Originally published on my blog, I won an autographed photograph of Lamb of God by entering this as 'My Lamb of God story'.

I woke up the next morning with a swollen jaw and broken lips. A swollen tail bone, a stiff neck, bruised thighs, knees and elbows. As I came to my senses stretching in pain and struggling to brush my teeth, I was still in the haze of my rendezvous with Morpheus, where he had taken me down a path of darkness that had led to a podium where my muse stood before me in the flesh.

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As I skimmed through the past five years of my life, reluctantly stroking the broken fortress in my mouth, I could only think of the times when my hair would attempt to touch the ground as I’d head bang while I stood far away in a ruined temple staring at the aesthetic ceiling, spinning around forgetting the world around me. I was alone. I was scared to see tomorrow alone. But my muse spoke to me and only me.

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I stood in the darkness of an army of black around me, I felt the chaos and fury take over. In the agonizing growls, powerful riffs and intense beats, I found solace – that spot on the ceiling of the temple that called out to me. Amongst the darkness, I had found the flaming ends of a meteor shower and as I opened my eyes, the chorus broke in

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“Hell No!”

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and I thought to myself the same of the night that was about to end. I looked around me – in that unity of black, anger and fury, I suddenly became aware of my pink horns in the air, the womb and everything woman inside of me, my broken tooth. I was me. Just me and in all that, there they stood upon the podium, talking to only me.

“It’s great to travel all the way across the world and find out we’re all the fucking same” – Randy Blythe

The excitement of watching Lamb of God began a few months ago. And as the same built up with that spring of a smile whenever a LOG song played, or when I decided to send them Deepti’s home-made brownies, I was still in no position to really expect one hell of a week. The week took its genesis with a good ten cartons of stress. As the day neared, I realized it was time to grab myself a cotton pair of shorts so nothing, not even an extra drop of sweat would ruin what was to become one of the best days of my life. Less than 24 hours before the judgement day, the pitchers began to roll. Among which, the senseless cheers, the undying desperation to get drunk and the countless shake hands with old and new continued. The night ended with barely any room for thought, the weariness of mind, body and on some level, soul took over, only to wake up surprised, hungover and the least hopeful.

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1300 Hours: After the arrival of old friends from Manipal, it had finally began. Pitcher after pitcher, song after song at the neighbourhood retro bar that gave itself a makeover in the name of metal \m/. We continued the guzzling in the auto, on the long walk into the arena and inside as we stood long queues and even convinced one of the bartenders to throw in an extra glass!

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At the raw hours of 1930 hours, Lamb of God assembled on stage to begin with The Passing. I stood in awe as I was finally quenching the thirst that had parched my throat the instant I heard about the concert. Tears began to race down my cheeks as I stood still for seconds that seemed like hours. The screams began and my undernourished self seemed to disguise into some kind of Rambo, leaping into an ecstasy, now and then charging towards everyone around. Soon I found myself in the third row, straining my neck in unison with an army of thousands, with only one thing in common – music.

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Fifteen minutes to 2100 hours, the sound of the snare broke through as the words “…last song” faded away. I sat upon the shoulders of my friend to rise among everyone and witness a tornado of souls begin slowly. As it came towards me, I looked at the stage. In less than a second, I realized, there was only one way to touch the top of the temple and it wasn’t by sitting on someone’s shoulders. I got down and raced into the crowd, making one astonishing vanishing act. Next I knew I was begging a fat guy with glasses for five seconds up ahead, squeezing in and feeling the chill of the metal barricade against my wrist. As I struggled to push my already frozen throat to scream, I caught the best glimpse of my muse. There they stood in a halo of blue, ripping the screams, beats and riffs through the chaos of the crowd. My jaw dropped only to be met with the fist as the tornado of souls tumbled along and grew.

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A young man saved the day in the most unthinkable manner, the pain grew numb in an instant and I stood there watching the last few minutes of what was nothing less than a storm. In seconds it was over. I turned around to greet my friends, thinking of the most interesting detail to share with them, and only the pain remained.

It was only a dream, I thought to myself as I gargled my mouth with water. But as I pulled myself up to check if my eyes were open, the weakness in my muscle gave in and the forces pinched me and told me – “It wasn’t a dream. You watched Lamb of God live”

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P.S.: The thrill was interrupted with the passing of a legend on the following day. But as I think of that night, a faded smile returns and my fingers automatically turn into horns \m/ invented by late Sir Ronnie James Dio. R.I.P. Long live metal. \m/