As you all know, I am trapped in the capital of this Country. Without enough provision. And even though I don’t have to swallow locusts or drink my own piss in order to survive, I am living my own Man vs. Wild episode. I’m trying to not die in an alien environment and in harsh circumstances.
I wake up at noon, skipping what used to be breakfast in my earlier days. I take lunch, which is always some kind of bean recipe, and then I glue myself to my phone. I mostly listen to radio, where, apart from saccharine voices of female RJs, there’s nothing much you’d like to give a fuck about. The radio channels here play something called Punjabi Pop, which makes me want to leave earth and settle somewhere far, where it would take a millennium for this sound energy to reach my ears again. The songs are all the same, having the same tonal arrangements, conveying the same thoughts, with same lyrics save a few words reallocated. Every song has a boy who is supposedly a stud, an alcoholic, a millionaire, and a thug. He is trying to impress a girl who he calls baby, billo or equivalents. He tells her how many dollars he has ( always freaking too many ), and he recites quite a few whiskey brands, and mentions the Rolls Royce that he’d take her on a ride in. He boasts about his minister friend/brother/tau who give the impression of main villains from the Bollywood cinema of 80s. He talks about his king-size life and and asks, implicitly, if the girl would like to have some fun. If I were a girl I would definitely not want my man to have purple hair, pierced ears, and a boastful attitude. And I would definitely not want him to make weird gestures with his fingers and serenade for me sick raps elaborating alcohol brands. I don’t know if these people are trying to redefine music or destroy this planet, but if this noise pollution is not stopped soon, I’m sure melody will turn in her grave.
I don’t know if these people are trying to redefine music or destroy this planet.