Flirting with Korla Panditism

With the shit luck I've been suffering of late I have seriously given thought to converting to a new religion. Not that it'll do me any good of course, but it never hurts to cycle out your gods occasionally, much the same way you should periodically change dealers from time to time. Go to the same source for 'magick' often enough and that source inevitably starts to take advantage of you, gets cocky and starts acting like they're the only act in town. Over charging a loyal customer for watered down miracles and baby laxative cut rituals. Next thing you know they stop answering your prayers... or telling you they're out of juice until the weekend after next. You gotta shuffle them up to get the most bang for your buck... market permitting of course. With that in mind, looked into Simon LeBonism, Zen Voudon and Thelemanetics. This last one being a renegade branch of the O.T.O., made up of a cabal of rouge Scientologists (or so I am told), that claims to be in possession of a recently discovered holy book co-authored by none other than Aleister Crowley and L. Ron Hubbard. While each of these weren't without their charm, none of them were for me really.

I was ready to fall back on the religion my father had raised me up in, taught to him from Grandad who learned it back in the 'Old Country'. This was of course - "Cursing-at-the-Sky-whenever-something-goes-Wrongism". One of the few faiths that can boast of letting you shake your fist angrily at your God while letting you sleep in on Sundays.

But then a mysterious angel came to me in a post-onanistic vision of apocalyptic magnitude. The room suddenly reeked with the sour orgone scent of spent lightning and sweat. A haunting organ melody suddenly seized me in my bed, descending down from the shadows pooled along the ceiling's corners, billowing through the windows on an ether breeze and wafting out of the cracked open closet on magnetic ghost currents. The smoke burning off an neglected cigarette began to form into a turbaned face that floated inches above mine. It blinked once and then spoke unto me:

"For Wisdom is better than rubies and all things to be desired are not to be compared unto it!".

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demanded, struggling to fight off the music paralysis so I could wave off the apparition like a lingering fart.

"Silence!" the face roared and in its wake a note blasted like Gabriel's trumpet - if Gabriel's trumpet was actually a Hammond Organ - shaking the walls and rattling the change off my dresser. When the ringing died down in my ears he continued -

"I am Korla Pandit!"

The name did ring a bell, but only literally... a chime to be precise that bought with it no conceivable memory to frame it within my recognition. My ignorance squirmed in the grip of the silence between us, wiggling distastefully until the apparition was compelled to clarify after a excruciating procession of awkwardly spilt moments.

"When I last walked this mortal world you currently find your soul enslaved in, it was as the son of a humble New Delhi Brahman and a French opera singer. I came to the United States to teach it the Universal Language of Music! I am best known perhpas as the Godfather of Exotica and for my adventures with the legendary Chandu the Magician."

"Ohhhhh-kay..." I sighed and looked around the room uncomfortably.

"Very well, disbeliever..." he rolled his eyes impatiently and sucked air through his miasmic scowl, "open up your mind and I will reveal to you unchained melodies, music of the Exotic East, the oriental tones of India, Themes Magnetic... favorites of yours and mine, played on the Heartstrings of Time"

With a mesmerist's confidence he burst into a cathode flare that burned across my eyes and lo, I beheld...

...as the 'music whispering through the blooms of space' faded and segued into the rain lullaby tapping against the windows, I awoke from my trance a new man. I knew deep down it was my holy mission to spread the gospel of Korla Pandit - Television Guru of Atomic Age America, Cocktail Hour Mesmerist and Patron Saint of Exotica.

Sadly the following days and a rare non-pornographic perusal of the web would reveal the truth behind Korla Pandit. I would discover that he was actually a native Missourian, (St.Louis to be exact) by the name of John Roland Redd. He played the organ for radio and the early days of television. The whole 'Korla Pandit' gig came after he and his wife brainstormed up a new image for him. Seriously go Wiki or Google him up.

Still, the validity of a Saint or a God or a Guru, lies not in mere biography but rather in the results the faith you've invested in them have returned. So far Korla Panditism hasn't protected me or my loved ones. However I have found I have some small success in hypnotizing the weak willed by summoning the 'Themes Magnetic' and at times can make cocktails appear out of thin air. Not much of a miracle in the grand schme of things... but it's kinda fun at parties and provides no end of small talk when breaking into a conversation.

As far as I know I'm the only Panditite in the Terminus area and for now it is enough to get me by the sleepless nights and luckless days that follow.