In La-la land with Mr. Dylan

Life of a journalist in a nutshell: Deadlines, crafting a relevant story angle, digging out unconventional opportunities that could help get praises, and of course committing to quality. My life is no different. Though I have strived hard to be nonchalant, yet the panicky worm glues to me for some unidentified reason.

This article is being penned at a juncture when the head honchos are deliberately asking for the content plan for the days ahead. And, I have a very important interview scheduled exactly in an hour’s time with a biggie. I am still juggling with my content calendar and the questions to be asked for the interview. And…Guess what? Just at the time, when your wandering mind requires the utmost concentration, your neighbor plays, ‘Hey Mr.Tambourine man, play a song for me…’

And! It happens! Before I could even realize, I find myself in la-la land. In front of the real Tambourine man! He looks dapper as always in a black suit, emitting smoke from his cigar. I see a huge novel stuck in between the crook of his arm. Probably his next composition encircles around the novel.

Source: Mental Floss

I stand by a corner, a little puzzled, a little overwhelmed, and over-excited as usual. He flips through the pages of his latest obsession, while I gaze at him to my heart’s content. It appears that he is kind of smitten by a character in the novel. All this while, I am just deeply immersed in my ‘Tambourine man’. If anyone dared to make a wager at this time, to check if I got the lyrics right, he gotta lose it for sure.

He smokes, exhales, lifts up the guitar, and goes back to his book. I swing with the tune, and plead him to sing a song for me. For I really wasn’t sleeping and there was no place I was going to. I just wanted to release my breath to the tunes of his. It’s indeed a jingle, jangle morning and I already followed him this far…

Yes, my senses have been stripped, my hands can’t get to grip, and my toes are too numb to step.

I'm ready for to fade,

Into my own parade,Cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it…

Mr. Dylan reciprocates to my feelings with a warm smile. I think I saw his smile broaden as I sang the last line again...He dusts himself off, picks up his guitar and paces towards me with his guitar…

Hush! A loud jerk from my neighbour awakens me. And I receive a demand for the content ahead…My other colleague tells me how he had an awful day shooting in the scorching heat. And yes, it’s time for the interview too. I am numb, short of reaction…

Wait! Am I still in the jingle jangle morning, where I already went following him? Possibly yes!