Asif Khan Inc.

nothingness

it was dark outside. of course, it was closing upon midnight. he was still coming to terms with adjusting to the concept of daylight saving in this part of the world, but he did know that even though the sun may not go down as early as it does in his part of the world, midnight is dark. and tonight, the darkness had been lurking from dusk. or maybe since the time he thought dawn had broken. he didn’t really know if there had been a sunrise at all.

inside of course, he had stubbed out the sun shortly after it left its final traces during twilight.

sitting inside his studio, he felt like pulling the drapes aside to catch a glimpse of the moon’s reflection in the river running across the street from his apartment. but the river had run dry. there wasn’t moonlight either. “how silly of me! i took away the sun and still long to see the moon?”, and with a self derisive smirk returned to staring into the emptiness that glowed from the screen of his laptop. a solitary picture. taken just yesterday. which had meant so much then, had contained so much emotion. today, it was failing to strum any chord of passion in his soul.

the chords did strum somewhere in the background of his imaginings. or were they? ah, stan getz. yes, of course. he remembered how fondly they had got that player and how he had spent close to a fortune looking around for vinyls. all to experience that warmth in sound. the warmth was still there, after all the player was the same. but it wasn’t enough to get to the chill of his bones. but the music did pierce through to his soul. the last he remembered enjoying jazz was when he was cooking for a bunch, rather a trio, of his lovables. a much enjoyed casual weekend lunch filled with a laziness which is just what a saturday warrants. with the main course being named after the vital ingredient of jazz which infused itself into the dish too. all of which seemed like such a distant reality now. more like a dream wafting itself through the mists of fogged up memory.

but it was fusion-acid-jazz that day. and tonight, it was the plaintive wail of stan’s trumpet which harmonized with his soul. though he hated to admit it within the circle of his new found acquaintances in the new city, he was but a neo convert to jazz. the smooth talker he was, he could talk about jazz, just like mostly anything under the sun, with enough conviction to make the phonies around him begin to doubt their understanding of things.

tonight, he discovered jazz.

he had never tried making love with coltrane or davis filling up the room with their presence. he did seem to feel tempted to try it out each time he saw jerry maguire being handed over that tape of coltrane and davis performing in stockholm circa ’63. he never found the vinyl, maybe it didn’t exist. and he never tried making love with the help of jazz either.

“it may have been splendid.”

now that he had discovered jazz, in retrospect, the idea seemed very appealing. he knew that jazz reverberated with his soul only when he was swinging at the extreme ends of his emotion. joy. or like now.

nothingness.