I am sitting upright, my left hand tightly curled into a twist, while my right arm is being repeatedly stung by a sharp needle.
After a few minutes, I stop feeling so much pain. Either the pain has subsided or I am now used to it. My arm is going numb. No, wait. Even my head is going dizzy. I indicate the same to my tormentor, and soon I am chewing on a delicious Snickers bar.
The Snickers works fast and hard to shoot my blood sugar levels up, and soon I start feeling the pain again!
But in a few minutes the ordeal is over. It’s been one hour and thirty minutes I have been sitting in that chair, getting myself tattooed on the right arm.
In the place of what once was a clear patch of skin is now a fierce black Dragon engulfing an equally lethal-looking black sword. The Dragon’s eye is blood red, and so is the jewel embedded in the hilt of the black sword.
The tattoo artist, a pleasant young man called ‘Raul’, clicks a few photographs of the still young tattoo. Then his assistants apply some petroleum jelly on my stinging, swollen arm and cover the tattoo with tissue paper, securing the paper in place with transparent tapes.
By the time I stumble out of the tattoo studio situated near the Osho commune of Pune, it was 7 pm., and I am dying for a shut eye.
The mood is serene and I have a feeling that this evening was something special. Here’s the tattoo, in it’s full glory.
