery
I could be out there riding, riding to infinity
But got no fuel to feed my ride, lord have mercy

Well the station got hold of some last week
Like bloodhounds we all rushed to the scene
Waited my turn until the sun went down on me
Got a pitiful handful, it was all for nothing

The next day with an offer the devil came to me
For twice the dough and my soul, sweet gasoline
I offered up all that I had along with my dignity
Got what I needed then, said hello to ecstasy

With the next sunrise, some crook stole it off of me
With no remorse, the urchin siphoned it out of me
And I am back in my hellhole, not riding to infinity
Well, still got no fuel to feed my ride, lord have mercy

Stargazer

Inspired in part by the 1976 Rainbow song, “Stargazer”.

It is a sad, sad little story of mankind
Masses driven by a single twisted mind
Peasants we become to the will of madmen
Drowning our lives for their demented gain

Is it power, is it charm, is it the bloodline
That overrides our divine text and makes us blind?
We flock like sheep to the sound of insanity
The voice of reason confined and subject to pity

And victory is elusive in the absolute end
The messiah’s soul tainted and heart blackened
In a chaotic frenzy, millions perish to darkness
All are gone, nobody wins in the mouth of madness

And here it is, the lyrics for Rainbow’s “Stargazer” –

High noon, oh I’d sell my soul for water
Nine years worth of breaking my back
There’s no sun in the shadow of the wizard
See how he glides, why he’s lighter than air
Oh I see his face!

Where is your star? Is it far, is it far, is it far?
When do we leave? I believe, yes, I believe!

In the heat and the rain, with the whips and chains
To see him fly, so many die
We built a tower of stone, with our flesh and bone
Just to see him fly, but we don’t know why
Now where do we go?

Hot wind, moving fast across the desert
We feel that our time has arrived
The world spins, while we put his dream together
A tower of stone to take him straight to the sky
Oh I see his face!

Where is your star? Is it far, is it far, is it far?
When do we leave? I believe, yes, I believe!

In the heat and the rain, with the whips and chains
To see him fly, so many die
We built a tower of stone, with our flesh and bone
Just to see him fly, but we don’t know why
Now where do we go?

All eyes see the figure of the wizard
As he climbs to the top of the world
No sound, as he falls instead of rising
Time standing still, then there’s blood on the sand
Oh I see his face!

Where was your star? Was it far, was it far, was it far?
When did we leave? We believed, we believed, we believed!

In the heat and the rain, with the whips and chains
To see him fly, so many died
We built a tower of stone, with our flesh and bone
To see him fly, but why…
In all the rain with all the chains did so many die?
Just to see him fly!

Look at my flesh and bone
Now, look, look, look, look, look at the tower of stone!
I see your rainbow rising
Look there, on the horizon oh no, who’s rising
And I’m coming home, I’m coming home, I’m coming home
Time is standing still, you, give back my will
Going home, I’m going home
My eyes are bleeding, and my heart is lead ahead
But it’s not home, but it’s not home
Take me back, you, give me back my will
Take me back, take me back, back to my home