I'm walking back home, yet again. Another evening, and I can't get a taxi. Since the courts forced the government to phase out the old ones, I guess the numbers plying on-road has come down drastically, or so I get to feel like.
So, blessing the day I got myself a rented apartment close to office, I decide to make a move. So a la Ryan Reynolds in the starting sequence of 'Definitely, Maybe', my earphones get stuck in snuggly, and the music begins to unfold.
A song or two, to my present liking, and I keep pushing the forward button for the rest. Been meaning to write about the songs that get me, if that is what it takes to exorcise the demons within, I yen for something oft-heard yet still reassuring.
Suddenly the song strikes: aurally and visually. I see Robbie walking to someplace, with a leaking jerry-can of petrol (or was it diesel), leaving a trail of the inflammability behind.
How antithetical is the video to the lyrics (or have I missed the dark subtext?): he feels exonerated of the the gloom that palled his erstwhile life, in form of a reckless lover, and yet he's walking suicidally around town.
The evening has gotten inkier, and I can see my shadow looming in front of me, courtesy the pale yellow incandescent bulb hanging above a roadside tea-stall, that I've just paced by. I feel one with the protagonist in the video: been walking through these days, leaving a train of combustible vitriol in tow, which is about to catch up with me, to a fiery conclusion sometime soon.
I've neared the turn, and I'm blocks away from home, as the song reaches its climax, and Robbie is on the closing speech. I recall the trail catching fire somewhere, and running towards our man, him unaware. I sullenly pray for a similar spark somewhere in vicinity.
As Robbie delivers the coup de grâce, and pronounces his relationship "officially DEAD", the flame catches up on him from behind. I close my eyes, almost wishing myself to explode in an inferno.
It doesn't happen.
I keep walking on.
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