Memoirs of Hippie Girl in India by BeCoy Ann

Author:BeCoy, Ann [BeCoy, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-11-16T22:00:00+00:00

MEETING KALI ON LSD

When I woke up Sitar Sam offered me some LSD. We took showers and got dressed. I had a beautiful new saree top made of burgundy velvet and a pair of harem pants in burgundy and gold silk. Normally one would cover one’s midsection with a large shawl, but I thought, “forget the shawl” – I wanted to be sexy that night. Sitar Sam bought me a beautiful garland of jasmine flowers and helped place it in my hair. It was like a crown of white flowers and contrasted nicely with my chestnut-brown hair. We popped the acid and went off in a taxi to the disco.

Dancing that night, I soon began to hallucinate like crazy. I was feeling exhilarated, as the music had hypnotized me. I hadn’t danced to my own tribal music since I left Toronto. We listened to the The Who, Sly and the Family Stone, Derek and the Dominoes, Fleetwood Mac, Santana, the Stones, Steely Dan and Van Morrison. It was amazing that they even had this music. The clientele was mainly foreign, but there weren’t many of us. A few hip Indians (film star types) were interspersed, but with only about twenty people in all we had the club pretty much to ourselves.

A young Sikh in pants far too tight jumped onto the dance floor. He was dressed in Western fashion, in jeans and a tie-dyed tee shirt, but his ritual dagger and ever-present turban were quite evident. He was really wild. Was he on acid? He began to leap about and whirl like a dervish. He took off his shirt, and his brown skin was shiny and wet with sweat. His turban started to untangle, but instead of putting it back in place as a proper Sikh would, he began to untangle the mass of over two yards of material … and his massive, long black hair spilled out. I could not believe how much hair he had under the turban, but I knew that Sikhs are forbidden to cut their hair. I also knew that Sikhdom considered it almost a sin to remove the turban in public. I rather liked the idea that he was committing a sin and really letting go, and with everyone else there I applauded him. His hair was incredibly long (to his buttocks) and voluminous, with great locks of jet-black curls all shiny, no doubt from many applications of Brahmi Amla Hair Oil.

Soon he began rotating his head such that his hair began to move in a huge circle. The strobe light chopped his movements into split-second stop motion, and the more he danced the more intense was his presence. He was a Sikh gone wild. And the crowd went wild too. Everyone was applauding and shouting encouragement as he spun himself into a maddeningly obsessive, dervish whirl.

The Sikh was totally absorbed in the ecstasy of the dance. The music playing was The Who’s “Baba O’Riley” with its captivating violin solo, the first time I’d heard it.

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