The gong song

‘Travelling gong yogi – sound artist – gong teacher, healing and music – Conscious Voice. A concert not to be missed – limited seats’…

When I hear such a thing, my mind usually goes hmmm. But then naya pyaar — she wants to go, so I go.

We land at the place.

An interesting locatiom — a birthing center. We are in a place like the waiting area just before the main gig area Smiles from strangers, pleasant vibes, people giving off the oh good to see you vibe — yawn.

Then we move upstairs, a beautiful serene space where the audience is seated. Maybe 15 couples at best, sitting down and waiting.

Ths staging area had gongs, ukuleles, guitars, bass drums and other musical instruments..

The musicians didn’t waste time. A bare intro and the gong artist begins to play. I don’t like it. I sidle up to my love interest — she cuts me off by shutting her eyes. Later she told me it wasn’t me but a family friend that had made her uncomfortable.

I observe the people around. Some are looking forward to the sounds, some don’t like it, others are on their mobile — that’s a seperate category. Me, I am still figuring out.

Till the lady starts singing.

The music meshes in mobiles melt, so do the doubts. She sings and speaks to me, not my love interest, no one else. I move and sway, the sounds stirring something deep within. A message — you are meant to be here.

It ends too soon. I am scared to open my eyes. Too precious. Then voices drift in. “Do you know her?” “How long?” “Is it any good?”

I am forced me to open my eyes. My love interest is waiting. She has a new place for us to visit. The singer is no longer magical, nor is the gong. All of it has ended with the song. I blink, let it wash over and leave the space.

Published by appamprawns

soni writes about children and people in controlled spaces, in his quest for appam stew. homi writes in the hope of being able to buy prawns to make patiyo.

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