Pecos...a tribute.

There was once a time when life was simple, life was good.
There was once a time when songs filled the air

and the air smelled sweet.
And while the head brimmed happy

sipping a strange brew.
There is a place where my baby took me,
and it surely made my dreams come true.

This my friends, is how it all began...

Early in the afternoon. Soft crisp breeze. Walking hand in hand with her, we sashayed down MG Road. We took a right turn towards Brigade Road. She picked up some bathroom slippers. I finished a cigarette outside, waiting, recharging my cold skin pores with some pure Bangalore Sun. She bought her slippers.

Then we went bowling, and me with long fingernails, had one chipped of nicely, while I got to know the game a little better with every strike. Band-aid came to my finger’s rescue.

Then we played loads of video games. Like little children, who, in innocence, in delight, would go completely ballistic when left alone in a gaming zone. The high point being me and my baby playing a rather active and anarchic game of air-hockey. To our heart’s delight we played not once, but twice.

And once again it was time to walk together in the tight clasp. Yin and Yang. Shiva and Parvati. Earth and sky. Me and her. Together. In love. Feeling good.

Worldspace had promotionally planted speakers on the entirety of Brigade Road. They were playing Marley. Here I was. At Bangalore. With Bob Marley playing on Brigade Road. Unknown faces all around us. But, who would want to care? For me it felt like being on Haight Ashbury on San Fransisco, or Freak street on Kathmandu, or Freeschool/ Park street at Kolkata. Good vibes, Great music. And the greatest gift God possibly gave to mankind. Love. Unadulterated. Pure. Blissful.

So without a care, we strolled ahead. Lunch time it was indeed, but we both thought, “Oh! Why oh why? Why lunch, when we can go, and….and…she can…she really can…. take me where my soul needs to go and pay allegiance. The altar of the divine. The Holy Grail. The mausoleum of lost souls of yesteryears. Lost in Mr. Morrison’s wilderness of pain. Or the one’s who flew and saw silver linings on angels’ wings. Or like Mr. Hendrix, watched the sunrise, together, hand in hand, from the bottom of the sea.

And a little up ahead. A little lane on the right. Unimpressive. Just a plain-jane-lane, lots of motorcycles parked. Shops selling, winterwear, and Grand Prix jackets. And there, right at that moment, my baby pointed her small fingers at the building. “Shall we go to Pecos?” so spoke my dove.

Ignorance was bliss. And I put forward a readymade, “OK, let’s go.” Four steps, or maybe five, closer to the spiral staircase, shades of colours, faces, relics, inside, started exchanging pleasantries with my eyes. Glimpses. Still more, yet another step or two. And then…

…as I step up the spiral staircase, and our bodies start elevating up towards the first floor. Like would our DNA. Passing generations of vibes across. The music was heard, felt, and made the heart stomp. Yes! I know this sound. This sound started as back as 1966. The Warlocks, and later The Grateful Dead, lead by Captain Tripps, Jerry Garcia.
Yes indeed, as me and my baby entered Pecos, they were playing Hashbury’s very own, The Grateful Dead. Hello! Life! You are wonderful.

We step inside, and I can barely express my excitement. On my right stands a poster of the man himself, Jerry Garcia. On my front, behind the counter, a huge stack of tapes. On my right The Grateful Dead, Europe 1972, yes I mean it, the actual concert poster.

We walk up to the second floor and find us a table. The music plays on. A roly-poly waiter walks up to us and gives us the menu. Hey presto, Draught beer, ONLY! They don’t serve any other alcohol, but Draught beer. Life’s good!

We browse through the menu. I am too busy taking every corner, every nook and cranny of Pecos in my eyes. Passing them on through to the brain, which sends sparks of joy through the nervous system, reaching a little bit of the Pecos feel to every part of me.

We order chilly chicken. She has a Fresh lime. And a Draught beer pitcher, a 1050 ml tank of potion with, bubbly yellow brew, for me. Oh goodie!

We chat, take a few pictures, and look into each other’s dreamy eyes. I request some of my favorite music. Hendrix. Stones – Sticky Fingers. The Kinks. Led Zeppelin. “Oh baby, love of my life! Thank you oh so much for taking me to Pecos.” The love child in me, starts the praise song, and I sing to her ears, the words, in a frenzied voice with the song that’s playing in the background.

Frizzy haired Jimi Hendrix painted on the wall behind us. The fab four, The Beatles, painted on the ceiling. Joining them on the other two walls, we spot Elvis, Jerry Garcia, Zappa. Allah be praised.

The chilly chicken was awesome, spicy, tangy and supple. So continue the good times. With loads of young folk sitting around, yapping, most of them still in their graduation years. A few even were exchanging tokes of gaanjaa amongst them. So quite naturally the air did smell sweet.

But what was best was the radiance I saw in her eyes, my baby. Seeing me happy, she was content. Not rowding up, or singing along with Zeppeling along with me. But enjoying my enthusiasm, my ecstasy. And like I said. Shiva Parvati. Tarzan and Jane. We were complete. Me happy, flying. She happy and on ground controls!

I will never forget the place. I will never ever stop cherishing the sweet time we had there. Though I even do remember the sweet bickering we had for me guzzling a little over two pitchers of beer. But what the hell, it was so sweet a bickering, that if it had not happened, we would have missed it!

For those who love good times, and have a deep love for classic rock n’roll, if you are ever at Bengaluru, Pecos should be a must on your list. I was there and the place has etched an irreplaceable mark in my heart. So my friends, be there, have fun. And don’t you forget to check out the wonderful archive-material rock n roll posters, once you are there.

Rock on!