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N.28 Of bafflements, ignorance and bliss

And so, being the author of my own story, a clean page stares back at me with a playful attitude. There is a palpable energy in the air, I can feel it. The far across the world travels are over for now but the call for adventure still resonates within my heart.

Quite naively, I had envisioned travelling as being a grand transformative experience of fireworks and jawdropping moments. Only to discover that these kinds of stories only came as a spice. A little sprinkle here and there, no more, no less.

What truly took me by surprise is the regular non-spectacular daily life that seemed to be on full throttle everywhere I went.

The local people living their lives were not that different from my travelling day to day.
In a strange way, before my travels, I had been all over the place but while being out there in person, I quietly came back to the only place there will ever be: right here, right now.

I guess you could say it either bubbled up from within or that it hit me in the face;
the undeniability of the truth. No matter where I ramble on to, I am here, now.

You could venture out on saying that my travels ended right there.
Or you could say they just began.
Both are the same, really.

I find language to be confusing when it comes time to share what is of the whole ‘’one’’ life domain. An intellectual dissection of the matter is far from adequate and the wisdom of the heart can only be expressed by imagery or meaningful simplicity.

In the past, I’ve truly enjoyed the zen approach to story telling.
Simple tales, profound meaning.

‘’The black coffee is warm. The cup is white’’

They make no sense if you gloss over them while trying to understand the meaning.
There is no meaning.
Intellectual understanding is overrated.

Life is so mind boggingly vast, interconnected, synchronistic and rich, never shall it fit into a box. Pardon my language but to hell with the boxes. Throw that ol’ dried up shit into the garbage and embrace the infinity of being alive.

I’ve dedicated my life to music and if the need arises, I can explain the nooks and crannies of why I do it. But this only came as a response to the age old question: ‘’what’s your real job?’’

I’ve learned to compassionately respond to a human baffled by the fact that someone may dedicate his or her life to something other than money.

Ignorance is to be handled with care and a great amount of tact. We can either help it blossom into wisdom or it can turn rabid and bite back quite aggressively.

Ignorance is like a wounded, scared and stressed out animal looking to survive.
Compassion trumps all other avenues.

All this to say that, in truth, Music is such a mystery to me, I am beyond clueless about all of it. At this point in my journey, Music and Life are one and the same.
And boy, ain’t that river deep and wide!

Well, I’ll quit my ramblings for now.
I’m sure you’ve got places to be.

Bobcat ‘’The clueless’’ reporting for duty

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N.27 Out on a Stroll

And so, we don’t sleep for long in the grand city of Montreal. I’ve only been back only for a couple of days and it’s about time for a stroll. Montreal is a city that beats to a ceaseless rhythm of more and too fast. If you’re here, get into it and learn to swim the current.

Or else, the place loses its pull, in my opinion.

The cultural life is vast, diverse and forever expanding. There’s always a thing happening somewhere and if you’re not vaccinated for it, you can catch the ‘’fomo’’ easily.
Don’t forget to wash your hands folks!

But most of all, embrace what you can and forget about the rest.

I love the cold season in Montreal. For me, these are the months I gig the most and go out to meet old and new friends on the regular. On this late October evening, first stop is at a vernissage on Marie-Anne at Art Gallery 1040.

My friend Jocelyn Renouf is presenting a series of oil painting portraits.
As he tells me, he does it in the ‘’Alla Prima‘’ style which means the painting is a one sitting adventure. The oil remains fresh throughout and spreads like butter, making the ordeal a fulfillingly organic journey.

As I go around from painting to painting, taking in the craftsmanship, creativity and passion into my heart for further usage, one of them catches my attention more than the rest.

Nadya looks deep into me. As I let myself melt into her eyes, I can’t help but get the feeling that she is about to move and introduce herself to me. It seems as though she is here with me in the room, alive.

She proudly proclaims: ‘’I exist, do you?’’

‘’Ye Nadya, I also exist, thank you for noticing’’


After a little shmoozing with the folks, the clock rings me back to it’s time to head out for the main course of the evening: a music concert at ye ol’ Quai des Brumes.

The venue celebrates its 40th birthday in October. It is one of my favorite places in the city. The music is dandy, the staff is warm and I often randomly meet lots of friends just hanging around the bar after dusk.

Tonight is Dominique Poirier’s album release by the name of ‘’Onomatopée’’.
He rips the accordion like no other, accompanied by a jazz rhythm section and a string quartet. The creativity is tangible and it sure quenches my thirst for some proper live music.

I’ll share with you my little secret. For some of us, going to shows is a regular occurrence. The only way I can economically do that is as an exchange: I take photos and I get in for free.

Hence being at the fulcrum of the greatest place in the world: at a concert while being of service. Oh man, I love my life.

From a ballad reminiscent of old French songs, to modern classical, to liberated jazz, the orchestra moves seamlessly from one musical world to another, brilliantly juggling the transitions.

The talent is undeniable; the waves of sound sweep me away in a photographic trance. Being a musician myself, I can anticipate where I’ll be able to capture what’s known as a “stank face”—that moment when the music is so good that the facial muscles tense up like a steak receiving an excessive electrical shock.


Dominique is one of my favorite musicians in Montreal.

With his unparalleled versatility and contagious passion, it’s always a great pleasure to hear him play and to jam with him occasionally.

He was the first person I’ve ever heard use effects like the wah-wah on an accordion.
It was about time someone thought of it!

From a solo song to a jazz quartet oozing with the ferocity of searching for the next note, to the Bazar Quartet’s modern classical approach, the band moves seamlessly from one form to another, leaving us on the edge of our seats, unsure of what the group’s next iteration will be.

Then comes a time when I stop taking photos. I have enough for now.

I let myself be carried away by the intoxicating musical maelstrom towards another cold season in Montreal. It’s pure pleasure to return at the beginning of winter and immerse myself in yet another unparalleled spectacle.

Bobcat is back, stay tuned for more metropolitan adventures!

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N.26 Friendship

There ain’t nothing like the warmth of friendship after a long journey. Coming back to a place where open arms abound, opportunities are everywhere and the river of life is flowing strong is truly a blessing.

I am in my hometown of Montréal and people keep asking me how hard it is to come back to so-called ‘’reality’’.

Well my friend, have you ever put on a warm glove in the frisky morning air of early winter? Yes, just like that.

I don’t make up many stories in my mind anymore. Wherever I am, I am.
There is no tension. I guess some of us are still missing the point that, wherever we find ourselves, the only place is now. That’s where the party is at and will ever be anyway.

I get this overwhelming feeling that I did not really leave and in a way, I never truly did.
I’ve travelled around only to be in a whole lotta nows. ‘’Now’’ here or ‘’now’’ are kind of the same. As if in one big intemporal bubble, spatiality is just another concept we hold on to in hopes of tying together this inexplicable experience we named reality.

Pardon my roaming around with words. Let’s not make up too many stories about freedom and the art of living. There’s much more to learn from roasting a toast in the morning than a few written words on a page.

Back to the subject at hand: friendship.

To me, it is one of the greatest riches that any man, woman and non-binary peeps can ever be given. I’ve heard, many times before, that it’s hard to get one true friend. I never really got that saying.

It’s as if a farmer would plant seeds in only a few places because he is afraid that all other places won’t bear fruit and expects to sow a garden that encompasses the whole field come the end of summer.

As I am concerned, I’m no hesitant farmer.
I’ve thrown seeds of friendship up in the air, given whole bags of kinship at first glance and considered people as if they were life long friends from the start.

Life’s too short to hold out on love. One day, when the reaper’s taxi comes at the door, we may regret not sharing enough.

Don’t you want to come home to a luscious garden filled with delicious fruits? Or better yet, don’t you want the future generation to rise in an environment full of grace?

I sure do.

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N.20 Money!

Money can’t buy happiness, as they say.

There is some truth in the saying: a rich man can be just as miserable, if not more so, than a poor man. Happiness is a choice we make every moment.
Happiness is hiding in the little gifts of life that await us at every turn.

Throwing a thousand dollars in the air won’t make happiness fall into our laps.

That being said, with money, you can buy a birthday cake for a 12-year-old girl who is sad because she can’t invite her friends to her party since she doesn’t have a cake to offer them.

“I’ll buy you your cake, damn it!”

I said to her, in a more appropriate language

Seeing the girl’s face light up with joy as she busily called her friends was a real emanation of joy. And all for 12 bucks.

Money can’t buy happiness, but with $10, you can pay for a 15-year-old’s gym membership so he can work out with his friends.

Money can’t buy happiness, not directly.

But with 22 bucks, you can pay your friend and his family’s electric bill.
Tomorrow there will be light in the hallway when you go over to spend the evening.

Money can’t buy happiness, but for $10 you can get a haircut, buy groceries for the week, a few extra chocolates, and take a taxi home.

Okay, this example is typically Indian because in Quebec, for $10 you get a coffee and a napkin.

Money can’t buy happiness but with a few handfuls of it you can take a plane to the other side of the world in a culture very far from your own and slowly release your own sense of how things should be. You can take your time to redefine yourself day by day because food and shelter are no more an issue for you.

Money can’t buy happiness but it facilitates travelling.

Adventures filled with ‘’what the fuck’’ moments, of impromptu tears of melancholy and strange meetings with wonderful people.

Money can’t buy happiness, but for 10 rupees you can get a chaï tea, sit down and digest all the experiences you’ve been having for the last 6 months while watching the birds flying up above. If that’s not happiness, then I don’t know what is.

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N.17 Cold rain and Snow


Two grown men and a goat pass by on a motorcycle. But who drives?

Today marks my one month in India. I am now a grown ass man with a belly filled with dosas and aching teeth from all the sugar everywhere, all the time. So many people told me about the culture shock. How India is a crazy place and to brace for impact.

Once again folks, an old lesson rings true:
Don’t listen to anybody and go check it out for yourself.

Prior to India, I spent a month and a half in Mexico. Both have so much in common I was surprised by it.

Replace cheese with sugar
Replace tortillas with dosas
Replace spanish with an unknown (to me) Indian language and Voilà:
Same shit, different continent.

I’ve got to say though, the Mexican arts and culture we’re more present, at least from my minimal experience of a month. Out here in southern India, I haven’t found music nor art, outside of the temple decorations and masterful craftsmanship that is.

I will keep looking for my kin.
I’ll let you know when I find them.

On the food and beverage side of life, both have many similarities. There are food stands everywhere filled to the brink with carbs. For a cheap price you can eat like a king, a.k.a ‘’way too much’’.

On the coffee side of town, Mexico wins by very very very far. By that, I mean, if there ever was a contest between the two countries to decipher who had the best coffee, India would’ve overslept, missed the whole ordeal and lost.

I know, I keep writing about coffee and all. You know, my writing is usually half inspiration and half caffeine. Takes a minute to get used to it, forgive me.

Back to the real issue at hand.
Man number one was driving, the goat was in the middle and man number two in the back.
Pure science. I love how crazy the driving is around here. It truly is a sight to wonder upon.

It can get so freakin’ hot out here this time of year. One night, as I was watching a movie, a scene came up. The scene was this: cold, wet mid-december heavy snow in a city.

I had a proverbial hard on
For snow
For cold
For icy roads that make you dance shakily
I truly am a man of the north.

Consider me melting. In southern India. In the hottest months of the year.
Bobcat reporting for duty!

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N.16 ‘’Black hole coffee’’

I’ve finally found it!
The one drink up to the task of raising the dead. I found it at a tiny street corner shop.
Finally a beverage that delivers a true kick in the face. I’m not sure the exact mixture but it bears the name ‘’ginger tea’’.

Pretty common, right?
Ah! How wrong I was.
Just a defenseless little ginger tea I thought. That’ll be a good digestive after supper.
That night I could not fall asleep.

I tried again the next day. At 2 pm.
That gives me ample time to digest it fully and fall asleep peacefully come night time.
Wrong again!
At last, a true contender.

I had been told, before coming here, South India is home of some of the best coffee on the planet. I had high hopes. They all came crashing down. Until now, I’ve only come across instant coffee or a mixture of 50/50 chicory and coffee. Disappointing to say the least.

With the English language, I can communicate with most people and be understood.
But for some reason, when I say: ‘’strong black coffee, no extra water, no milk, no sugar, please’’ It seems to go right by and I get an instant sugary abomination.

And so, I gave up trying.

You see, I don’t really drink ‘’coffee’’. I drink motor oil.
I enjoy my coffee so strong it makes the nearby flies die of heart attacks just by the smell of it. Come to think of it, there was one instance where I found satisfaction.

After visiting a temple with my friend Javi, we went to a nearby restaurant.
I went with my usual routine. ‘’strong black coffee, no extra water. no sugar, no milk, please’’

The waiter came back giggling.
They don’t get that sort of madness often I think.
He looks at me with huge eyes and says ‘’strong black coffee’’ while handing me the one thing I had been longing for: Motor oil.

A coffee so black, time disappears in it. My god, what a grand moment!
It’s the little things in Life, my friend.
It’s the little things.