Night of the Cockroach

I solemnly do declare that the following incident did in fact occur, and is not a product of my hyper-active imagination. Further, reader discretion is advised, in that, Blattodeaphobics ( I did not make that up, it translates into fear of cockroaches) are advised to skip the article. Or maybe, read it as some sort of therapeutic exercise, to overcome their fear vicariously, if such a thing were possible.

Oh well, here goes...

It's 3 a.m. and the world as most of you know it, is asleep. I however, am making my way to an obscure part of the city, my driver still grappling with left-over sleep despite a pre-dawn dose of caffeine. After a series of phone calls and dead ends (quite literally so), I arrive at a decrepit old building, and tentatively knock at the door, which seems to be emitting strange, unearthly sounds.

The door, supposedly sound-proof, opens to a small, dimly-lit room furnished with one dark velvet sofa that could accommodate 3 people comfortably. But that's in an ideal world, and when I walk in, there are 6 rather well-fed people (the age of starving artists has undoubtedly passed) crammed on and around the ill-fated sofa. Still, persevering optimist that I am, I view them as a means of generating more body heat, to combat the freeze-mode that the air-con seems to be on.

After the usual pleasantries, I make my way past the soundboard, to the holy of holies (also, hole in the wall) the recording booth, where the mike awaits.

Once inside, the comfort of extra body heat is sorely missed, and while rubbing my hands together in an effort to keep warm, I make a startling and rather alarming discovery- a large, immobile cockroach that refuses to budge despite my incessant screams. My voice continues to soar, until I hit upon the possibility that the aforementioned bug might in fact be dead. 'Did you know there's a dead cockroach in here?' I yell, flailing my arms about in true blue Olive Oyle straight-out-of-popeye style.

But no one seems to hear me.

After a few painful seconds, there is a scratching sound, as someone finally presses the 'talk' button on the soundboard. The sound engineer's voice floats out to me- 'Is there a problem?' he asks most politely. I'm too ashamed at my little display to even answer, so I shake my head and make a conscious decision to not so much as glance in the cockroach's direction. Though come to think of it, it probably was quite a handsome specimen by dead insect standards.

And so the time passes, dawn comes and goes over a tiny cup of scalding tea (even before the recession). Against my will and better judgement, my attention is once again diverted to the bug lying just about a foot's distance from me. I wonder if anyone other than me has even noticed it, and decide rather nobly to not bring it to the studio's attention just yet. Someone was bound to find it and throw it out later, but for now, I think, let the dead have their moment of dignity.

So I get back to my tra-la-lahs, and the triumphant cry of 'That's a wrap!' coincides with the sunrise. A poignant moment indeed, I think to myself while saying goodbye, which is more appropriate than both good morning and good night, in such circumstances.

Walking to the car, I stumble into the most beautiful morning sky I've ever seen. My driver is grumpy, understandably so, but I'm too distracted to notice and on the bumpy ride home, I contemplate the marvels of the early-morning world. Half-way home, I curl up on the backseat, and yawning contentedly, I fall asleep dreaming that I'd kissed the cockroach and wonder of wonders, it turned into this big-time music producer who asked me to marry him and then of course, we made wonderful music together, forever...

Alright, I made up the dream. So sue me for wanting a fairy-tale ending.