John’s Swan Song

by David Neavyn (Ireland)

I didn't expect to find India

John loves us all. He genuinely does. He’s told us three times already and he’s only on stage a minute. ‘This is no make-believe love’ he explains, ‘I really do love you’. We are at the Open Mic Night in Twice in Nature-a performance space in Arambol, Northern Goa. Two weeks of fierce dry heat has broke and a day of heavy rains has arrived. There’s a constant dripping around the edges. The young crowd are happy though and comfortably spread out under the rain covers. Anthony who co-runs the place has just walked on stage and is introducing the next act. But John is not waiting for an introduction. He is already leaning into the mic. ‘I’m old. Reeeally old’, he smiles roguishly, wide-eyed and impassioned. In a sea of youth he is standing tall in the middle of the stage. He leans into the mic again, turns his head sideways and stares out into the distance beyond the crowd. ‘And I have something to share’ It begins. His song, literally with a bang. ‘Boooooommmm!!!’ There are three others on stage and they all shout it into the mics together. ‘Booooooooommm!! ‘Love the planet. Do not poison it’ ‘Love the planet. Do not poison it’ His arms are swaying, he is singing, encouraging us all to sway with him. A shock wave runs through the crowd. The floor of Twice in Nature is full of people sitting on cushions. So far we have heard the interesting and the boring, everything you expect from an Open Mic night. But what is this? John plows on, faster than our thoughts can catch him, his urgent message for the youth of today is in full swing. ‘Love the planet. Do not poison it’ ‘Aaaand Booooooommmm’ On he charges, raging forward, frantic now. He drops down off the stage, and sways his arms amongst the crowd. More and more people are smiling, joining in. Others are still in shock. As suddenly as it began it finishes in a crescendo. A long last exaltation. ‘LOVE the planet. Do not POISON it’ He leaps back on the stage and hugs his fellow bandmates. Soaking up his audience. The first performance. Fresh as a new born day. Brought to you by John; an old man with a raging young love for the world. And brought to you by Arambol. A place, I discover, where you meet people like John, and where people like John are given a stage. If you want casinos and 5-star hotels you have to travel further south. There are floating restaurants in the bay of Panaji. An air-conditioned taxi can take you from Dabolin airport to your pool side resort in under 40 minutes. But not in Arambol. This is all dirt roads and bamboo structures. Cheap cinder block restaurants draped in Ganesha cloths, roadside Chai walas and cows nonchalantly walking as streams of mopeds pass like shoals of fish. This is wall to wall posters of therapists and hypnotists. shamanic breath-work, tattoos and Yoga schools. Shops with 4-quart jars of spices stacked to the ceiling, the mingling aroma of hand rolled incense next door to a young Tibetan selling hand-painted mandalas. This is stalls draped in hanging bags and dresses, racks of t-shirts with printed shivas, brightly coloured saris, smoking paraphernalia, silver jewellery, and a great expansive mural of the Ramayana Epic, a work in progress, displayed across the wall of Twice in Nature. The people are filing past it now. Another Open Mic Night comes to an end as I make my way over to John to thank him for his performance. He shakes my hand energetically. ‘I’ll be singing again next week’ he tells me, ‘And for as long as I still can’ He sees the question in my eyes, so he taps his chest. ‘Lung cancer, six months they think’ Still he is smiling, the same light is in his eyes and he turns and embraces another friend.