The adventurous race to Witch Mountain: featuring Sonisphere Rock Festival UK 2010 (the destination), Time (the invincible bastard) and JohnDoe (the master of tragedies) Part Deux

Read the previous part here.

Chapter 6:
July 27th, 2010. I mailed Amr, asking if he’d make it to Knebworth. He replied that he wouldn’t, owing to his illness. That was sad. I started to have second thoughts about my plans. My reasons for calling the trip off were:
A. I was about to embark on a journey to the unknown. Alone. There was a chance I could die of boredom.
B. I was skeptic about my travel plan. If I missed a single bus or train, I’d be struggling to not miss my flight. Having orthodox people around (orthodox to the extent of being called wusses) did not help. In fact, I was even suggested to have my flight rescheduled.
My reasons for going were:
A. I had blown a hundred pounds on this trip. Flaking out meant all this going down the drain.
B. Rammstein.
I weighed the pros and cons like any sane man would. This helped me to arrive at a conclusion any insane man would. Even if I missed my flight, I’d have a story to tell the grand children. Besides, I reasoned, I would not be alone, I could make friends with strangers (I’m actually good at it). Finally, I thought to myself, one man can have a lot of fun alone (no I don’t mean that), and dismissed all the discouraging thoughts. By the time I realized I was going, I was the human equivalent of a fully charged AAA battery. I punched the air like it was Ravindra Jadeja’s jaw.

Chapter 7:
July 28th, 2010. I was going to Knebworth, alone, to witness the vulgar display of power of some good bands and I was thrilled because there was the uncertainty of my timely return. I had spent the week shopping for parents with Marco, the Italian dude. We had literally spent hours, window shopping which made us feel like a couple of sissy girl-friends. His long blonde hair does tad justice to the last remark. At home, we had packed our stuff because I was to leave the apartment one night earlier than my companions. I wouldn’t have the time to wind up later. It was about six-thirty, I was at my desk, in the lab. Most of the people had already left. Matthew approached us from his office. He diffused his warm Californean smile, peered out his glasses, and asked, “Plans for dinner?” “I’m in.” It took us a while to convince Omkar to eat at Nandos, famous for its Southern African cuisine. We picked our laptops and started to walk leisurely towards Nandos. We were talking about some stuff, and Omkar asked me for the umpteenth time if I had called Emirates to have my flight rescheduled. At times, I have to pretend to be polite, this was one of those times. I took a deep breath and smiled at him. I told him, I wouldn’t mind missing the flight, I was really looking forward to the adventure. Matthew remarked, “There’re adventures worth doing, and there’re advenures that you just pay for. Your adventure seems to belong to the latter kind.” I read out my travel plan to him. His smile burst into a grin. It was visible he was working hard to supress a roll of laughter. It was an over-rated plan, I guess. Now it was his turn to play polite. He had to say something to justify his excitement, so he said “Beware of strange men at Kings Cross. Let me tell you something.” “I don’t wanna know”, I responded, anticipating his next statement. “Let’s just say that you might meet strange men around Kings Cross who might offer you money. Just make sure not to get lost in one of the dark alleys there”, he adviced. “I will try my best”, I said. Then he described the somewhat repulsive scene from a British sit-com where the protagonist had a similar experience. His description was hilarious.

Chapter 8:
July 29th, 2010. It was my last working day in England. Sure a man can work on stuff, even when he’s not working, and I meant working in the latter sense. I had a meeting with AZ later that afternoon. We were to discuss my results over tea at a posh English cafe. Towards the end of the meeting, I was given a truck load of experimenting to do, and I was supposed to report my findings the day I reached India. I reminded AZ, “do you remember the Rock concert I mentioned?” He smiled, “Yes, I do. This means you’ll have to set all your experiments running tonight, before you leave.” Everyone on the table laughed. It was a jolly brilliant line. My arse was hotter than Apollo 11′s rear ten seconds after takeoff. Marcin took some heat off by asking if anyone had heard Saxon, the British Heavy Metal Band of the 80s. He took my note-book and scribbled the name of the band as the last item in my to-do list. He’s a genius, and he’s hilarious.

We had a lot of stuff to do this day. Bart, our land-lord was meeting us at six to inspect the apartment for any changes we might have caused; he’d decide whether or not to return our security deposit on the basis of his findings. I was supposed to handle him, the refrigerator door was not closing properly.

Then it was my last day in Oxford, so we (all the lab people) had decided to gather at ONeils, the pub where bands played live on weekends. Marco and I had been coming to this place for three weeks. We loved the ambiance here; I loved the Music and he their waitress. She used to come to our table, pick a single empty glass, then come again later to pick another one and so on, when she could just take away all in one go. Once we had decided to tell her we loved her (in a chorus) but Marco saw her smiling and talking to another guy and it broke his heart.

So, we gathered at this place, drank, talked, people left one by one. I had the bus at 0310, so I was keen on staying till they kicked us out. I couldn’t afford to go home and sleep. Omkar, Juneja, Relja, Natraj, Marco and I finally left the pub at 0215. We spent another thirty minutes saying goodbye to each other. Separation sucks, but is inevitable. We went home. I made sure I had the print-outs of the train and bus timings, the road maps of London and the tickets. I walked out at two-forty five. It was cold outside, I had a woolen hoodie with me, but it was a gift for my cousin so I couldn’t wear it. I rubbed my palms together as I walked towards the Gloucester Green Coach Station, into the night. I whispered the lines of Angelo Badalamenti’s Into the Night:
Into the night, I cry out your name.. Into the night, I search out, your love… Nights are dark, where are you, come back in my heart… So Dark…
It’s a ghastly song and the eerie music was giving me goose bumps.
The next twenty four hours were going to be eventful.

***
I’m afraid there’s more waiting. Stick for the last part. Read it here.

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