The curious case of Pandu and his radioactive rooster - The Tapes

Back in September of 2013, the band was ready to record it's first EP. The culmination of 3 months hard work was ready to be shown to the world. However, the only thing hindering this ambition from being realized was the fact that we were flat out broke. Recording is a serious business, one which studios tend to capitalize upon and charge as much as possible depending on how well equipped their particular studio was. 

But a few phone calls later, we discovered a reasonably well furbished studio for a good price  capable of catering to a live band. Thus began the journey of The Tapes.

The studio was located in a tiny corner within Iskon Temple in Secunderabad. That's right. It was actually a small room within the confines of the temple walls. This studio came with a tiny hobbit-like sound engineer named Pandu Ranga or as we liked to call him, "PD Sir". 

The studio was a tiny little place but still felt quite cozy. The walls were adorned with photos of various deities which made us reluctant to curse. You can imagine how difficult this was for a band especially when the tensions of recording and making everything perfect were high.

The atmosphere created by our loud cymbals and heavy riffs when juxtaposed against the bhajans being sung hardly 20 meters away in the pooja hall made the entire situation quite surreal. 

As we started talking with PD about himself and his work, we realized 2 things. His occupation of recording devotional songs for the temple was his entire life. Also, the poor guy had no friends. The second fact is not something I fabricated out of spite or any other malicious intention. He himself told us that he preferred the company of his laptop and his movies rather than human interaction. 

That night I had the craziest dream ever. The next day in college I couldn't help but write it down. Here is, in all it's glory, the poem of Pandu and his radioactive rooster. 

Deep in the secluded corner in the haven of iskon,

Was a pariah named Pandu with friends long gone.

Through day and night over his cauldron he bent,

Trying to concoct comrades to whom he meant.

A pinch of moral and a dash of benevolence,

He fabricated a recipe which made no sense.

The batter was thick with fumes to choke,

As PD tried his best to clear the smoke.

It cleared up and held a sight to see,

a radioactive rooster till the height of his knee.

As he stared at what lay before his eyes,

The rooster attacked and stifled his cries.

A friend in need is a friend indeed,

But the fate of poultry has done its deed.

As blood spread over the studio floor,

There lay Pandu with life no more.

Deep in the secluded corner in the haven of iskon,

Was a radioactive rooster and a man long gone.