Crowd: A collective group of people reacting similarly to the same stimulus
Five years ago I heard a pretentious quote from the mouth of a fellow fourteen year old friend: I love the rain because no one can see my tears. I scoffed at it, appalled at the banality of the statement, the sentimental, simpering tone of it. I thought it was stupid.
Five years later I begin to understand it.
The crowd, a many armed, many legged monster moving together like the miniscule waves that make up a tsunami; it pushes me, I push back. I raise my hand with everyone else and scream myself hoarse because I like the guitarist with bieber-esque hair who is strumming mindlessly on stage.
I don’t think it every mattered if the music was good or bad; not to me. I could determine the quality of it when someone who understood tempo and drum solos better than me explained to me how truly terrible it was; maybe the guy with shaggy hair who named his guitar.
Anonymity pulls at my clothes, my hair, the tips of my fingers until I am a part of a larger entity that has the same heart, the same soul, the same liking for indo-western. I forget who I am, I forget that I may look ridiculous waving my arms around this, I am the crowd, the crowd is me, and we are swaying together as the waves of sound and soul and fire crash over us.
I hold hands with someone I have never spoken to, I push someone by mistake, someone knees me in my back when they get too excited, I ignore it.
They pull me, I pull back.
I felt like this for the first time a year ago during a college fest when I was dancing to the DJ at night. It was dark, everyone was kicking up dust and the music was so loud I couldn’t hear the sound of my own voice, only vaguely aware of the thrumming bass of my heart. The next morning I couldn’t remember who I danced with; someone kissed me on the cheek, I couldn’t recall. It was a whirl of flashing lights and freeing laughter; I had never felt more glorious.
Text By- Arundhati Das