The Last Jet-Engine Laugh [antikvár]

17 June, 2030 Calcutta I need new prayers, the old ones don't work anymore. I mean, I'll try the old ones again, keep turning the key in the ignition, but I know the sound that will come — I could try my father's old favourite, try like the good Brahman I've never been, Tomoso ma jyotirgomaya, mrityor ma amrutam gama — nope, no way, no way I can say that straight. That one just brings back a bad memory of school. I find myself doing Gyanendranath Ganguly, translating from the Sanskrit, some whereabouts 1970 or so, 'Aut oph dhurkness o Ihord, lead aas into laaight, phrom dathe lead aas o Ihord, intu IMMOR-TALITHEE . . .' Nope. No way. Try the Gayatri Mantra next. Aum bhur bhuva swaha, totsavitur - you see the problem is that I need the sun for that, and this is Calcutta in the middle of a June that's come carrying an early monsoon. I haven't seen the sun for days. And 'varenyum' always slides around in my head and becomes 'uranium' . . . Or I could try loading the Etretat game. Etretat 3/C is the best one, and when it works it kind of works like a prayer. Something to make you happy. But it won't work. Of late the memory's been haemorrhaging, so sometimes she actually slides over the cliff, or sometimes the cops open fire. Last time I tried playing it, the waiter wouldn't bring me the bloody breakfast coff - Wait a minute. Coffee. The water's decent today. The filter hasn't