screaming demons and beans

the sweet sick smell of weed floated in the air. jammed against a rush of bodies all swaying and head banging, i tottered on the one square foot space that cost me a cool 1800 bucks, ducking elbows and sweaty armpits.
i had accompanied the husband to the aerosmith concert.
this kind of music, i dont understand... there! i have said it! i dont care if shocked silence and supercilicious looks of oh-you-are-that-type greet me.
i dont dig the screaming demon and i dont care for his cherokee charms!
well, what would you expect? i grew up in a middle class family that woke up to the casette player or radio playing lata mangeshkar crooning sweet things. later what i heard was largely dictated by my big bully of a brother who monopolised our casette player.

so here i was, totally sober, looking around at a large body of people (and as luck would have it, tall people) rocking away and screaming the lyrics along with tyler with an enthusiasm that was equalled by the husband, who while he protectively lurked behind me, sang with gusto.
at some point, he leaned from the stratosphere and noticed that i stood rock still, hands folded, near his toes, silent, and said,"dont you know the lyrics of these songs?".
Now when husbands of a marriage that is only two months old ask such soul searching questions, its a bit of a jam really. i squeaked in a sheepish manner that i did not, cursing lata mangeshkar and all her clan under my breath.

the trip to bangalore had two firsts... my first ever rock concert (something tells me that its going to be my last as well) and the first ever criminal act that i ever committed.

now, though i dont head bang, i do smoke. and there was no way i was going to throw away a full pack of cigarettes because they were not allowed at the concert venue.
the solution offered by our friend was to tuck it in the remote recesses of my undergarments.
now, the friend in question closely resembles a mafia road roller if one ever existed. i dont think anyone's ever going to body search him, and even if someone did and found suspicious things, if he flicked his eyebrows at them, they'd probably pale and shrivel away.
so i tucked the pack into the back of my jeans and pulled my top over it in a gesture which i hoped would only look demure.
imagine the panic that flushed over me as the security personnel seperated the women from the line and herded them into a seperate line. this meant only one thing... a thorough body search! PANIC!
my honest little heart blanched and did triple somersaults as my turn came closer.
i watched with rising anxiety as the women in front of me were searched all over.

this was auschwitz!

i wore an expression of deliberate calm and poise that would have put maharani gayatri devi and her diamonds to shame. my heart was pounding and visions of how embarassing this could get clouded my head...
my turn came, she groped me, searched me and missed the pack entirely... at the next entry check, this happened all over again...

i have two different rationales as to why this happened...
a) i make a fine actress
b) i have a very large ass

i think i will lean towards option a.