I haven’t slept for two days now. A piece of Styrofoam and a
white cloth over it cannot be called a bed. It’s strange how the more you lower
your expectations of people, the more they somehow manage to let you down.
I’m starting to think that maybe humanity does not exist at
all any more. Everybody is out there to
make money or to be famous. I don’t know why it’s become so incredibly
important for everyone to do something “cool” just for the sake of it. Am I
immune to this circus? Maybe I am because I don’t want to do the drugs they
give me. I don’t fancy making contacts by sucking dicks and fellating whoever
promises career opportunities.
There’s fungus growing on the floor of the bathroom of the
room that we’ve been given at an Indian “DIY” “indie” festival. By indie I mean
being treated like shit just because you’re not rich and famous.
There’s a pest colony on the makeshift plywood walls and I
watch intently as bugs crawl around, around me, existing perfectly in their
sphere as I struggle to fit into mine.
My body has broken out into rashes, I think I’m severely allergic to
something present in my room. But does anybody care? Who am I kidding, of
course they do, what are the free shoes for! Apt compensation perhaps?
I’m finding it increasingly difficult to work in an
environment that has absolutely no consideration for basic human needs,
especially that of a woman.
For today’s gig I decided to not say a single word
in-between any song. For those of you who may know me, I am quite chatty when I
am on stage. But I did not feel that connect today. I didn’t feel the
vibe. A gig can be fun only when I feed
off the energy of the place and today all I saw before me were people trying so
hard to convince themselves that they were having a good time. I saw members of
the crew who only cared enough to be a part of the festival because I am
assuming it was a “cool” thing to do. I saw people drunk out of their minds on
the free booze that the place had to offer.
Where is the fun in pretentious shit like that?
Anyway, my attention shifts from the insect colony to the
remnants of a half smoked cigarette lying on the floor-burnt up and abandoned,
not even consumed to its fullest glory. Some people often become half-burnt
cigarettes. I try to convince myself that I will not end up like that, bigger
glories await me and it’s only a matter of time.
You see, my dream is not to be rich and famous, my dream is
to make others dream, my dream is to make people feel the things that I feel,
see the things that I see.
Success is not accolades or pats on the back. It's the satisfaction in knowing that you've been true to your work, true to what you believe in.
I see many people in and around, so cool, so shiny, so incredibly full of themselves. Unfortunately, I too, seem to have become one of them.
