Page 17 - You Only Live Once [BooksLD]

I’m flying off, really far off! I have been planning it for months and it is the
perfect day to begin the search.

The only person I know who holds some pieces of my life’s greatest
puzzle resides exactly where my mother was born—Goa. He must be
sipping a glass of beer in Ricky’s Beach Shack, his own, onlooking the
Arabian Sea. I spontaneously check the shack’s story on Instagram , and
my speculation finds evidence. He indeed is doing that. He does not have a
personal account though. Sheen, the cafe manager, handles this. He must be

exactly the oldie who feels being on social media is a waste of time.
How did I figure it out? I have been stalking this account for over two
years now. Who’s Ricky? Well, he’s my mother’s childhood friend. Besides

him, there is only that box full of unreleased songs that I have.
For the longest time I had wanted my post-graduation at a local Arts
college to end so that I could start making some money. My recent rise on
YouTube and working part-time as a waitress in Mustek got me enough
savings. Then, all I had to do was convince my dad with a beautiful lie—

India Music Tour across cafes.
‘Leave after my anniversary party. Everyone is looking forward to
watching you perform, darling,’ he had requested. ‘Of course, Dad!’ I had

grinned. After all, leaving on this auspicious day was part of the plan.
I move into the shower. Let me tell you that the shower is my temple, the
place where I worship, not God but the person within me. I have not
touched this person ever. Maybe it is what they call the soul. I worship it by
either talking to it or listening to it. Soul to us is like the essence of a

flower, responsible for its fragrance. Its voice shows me the way to light,
and sometimes, the depths of the dark.
I am an atheist, a non-conformist, a dreamer. I don’t visit temples made

of bricks & mortar when I need to worship. I head to the shower. Before
embarking on the pilgrimage of a lifetime, I have to worship.
The shower is where I listen to my soul or talk to it. It feels like the
perfect place, devoid of all earthly noises, far off from the not-kept humanly
promises. The shower is where I reminisce about all things happy—the

sound of my guitar, the bliss of the first rainfall, the intoxication of red wine
and the warmth of a cup of hot coffee.
Water, at its every touch, lifts me from the drudgery of life and norms of

the society. It heals me, not the tangible me but my soul, this force within