8 videos of the moon.

 I was never too keen on experiencing acid. Mostly because the Servaias and Sharma have been telling me to try it since I was about eighteen. The Undoable One once declared that if he were a world despot - the implication was that it would be a deserved position - he'd make a law ensuring every human being tried it once in their life after 18. Anyway, the general consensus was: acid opens the mind, acid changes your perspective, acid will, in a way, alter your life.

Hut. (The snort of impatience, not the one with thatched roofs.)

Because that's what put me off it. I didn't want my perspective to change because of acid. I didn't want it to open my mind either. I have always believed in figuring stuff out by muddling around, I have always believed in trial and error. I regret to say that there has been more muddling than figuring, and more errors than there have been trials, but that's neither here nor there.

But obviously, one day, I succumbed and tried it.

About a year ago, I was having post-work Friday night drink drinks with H. and her, er, person - Rohan - and Shlok and Mickey and Hitesh and we got completely hammered and went back to my place to continue our downfall. And then, all of a sudden, H. took a strip of acid out of her back and I decided that maybe I wanted to see if my, um, perspective changed.

I checked with Hitesh first because I always think of him as the level-headed one.

"Hitesh, should I take it? Do you think I should take it?"


Like all good advice, it went unheeded.

Mistake the first. You're really not supposed to take acid when you're drinking, it dilutes the experience. Nothing happened for a while. Shlok and Hitesh and Mickey eventually went home. And H., Rohan and I went down to my terrace (yup, down to the terrace, not up). I have no clue what H. and Rohan were doing, coochy-cooing or something.

The acid had kicked in by this point, mildly. I don't know how to describe it. Sort of like being stoned except more than that, much more.

I floated to the other end of the terrace and looked at a big tree that hung over it like a canopy and waited for Life to Change.

Nothing really happened. I took a deep gulp of air, wanting its freshness to seep into my body, but unfortunately the smell was an unpleasant combination of tree sap and garbage and I started coughing in a most un-philosophical way.

Undaunted, I continued standing there, looking at the tree. I felt grateful for the tree, it was a nice tree, a big one, the biggest tree in my lane, and it was pretty, the way it hung carelessly over my head. But I'd appreciated it before (during my many 'the world is beautiful, life is wonderful' phases).

And then, another thought occurred to me. Alright, so my mind hadn't dramatically altered. I was indeed appreciating, not only the tree, but also the one lone star above my head, and the heavy silence that, er, silently makes its presence felt at 3 am.

But, like the tree, I'd stopped to notice and appreciate all these things before.

That meant, my mind argued, I already had in my possession what the rest of the world could only acquire through drugs. I didn't need drugs. I was already evolved.

I even took a moment to feel sad for all the un-evolved ones, the little people who needed acid to change the way they looked at a leaf.

Smug and content, I floated back to the other end of the terrace. H. and Rohan were still whispering sweet nothings to each other, but I barely noticed their presence. Instead, I lay on the ground, my phone beside me.

I looked at it (the phone, not the ground) with regret for a moment. It did not fit in with the atmosphere. If this moment of my life was a paragraph or a sentence in The Story of Trisha, I said to myself, that phone would jar the syntax.

I then felt enormously pleased with myself for making such a comparison and doubled my pleasure by modestly acknowledging I was capable of making it while sober.

Anyway, the three of us eventually went back to my flat. I promptly climbed into bed and fell asleep.

This is the part that most people don't get - that I managed sleeping just after doing acid. I'm not sure about the possibilities or the probabilities, but there you go. I can sleep after acid and also, which I regard as more impressive, after downing a can of Redbull.

Anyway, I woke up at seven the next morning, still feeling vaguely high. H. and Rohan left five minutes later. I continued floating around my flat, congratulating myself on acid's inability to make me feel or behave stupidly. It was a glorious feeling given my experiences with alcohol.

And then I picked up my phone and noticed eight videos of the moon in my camera roll. They were each approximately four minutes long, the cinematography was average, and the story-line uninteresting: it was the moon, after all. It just sort of stayed where it was. For thirty-two minutes.

Felt my wall of confidence crumble slightly. Why had I considered the moon worth viewing for thirty-two minutes through a bad phone camera? Was I, after all, one of Those People?

This problem occupied me for another half an hour and then I decided to solve it by going to my brother's. I wanted breakfast and there was no food at home.

I told him about the previous night and when he asked what acid was like (I think he's done it but I don't remember now, all his stories are infinitely boring) I gave him the answer that I give to anyone else who asks me.

"Dunno. I took a lot of videos of the moon and fell asleep."


Whatever, Zaev. If only you knew the true story. And a different insult.

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