Happy Birthday, Thakur

Thakur, man.

You’re the real deal.

You’re genuine.

You genuinely love music and you genuinely love people and you genuinely like having a good time, on the dancefloor, and off it.

You’re a blur, man, a blur of moves and grooves, of limbs and elbows, of liberated hips.

And every time you give me a hug, and say hello, I know you’re happy to see me. I can feel it.

That’s what a hug’s supposed to do, by the way.

I think you, you’re one of the handful of people I know in this country who truly get what dance music, or the ‘underground’, are really, truly about.

Because you’re cool, even though you’re not trying to be.

You just are. You’re just happy, happy to be there, and to be young, and alive, and hanging out with your friends, at the heart of the scene.

You exude a certain joy, as you wiggle your elbows, and shake your hips, and spin in circles. You don’t just occupy space on the dancefloor, you use it, you celebrate it, you celebrate life with your energy and passion and your refusal to let anything, not an average DJ, not a shitty soundsystem, not a stuck up crowd, get in the way of you having a good time.

Listen — we’re all there to have a good time. But for some of us, it’s hard to let go. I know I carry so much with me, onto the dancefloor. What I’m going through. What I’m worried about. What people will think of my awkward shuffle.

The only time I truly feel liberated is at Magnetic Fields, at 7AM, on a chilly December evening, while Mr. Gaurav Malaker is making magical things happen.

But you?  You’re always liberated man. You’re a liberated fucking guy. And I love you for that.

You get, more than most, that dancing, and dance music, and life in general, are about living.

And not worrying too much about the people who aren’t.

My favourite Thakur memory is from Magnetic Fields, again. It was, I think, 12 noon, on the third day, and most people were recovering, or detoxing, or retoxing, but everyone was just getting some rest, because it had been a long two days, and was going to be a long final night.

I was resting. I was barely alive.

But you? You were in it, right in front of the DJ, at the Desert Disco, dancing your heart out, and wiggling your elbows, and shaking your hips.

You didn’t give a fuck about recovery. You were having too much fun.

So thanks, man. For the fun, and the energy, that you always seem to have.

Happy birthday.



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