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April 09 I'm working on a dream...So I’m finally doing what I have been wanting to do for so long—writing about music for a music magazine, for the love of music. But I never really thought that something that you love doing takes this much hard work. I mean, you think that it would be second nature. But you have to sink yourself in. You gotta listen to the songs a billion times till the riffs and strings buzz in your ears. You gotta read the lyrics and get into the mind of the musician—someone who has been into this business almost all his life (read: The Boss, Bruce Springsteen), eons before you even knew what ‘music’ meant to you. Quite simply, you need to be lost in someone else’s hardw ork, finesse and perfection, in order to find yours. At the end of the day, it finally dawned that for me, THIS is where effort should count, with no strings attached. Nevermind the forgotten credits. Nevermind spending hours and days, trying to figure out how best to describe something that seems so sculpted to perfection in composition, production, sound, vocals, lyrics (read: Bruce’s new album Working On A Dream). Listening to the music that was made to inspire you is in itself, rewarding. Apart from that (and my boy’s charming self), I realise that things look good. Do give Working On A Dream a listen. It's Bruce like you've never heard him before. He's in love and not afraid to tell the world about it. And I think the world could use some honesty and true love like this... In other news, I haven’t seen a glassful of beer in almost two months. And I think, I have stopped chronically whining for good. Yay. December 21 The Times that Made this year (in no particular order)1.) Talking to Sis about the recent Mumbai terror attacksThat was probably the longest conversation I have ever had with her. I think that's what's strangely weird, yet heartwarming about this family. We don't have to say we love each other. We don't need to. The love is somewhere laced and smuggled between the swapping of recipes, mutual dissing of school teachers and politicians - and of late the horrific attacks. And I think the very first, open-minded discussion I had about the attacks was with this usually hypertense woman. And I'm glad I shared it with her. In a way, it was her way of saying that she is happy with her new married life, and my way of saying that I'll be fine. 2.) Talking to Ze Love Guru about the four of usIf Ze Love Guru were a man, we would've been soulmates. We think alike. We speak the same things, at the same time. I was waiting at the station, thinking about how I missed our conversations and wisdomous swappings about life and relationships, when she calls. We meet up after what seemed like months. There used to be a time when it was an everyday affair. That eve, we talked about work. About Curly Fry. About FCW. About how the four of us used to hang out so much. About "changes". About her life being complete. About how "we think about changes only when something drastic happens to us." About why I need to give myself a break, and just go with the flow... Its amazing that in all her modesty, she thinks she's not great. When I think I don't have the answer, she has them for me on standby. But fuck change. When did long friendships start mutating into myths? I still wish we still stuck together. 3.) Juhu Beach Shoot with Fellow Writer SaabNow this is exactly why I love spontaneous plans. Because they haven't been planned a week in advance or ''iterinarised", I never end up getting disappointed. So in the excuse of just trying something new, and also begin shooting at least, I decide to go to Juhu beach one early morning. Fellow Writer Saab was sweet enough to be my model, sandals and bag holder and co-shells collector for the day. Neither of us expected Juhu Beach to be such a clean paradise! Towards 9 am, we were the only young-people-who-wanted-to-be-kids-again on the beach. Apart from shooting Writer Saab's natural poses, we did beachy things- collect shells both live and dead ones and then (accidentally) freeing the live ones, stand on the water while it cleansed our feet (but we were kinda bummed that we didn't experience that feeling of the water trying to take us with them). We faffed quite like street urchins for the rest of the day. The events included dissing Barista for keeping fake cookie jars and aggravating our hunger pangs, minor rickshaw accident with a piece of rearlight glass swiping my cheek, Writer Saab fighting off tummy butterflies till he finally received that big offer letter from the BAAP of all ad agencies (while we entered the office with semi-tan and sandy feet), and singing and yapping all the way while the poor cabbie took us back to our routine excuses- work... Ok so I think I'll cut the list short here, because my eyes are welling up. Because I've only come to realise, despite this being a rather shitty year, I've had some good times too. GREAT times.The list would also include Bandra Reclamation sessions with Miss iWant, working and hanging out with Jai Basanthi and Veerubhai Enfield (the best co-workers one could ever imagine), almost every outing (and every argument about who gets Neil Bhoopalam) with Chicilata aka Girgit, random jam sessions at Carters with BB Gunn, Karaoke (and losing voice the next day) with my other disfunct yet strangely nice family called Team BP -Hey ! the list's is actually longer than the shittier times. Which makes me want to ask myself, why exactly was I whining. If I just listened a little more carefully, I could hear each one of these people tell me , "You are not alone, and never will be."So, to the ones I love and to those who I will love, I hope you continue to stick by this hopeful cynic of sorts, no matter what. I hope you know that I'm doing great, and I hope we stick and can be shiny happy mad people together in the coming years too.And to you who believes in "twist of fate, hand of God and in the alignment of stars", I owe you a couple of beers.September 14 ReviewIn the past two years, I have been juggling with trying to fulfil three main compromises—‘work’, ‘family’ and ‘friends’.
And during that time, I could fulfil only two. Temporarily.
In May, I fulfilled ‘family’. In July, it was joined by ‘work’.
And I think I just lost my best one…to nothing.
So if the fourth, obvious compromise comes at my doorstep, right about now, I think I can score a jackpot. June 14 Top 3 movies on my 'HAVE-to-mean-HAVE-to-watch' list1.) The Dark Knight
Two words why – Heath Ledger. Lot of respect for the actor he turned out to be.. and boy, did it show in Monster’s Ball, Lords of Dogtown and Brokeback Mountain. And of course, Christian Bale. He gets my 5000 brownie points for resurrecting the uber-coolism in Batman movies. Correction – ALL superhero movies. 'Have made a mental note to keep a watch on Aaron Eckhart. That guy has made some wise choices of late, namely Thank You for Smoking and No Reservations. I bet he's got more sass for the killer role of District Attorney, Harvey Dent he's playing here. 2.) Sex & the City Purely because I know I’ll have mixed opinions. Like I did for The Simpsons Movie (which I thought was strictly ok, as compared to the South Park movies). The trend is familiar – the series does great, generates a cult following, ends in flying colours and big awards. Then hype builds up for ‘talks about a full feature’. Eventually so do the rumours, the endless discussions and co-stars leaking secret botox implant stories of other co-stars… Although, I’d have to admit – I loved the show. I really am a sucker for relatable female protagonists like these four larger-than-life women in SATC. And of course I'm planning this outing with two great gal pals. Besides if the story disappoints, at least there’s haute couture fashion and Blahniks to drool at… 3.) Hancock Take a completely original plot- “A hard-living superhero who has fallen out of favour with the public enters into a questionable relationship with the wife of the public relations professional who's trying to repair his image.” Take two stellar actors of today – His Handsome Highness, Will Smith and Charlize Theron Andvoila- you have promise of great entertainment. Or even if you swear by the superhero format, that would do. But be prepared to be pleasantly surprised… May 29 Mangal, Mangal, Mangaluru...Seven travelers, one 14 hr train journey, one scary fainting stint, 1381 km crossed, Two hand sanitizer bottles emptied
Four complete days and nights, three hotels Seven temples, one free humble lunch at one temple
20 Dosas lovingly wrapped/served in banana leaves, each anywhere between Rs.10-15 One kg. mangoes, one kg. Mysore bananas, 12 fresh coconuts Zero beers, Zero worries
One heartiest veg. thali
One beach, one bag of ashes submitted to the sea
Four stores with my surname, three bungalows I liked one belonging to a very hardworking cousin, one inspiration to own one just like that, one spontaneous retirement plan made
One ice cream parlour called ‘Ideal’, three ‘gadbads’, one litchi ice cream, one duet, one dil kush, one chocolate dad
One dog of course, one hungry cat, two lizards corresponding to two sub-standard hotels
Zero cow dumpings on roads !!
Zero taunts about my improved Tulu
One paisa-vasool shopping spree at Hakoba
One day’s breakfast, lunch and dinner under 500 bucks per head
Four villages visited – Mulky, Ullal, Kapu, Monkey Stand Five express bus trips to these villages that were honestly ‘express’
One five yr-old girl whose mother claimed to have caught a snake by its tail
One day-market, one meeting with a fisher woman with impressive marketing skills for selling dried fish, seven bags of dried fish for about Rs.1000 in total
One masala dosa the best I’ve ever had EVER
One lunch of 7 for under 2000 bucks, three dishes of fried fish, one disgusting bite of bondas or masala fried squid
One Taj sweets and no other sweetmeat shop comes even close, 2 kg halwas, 1 kg melting Mysore Pak, three bags of banana, sweet potato and jackfruit chips each
One long bus journey back
Two blackbirds, Two signs that Dad was watching over us…
Six satisfied, cleansed souls
One guilty soul
One beautiful place – fit for retirement
One trip worth making again… May 12 Umm.. it's Option DThank you Sneha for your mail. Hope you continue to be a fan of Rolling Stone India.
With Regards Radhakrishnan Right then. I shall curb the enthusiasm for now. Ok, so maybe not on the cover of the Rolling Stone, but fingers crossed....Dear Mr. Radhakrishnan,
I'd simply like to start off by saying- thank you for finally bringing the Rolling Stone to India! Its iconic in terms of music, pop culture, movies, art. And India - with its burgeoning rock music scene (which has slowly begun to blend into Bollywood tunes too!), with the gaining popularity of solo artistes and bands alike - I'm sure you'd agree too, that this couldn't be a better time. I could be an unlikely fan of the magazine. I was first aware of it when I saw the movie 'Almost Famous' about three years, when I was studying in Adelaide, Australia. The movie's about a young journalist who works for a local music mag, and tours with one of his favourite bands, when he gets a call from THE Rolling Stone mag, asking him to do a feature about the band for them. What the editors didn't know that, that journalist is only about 15 years old! What follows, is the boy experiencing more than just the band in person and the music - the chemistries, the friendships, the real passion for the music vs. the desperate attention to be known, to be recognised, to be famous. And in so many ways, Rolling Stone captures just that. It's never been only about the music. Neither has it been the peephole to the over hyped, often false representation of the world of fame and stardom. Rolling Stone is Attitude ! Pure attitudes and self expression of the musicians, movie stars alike in each of the interviews. And you simply can't help but be inspired, and thankfully not starry-eyed with the 'superficial'ness of celebrity... I too am one of the inspired. The mag used to be my source of wonder and kaleidoscope to the world of music, during my years in Adelaide. And I'm mighty glad it shall continue here in Mumbai too. Thank-you for your time in reading this email. I'd like to say thank you once again for introducing India to a world icon, and I wish you great success in the years to come. Kind regards, Sneha Ullal Copywriter & Avid music & fashion enthusiast :) (Two things from here - I either get a mail back from Mr. R'krishnan, saying something on the lines of 'Hey you sound geeky cool, why not be a part of our geeky cool team at RS?
Or this gets published in a corner of the editorial section...
Or I stop dreaming and get on with my life...
What do you think, oh kind reader?)
April 29 ...There are so many words to describe This Man.
But if I say too much, I’m afraid I’d overtly patronise Him. And He never wanted that.
In fact, He didn’t wish for pictures of Him in every room, or cornered between an obscure, often ignored section of the newspaper.
A quiet Man. Who spoke little, and had a beautiful smile and a surprisingly sharp sense of humour. Who loved to sing songs of Rafi, rhymes in kannada and a lullaby about having ladyfingers every Sunday. Who could slice and clean fish like a pro-chef. Who could cook perfect triangle parathas. Who played cards like an ace, and entertained us with little magic tricks. Who loved reading and solving crosswords in English, but preferred to speak only in Tulu or Kannada to us.
He didn’t have much to give, but that never stopped Him from giving wholeheartedly. To those who deserved to be helped out. To those who didn’t. To those He cherished His childhood years with. To those He loved so much that He’d give up His life just so that they could live theirs.
And towards the end, the smile slowly vanished. The humour eventually diminished. The silence grew. The pain worsened. The sense of time went out of place.
The singing stopped.
We respected the indirect communication, the strong messengers of silence, the holding hands. The eyes that met, and meant to say that it’s ok to go…
They say that death happens when you least expect it. But moreover, its best to face death, when you are most prepared...
In this one month, he was preparing himself. And through his pain, his frustration, his dissipating memory, he was preparing us to be strong.
They also say that while you are taking your final breaths, the best events of your life flash before you. And we could see us in His every moment, through His fixed violet eyes…
And then suddenly, time mattered to Him.
He awoke from his 12 hour coma. And the first thing he did was look at the clock. He looked at the three of us, one by one. We agreed in silence with him. The time was right. The time was now.
Yes, he was afraid. So were we. But when our eyes met his, we knew it was going to be ok. He knew we were going to be ok.
In his last final breath, he finally sensed relief.
After two whole years, he finally smiled.
I know I've missed to mention a few crucial things. But they're better placed in my memories and dreams.
But all in all, Pappa, I'll miss you dearly...
April 16 If wishes were Bangles...I took the train to work today.
From being a 'bus-ie' for almost a year, to coming back to being a 'first class train-ie' - I guess this transition is a step to avoid, if not beat, April's cruel summer.
And for that half hour, there's no better pleasure than the wind blowing in your face and a blessed-ly uncrowded compartment. Kandivali was approaching. I wait at the exit, my wooden bangled hand holding on the centre pole. When suddenly, I felt the bangles slide down my hand from an outside force, which coudln't have been the wind...
I look towards the direction and see these two little urchin sweepers - beady eyed, mesmerised with the colours. They might've been 6-8 years old. One of them, with his index, gently flicking one bangle to another as if counting, but silently. I look at him, he hesitated and withdrew his finger. I couldn't help but smile back and let him continue.
The train came to a complete halt. I got off and walked away.
'Paanch!'
I look back.
The kid happily holds out his hand and hollers again. Five.
I smile and continued to walk.
I got into the auto and I looked at the bangles, flicking it with my index.
That's when it occured to me.
That the kid - who probably makes his living crossing tracks, climbing onto trains, sweeping and begging for money, probably having no parents to look after him, no proper home, barely any food, clothing or shelter....
... could count. Count all five wooden bangles.
March 17 The Beatles make me cry sometimes, yes...There's attachment... and then there's a longing to be attached..
There's a secret behind every song you grew up listening to.. and then there are promises you kept in your head, secretly all this while...
There's soul... and then there's excruciating pain...
There's my forbidden loss... and then there's your forbidden gain..
There's a million sorries... and then there's one stupid blame...
There's a million reasons I can look forward... and then there's a million more reasons why I cant help but look back...
There's one reason you can look into my eyes and say it like you mean it... and there's one excuse to runaway like you never meant anything at all..
There's a dance... and then there's a reason to squish your toes on purpose...
There's always one mistake... and yet it takes so many more to cover that one up..
There's always one person you're meant to be with.... but somehow the more you hope the more it painfully slips away..
The Beatles make me cry sometimes, yes... at least they've sung their woes out loud... The Beatles make me cry sometimes, yes... at least they know all YOU need is love... February 23 Sniff WhiffMumbai doesn't smell anymore.
You know its distinctive 'smell'. Its smell of identity, of a certain reassurance. I realised this absence when I got onto the new swanky purple BEST AC-wala bus, and smelled Adelaide instead. Well, of course, blame the AC perhaps. But think about it - maybe the crazy-chilly winters froze the smell too for eternity...
As soon as you get off a plane and enter the airport, the first thing that embraces you even before your wailing loved ones is that smell. And it holds on to you for the rest of your life. And for some reason its asks you to look back and think hard. But the most interesting part is... its not a reek, its not garbage, its not the gutters, its not even the vada-pavs. Its more like a trigger that sparks nostalgia and equates it to home. As a matter of fact, I don't even want call it a 'smell' and diss it- cause its not really offensive. And calling it a 'fragrance' would be too much of a compliment, 'cause its not really that glorifying or heady. Weak for the heart maybe. But not Cool Waters heady. It's a nostalgia catalyst. Pure and simple. And its either too nice or just too painful. 'depends on how long you've stayed away from home....
Ok so lets just call it the Mumbai Whiff. MW.
And I guess, everyone's MW is different. My MW used to be grandma's roses + fresh morning chhapattis + mud after first rains + kerosene + fried fish + mogras + the seat covers of our old Fiat + agarbattis + dust + our eons-old-enough-to-be-museum-exhibits matresses + mum's cotton saris + dad's leather wallet + home-made puran polis +... oh a lot more south indian kitsches. This concoction was all part of a childhood that I never understood. That I wished had a replay and edit buttons.
A pause button too, so that I'd have enough time to think what questions I need to ask. And what answers I need to conjure.
So when I did get off that plane- my last trip back home- this childhood acquaintance came back to me. Yes, I did think hard. Yes, I did look back. But no, I do not regret. Although, I will also not forget.
And I don't need to ask questions. 'Cause I know the answers are exactly what I'm living right now...
A month later, Girgit and I eager to see 'C for Clown' sit ticketless outside an unfairly houseful Prithvi. Hopeful as punctual, stubborn women can be, we wait sitting on the ol' park bench just opposite the entrance, keeping a lookout for any potential ticket-reseller-in-shining-armour. We sat weighing our eagerness, murdering Lola Kutty's (wiithout the saree and mogras) sense of dressing and shielding eyes from shiny bags. Everyone was almost in, and it grew quiet. We quietly went quiet too...
Girgit: I just love this place.. and the smell... Me: Yeah.. 'know what you mean... smells peaceful...like home...
That smell suddenly got mixed with a sniff of the small gutter flowing right behind the bench.
Presenting the new MW.
January 28 When all heaven's a stage...
Pearl Jam. Doors. Beatles! Quando, Quando, Quando !!!!! Beer. Beer. Eye Candy! Beer. January 14 "Nipple?""Ummm... no. Uh.. Dishwashing liquid. "
"..."
Blank stare.
"Deessh-wwaassheeeng- lee-queeedd."
"Oh."
The kid at the chemist's corner smiles, embarrassed and quickly turns around to find a bottle of dishwashing liquid for me.
Maybe my polka dotted top psyched the poor kid...
December 28 To inspire too, is to be spontaneous...The lousiest gig ever.
I honestly thought I play better. Chords, wrong. Tune, wrong. Bar chords, just wrong wrong wrong. All that was right, was my clothes matching well with the beautiful black and white stratocaster (electric guitar) lookalike. Some foo-foo latas wouldve been proud. Elton John and Prince even.
But I guess, at least the kids were happy to see one girl with a bunch of scruffy-gruffy male musicians.
The teacher introduced: '... and last but not the least.. the only girl musician in this band... who also acted in the film 'Lucky'... Sneha Ullal....'
(WTF!!!!)
The boys chattered: 'Arreeeeee, woh ladki guitar bajaati hai !!.. kya baat hai..... uska naam bhi Sneha Ullal hai... waah waah waah.'
(Geez. Sigh...)
The girls muttered: 'Oh, what a snob!! .. whats with the fringe-bead-tikka ghetto do-up??... guitar, my fuzzybutt....'
(I give up...)
Summer of '69. Yawn.
Bhool Bulaiya. Dhoom macha mere pyaar mein. Ok, still...
Rubaru. Getting better... . Fucked the A at the beginning..
Old hindi songs rock instrumental. Wish I could play lead like that, I thought watching from backstage.
At one point, I just wanted to grab the mike and start crooning 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. And show these kids that theres better music ! Much better music !!!
but the Queen worshipper had to be shooed and played quietly. Hare Ram, Hare Ram , Hare Krishna, Hare Ram.
We finished . Crowd roared. I didn't bow. We packed.
The Teacher, 'Hey great performance you guys... way better than last year... you'll are getting Lifetime Achievement awards... so stay till the end... and dont go anywhere'.
'Cool, I wont.'
I swung the guitar case. The crowd gave way. I ran out the door.
I stopped right outside the church. A little girl with a rag doll, probably 6 years old sees the 'big black thing' I was carrying.
'Igyoose me, bud wad is this?' , swinging her hand, pointing her little index.
'It's a guitar, sweetie'
She stares at the case, almost in disbelief. Maybe because its overwhlemingly double her size.....
'You know the one you play like this... you see people play on TV.... you see people sing carols while playing this... you play it like this .. *a little air guitar act*'
'Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh'
I smile for the first time since that whole evening...
Doe eyes stare right at my face...'I wanna play tooo...'. Big 'Gateway of India' appreciative grin.
It triggered my widest smile ever...
Someone actually got inspired without seeing me play. Waah.. :)
September 17 I want to break ...hain?...Free.
Like lazy-arsedom, laid-backism, float free.
Issue-less freedom
Artless freedom
Fartless freedom
Freedom from Chandivali
Freedom from 'candy valleys'
Scot-free
Scotch- free
Butt-free
Slut-free
Schmuck-free
Muck-free
Luck-free
Free goodies
Free foodies
Free hoodies
Free woodies
Sell me for free
but sell my pride for half price
buy my guilt for free
but buy my logic for double the price
random freedom
scarce freedom
sparse freedom
farce freedom
sigh...
worthless rolling teardrop....
free flying kiss for your thoughts....
July 21 RevengeWhat a brilliant plan !
Indifference.. in silence... 'Show that you don't care, but that doesnt mean you pretend nothing happened!'
Not anger.. not retaliation .. not endless arguments and questions.. but Indifference.. that's the word I was looking for...how profound..
well its only fair... you fight fire with fire no...
Advice from the most unlikiest of people - Thank you me Comp Whizz ! July 17 'Pappu's gone...'Sis wakes me up from afternoon siesta, her voice shaky, eyes red.. I've rarely seen her this way...
'Who.... WHAT?'
'Pappu... he's dead...'
'What happened??'
'Motorbike... I don't know how... he flew off... Chicky was riding.... and some truck...rammed...
I dont know why.. but he died...'
Like a messed-up nightmare. Like a blurred reverie. It just couldn't be true.
We lived next door to each other. We practically grew up together. The Dalvi siblings- Shoma, Kaustubh and Hilen. Mavshi, Pappu and Chicky. We called Kaustubh, 'Pappu'. Anyone who loved him did. And that was everyone. Pappu as a three-year old would only listen to my Mother, when it came to matters of discpline. Idlis only from Babu Mummy, he insisted. Pundi I shall have only Amma's (my Grandma's). He grew up to be a rebel, but with a heart of gold. He'd jump straight down from a flight of 10 stairs, only just missing by a millimetre landing on Shoma's intricate rangoli. But he'd still wake up early in the morning, just in time to conduct the grand Ganesh Chaturti puja. He'd show off scars of his daredevil conquests - jumping off some ridge in college, lighting crackers while still in hand, his pet mynahs post-bites, fights with Mavshi and Chicky. But he was constantly on his toes, making sure everything went smooth during my Granpa's funeral..
There's a hanging guilt.... for not keeping in touch with them enough, although they never forgot our birthdays. For not giving him a call on his 30th birthday just two days before the inevitable happened. Im not sure what Im trying to say here. This isn't a tribute. More like a confession. That we take other's lives for granted more than our own. That we think we're invincible and unbreakable. There's anger, pity, sympathy, remorse in a painful concoction of trauma. There're questions like why, why, WHY. Especially when a glimpse of his naked, bloodied corpse is nailed against my mind as a numbing reminder...
So Im sorry... and I dont know what else to say... I should've just messaged... I shouldve asked more about you ..I shouldve just picked up the phone.... they all seem to be worthless excuses...
You were a good soul... an inspiring rebel... and you deserved so much better... My prayers with your family and fiance...
May you rest in peace...
July 14 .The power of music?...
Your loved one letting you wrap your arms around his arm, walking along the promenade, humming 'Abhi Na Jao Chhodkar, Ke Dil Abhi Bhara Nahin'....... You've just learned that your dad is ill, coindicently the song playing on your laptop is the Verve's 'Bittersweet Symphony'..... Two people getting back together with a song you introduced them to. And that song happens to be Ella Fitzgerald's version of Cream's hit 'Sunshine of Your Love'...... You need an excuse for a good conversation and a reason to smile, so you call up your Jigree dost.. and the caller tune that plays is Frank Sinatra's 'I've Got You Under My Skin'... Music has been integral. Ever since I was a kid. Ever since Mother taught us to be good kids by playing nursery rhymes sung by Yesudas; to being potential divas by eventually progressing to Bonnie M, Tina Charles, Jennifer Rush and Madonna. My sis was blessed with a dancer's grace, agility and intelligence. On the other hand, I was bequeathed with a gibberish tongue and a brandname with a punch that spelt 'TERROR!' (yes, with scalping elder sis's hair and climbing and sitting on top of the tall refridegerator among some, um, activities). One of Mother's favourite stories is that of her youngest daughter who mightve started talking quite late (at the age of four, she proclaims), but the terror always babbled the tunes of the songs right! There's even a video evidence of me dubbing in 'goo-goo-ga-ga', one of Madonna's greatest hits- 'Like A Virgin'.
So that's how it started really - since then Music became synonymous with personal expression. With love. With bonding. With uber coolism.
The coolest part was getting into almost all genres - starting with classical (Karnatic music which Mother insisted on, for about 7 years), then the brief Backstreet Boys-Britney Spears phase (yeah, yeah I hear you snicker. And I'm sure you mustve hidden in your bathroom with your walkman nestling that mixed tape with songs from 'Genie in the Bottle' to 'Backstreet's back'), then a very brief Prodigy phase, then thankfully shifting to 60s-70's music- the Beatles, Doors, then good ol' inspirational rock- U2, queen... to soul searchin rock - Train , The Wallflowers, Oasis, The Verve....then surprisingly jazz- Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday... but now hot on headphones- Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Wolfmother, Jet and feel good Latina/Salsa music.. :D. Somewhere between all those phases came taking up guitar and drums... and singing for an all girl band and going for all those college festivals... and endless discussions about why we worship the Beatles....
As I end this entry... the odd question pops..
Music as a career option .. why not?
Then I see standing in the corner of my bed, my guitar case blanketed with a thick layer of dust... and the calluses disappearing from my fingers...
Elaborate excuses go better with the Advertising profession...
June 03 Perceive through a seive...Listen
and drown in a concoction of sighs and whispers from a resting chin on a restless shoulder... As fingers entwine in playful delight Two small worlds welcome peace And expectation gets thrown out of the oppurtunity window... (I could do with some peace. Too much hypocrisy around me isn't doing anybody any good. Im tired of being labelled 'naive' or 'too nice'... Im tired of receiving brutally indirect pity....so much so that I think the only way I could vent out all this anger and frustration- is by inducing physical harm on anybody who deserves it.
I could use a crazy night out right now. Thats how much I miss Adelaide...Thats how much I miss freedom...
But now I;d very much like to drown in work and slowly morph into an ad-nut, thanks...
Or spread my arms wide and fall in love with Mumbai rains... after three long years... )
May 19 'WHACK' thoo..‘WHACK!’ *crrrrriiiiiccchsk*
A murder… a sin… right in front of a child that too.. tsk..
Well, a sin at least in my questionable book of sins. Because for some godforsaken piteous reason .. as much as ‘Oh-how-very-betty-cooper’ this is goin to sound… I cannot kill insects and creepy crawlies.. even those that promote nuisance and fear kazillion times their size.. whack an earthworm even and the irises are dew-moist... No idea why.. NO, Im no Maneka Gandhi.. Im a just touchy squeak and part of it is my illusive, betraying imagination’s fault…
But maybe most of you would agree with me on this… that Rage does wonders to revamp your personality…
This brand new sadistic wave of pristine RAGE just surged in..like recharged adrenaline.. and smacked the cockroach into charred, solidified caramel flakes... something you wouldn’t nearly imagine as topping on your cheesecake at all..
So this happened in an empty train on my solo-trip to Churchgate. While my depressed, whined-out ass hogged the window seat, this girl maybe about 10 yrs old sits opposite me while her two cacophonic aunts preferred to sit beside me. Suddenly, one aunty sounded the cockroach alert by letting out a little squeal, like a disappointing orgasm. Slowly all the other women sitting nearby had their backs erect, sitting still, clutching their handbags close ...and all eyes shifted towards the floor..towards our seat. Somehow I find this quite amazing the way we Indian aunties communicate!.. one little squeal and everyone just knew then and there, that there was a cockroach around somewhere.... Anyways, the other aunt tilted her head downward and started bobbing it side to side frantically, exactly like a sugar-high turkey would.
The girl on the other hand, simply looked down.. and as calmly as possibly.. gracefully removed the shoes off her feet and lifted her legs up the seat to cross them.. she lay in wait.. her eyes searched a while under the seat.. till she transfixed her gaze on something that seemed to scare her shitless.. but she didn’t utter a single word (be shamed cacophonic aunts!). the suspect was finally visible in broad daylight.. a two-inch, huge-ass cockroach.. her eyes were now close to wear my feet were.. and without blinking I lifted my size 10 foot and WHACK!... charred caramel flakes… Kolhapuris live up to their sturdy reputation… Oh no dew moist this time.. just a stupid grin on my face.. I looked at the girl. I gave her a ‘Im your heroine today kiddo ..you bloody well run home and tell your pals what angry aunt did!’… ...
Get this... The girl scoffs !.. SCOFFS!!! !.. since when do 10 yr old children scoff !!!.. since they didn’t believe powerpuff girls weren’t real !!.. BAH!.. arre, at least a thank you !?..a smile???....geez children need ‘don’t-think-you-can-get-away-being-a-smart-ass-all-the-time’ lessons.. even the cacophonic aunts returned to their chatter-splatter ..as if nothing happened.. that whack was painfully loud for petite puttha’s sake !!..sigh….
So I may not be all touchy about killing insects though.. thought still I wont make any promises of killing any more… Im leaning towards slaughtering commitment phobic sweet-toothed bastards who can take you for a lovely ride with background violin music and then ditch you like hardened pizza edges…. Gee how betty cooper uber cool is that hey??!!!
Groan… I shall quietly scramble in search of my moscatel, while you’ll mercilessly comment on this meaningless post… |
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