After Manishs departure, the bunker basement has been full of weeping, moaning, mewling sounds. A pouting face appears around every corner as inhabitants go through their stages of loss. The monkeys, they loved him so.
Rajni, my roommate, has turned into an insomniac. Baboon Scotty smashes one bottle of Jager an hour against the common room wall. Yazad, the Mountain Gorilla, shaved off all his fur and is running around naked and morose after declaring that hair is the sole cause of all strife. Rochelle, the Orangutan who used to leave anonymous love notes in Manishs mail box, read something about marriage in the comments and is now wandering the halls with a broken keyboard, yelling, “Ill CUT that wench!” Bonobos Rohan and Junaid finished two bottles of kaju feni and are starting to reek like rotting garbage. Kinjal, a wee Spider Monkey, is lying face down on my hammock, simply butchering “Bucky Done Gone” in her screechy voice, on repeat. And the worst reaction of them all comes from Mithun the Rhesus Macaque, sweet Mithun, he ripped his red sequined jumpsuit to shreds and has sworn off dancing forever!
In my life, I have encountered a fair bit of human sadness but this is too much to bear. Oh lordy, I am weaker than ever in the face of monkey melancholy. Wanting to help my new friends, I decided to buck up and enlist the help of Dino, a wise Chimpanzee and a distant relation of Nim Chimpsky. We rigged massive sets of speakers in every room and are hoping to produce enough sound to blow the roof off this sucka depression. Manish should be thought of with coy smiles and appreciative laughter only, no? Our plan is simple. Choose one tune that is so bloody sad it makes grown adults cry on a good day and play it nonstop at a very high volume for five hours straight. We call it, “Operation: Tough Love”.
According to our plan, the monkeys will be forced to listen to the tune and when they do they will identify with the sadness present in song and will cry their eyeballs out. Though I am horrified at the thought of crying monkeys, I know that this is for the best. After about two hours, they will be all cried out (we hope) and will have no choice but to keep listening to the extremely loud music. Their initial relationship with the lyrics and melody will change into something resembling annoyance. Repetition is bound to have that effect.
By four hours of listening, the monkeys will be downright angry. The need to injure physically either Dino or myself will have replaced any lingering heart wrenching sadness. At this point, I will put on my monkey suit and pretend to be furious. Finally, by the fifth hour, everyone will be so tried of crying, being angry, and most importantly, of being sad that they will treat their return to normal existence with a newfound peace of mind. Amen.
What song are we choosing for this therapy, you ask? It is a Smiths tune but of course. And not just any ol Smiths tune but THE saddest Smiths tune. And not just any original that we have heard a thousand times before but an acoustic cover. And not just a regular cover sung by an unworthy and untrained voice but one that has been sung by multi-talented singer/musician, Arif Husain, who just happens to be desi. Yes, you read me right. I usually gag a little at the thought of Smiths covers and as I read the words “There is a light” on his My Space page I admit my hopes were not high. But. I was in for a surprise and you are too, so go check the tune out at his page or if you would rather have an MPFree then head over to his website, which offers a few of his covers as well as some original compositions.
Arif has (a perfect resume) wonderful control over his tranquil voice and pretty much kills any attempts at poo-pooing with Morrissey comparisons. This is what it means when Paula Abdul drunkenly yells, “You made it your own!” hiccup Some other interesting bits about our independent variable include an M.I.T. degree in Cognitive Sciences (Arey va, wot a nice boy :-), extensive research activity in cognitive and brain sciences, and a blog.
Our selection has been made. All doors have been locked. Wish us well, friends, time to press play in 5…4…3…2…This one’s for you, Manish.
