The Gen- Z

“Nuclear family” is the new way of living; at least in the always-forward-on-copying-blindly-from-the-west India. It, indeed, is a rare occasion when a whole family gathers and spends the evening peacefully without grappling. It is a rare, isn’t it?

On the trailing end of Diwali comes the auspicious day of Bhai-Duj; a day, much like Raksha Bandhan,  where a brother swears for the protection of his sister/s and sister/s ripping him off of his bank account.

Ours being a big family, we had a get-together, with all agreeing on a decided venue; performed all the ceremonies and then followed our year old tradition: Partying!

The simplicity of the day being the children, YES! The Gen-Z, of our family, ranging from 3 years old to 13 years old.  All my nieces!  

When, post the ceremony, we all, mostly the siblings, gathered around the table, obviously, for the alcohol’s and good old days’ sake. An altogether different party had started inside one of the bedrooms: The Party of the Gen-Z!

My nieces, all from the different parts of Mumbai, seldom meeting each other, gelled-in like they were the best of friends – Chuddi-buddies; a few recently being able to walk, talk and chill without continuous support/crying for their parents; leaving their parents some respite.

When the party on our side opened the bottles for the first round, the voices of the Team Gen-Z rose, after an exchange of general greetings and gifts.

We taking down the first round; they chattering about the vacation. We with no enthusiasm, waiting for the alcohol to kick some enthusiasm within us; they were already at the pinnacle of the enthusiasm. And voices, of course!

Second round, got us talking; they already into different sets of team and with a ready plan, only waiting to execute. We got to card games – money based gambling. They resorted to power-based card games: Doraemon trading cards, Pokemon…

The rounds went on and so did the clamoring inside the bedrooms. Their games kept changing and so did the level of eclectic noises keep changing. They played from Horror games, to adventurous games, to accessorizing dolls or setting up a kitchen set to chasing each other madly … The last game they ended on was everyone’s childhood special – Hide & Seek.

 Where we were onto alcohol, to make us ‘siblings’ chit-chat, and like each other, at least for one evening, those young and fresh minded, with less or no fights got into accepting each other the way they were and in a way showing us to how to make friends or how to live a life.

No egos, No pride.

Well, in the end, a family that drinks together dances together.

A last round for the evening was yet to be played before the dinner was served. Both the groups got together and danced on the Bollywood’s dancing-numbers. It was nothing but delightful to see everyone heaving, jiggling, jumping with so much energy and seeing those children dance is a sight for which anyone would give away a 1000days without a second thought. Thus, ending the whole ceremony on a happy note.

Happy Diwali!

Let’s Sneak-Out

“Yay! Finally the exams are over… come down guys.” This was the common dialogue running through the lobbies and the passages of our societies when we were in class 6^th, 7^th, 8^th, 9^th, or 10^th. “Tonight we won’t sleep. Hell, YEAH!"

Let's Sneak Out, Play!

Normally, back then, in the late ‘90s and early 2000, we were maniacs; like what a crab is to water and holes, we were to Cricket or playing. On a slightest window, we all had sneaked out from our parental monitoring just to be with our friends and hit a few balls. We were no different.

Adolescent got us friends for life; those imbecile groups of boys and girls incessantly vying and thousands of unsaid protocols to be followed, which we worshiped reverently. Coming up with codes which only the group would understand and even worse was the tagging of a name. A name tagged once, was tagged for eternity. Nonetheless, the adolescent was playful with every excuse for getting down, to be madly in love in an one sided love affair, attending schools and tuitions post school; bunking classes to go take a match, or to watch a movie, or to end a skirmish, or the most dreadful one, to take a girl out.  A thrill for the chase made life jubilant.

Now, the tables have turned, times have changed, whenever an exam ends, we hit to the nearest bar and get our drunk-brains out. Ranting about the miserable life, the upturns, the lost love, the broken-hearts, the cheats, pretending to be happy, dancing until we crash in beds and not waking-up before midday.  

A miracle took place, when we, just after the exams, unanimously agreed onto going out to play. Cricket!  

Cricket!? It won’t be wrong or far-stretched to say that none of us had played for a really long time. In the daily survival for the mundane, we had lost the definition of fun, enjoyment, excitement. Playing for an hour meant endless fun followed by two days’ of body ache. Body Ache?

Challenge accepted!

Location was set: a friend’s society with our pitch – a concrete based. Superb Bounce!

Without much dilly-dallying, after our exams, we headed for the location. We began and lasted for nearly 150 minutes with everyone going out of breath. Panting!

We are not the best players, none of us, but we definitely are a fun to watch and play with. We ran at our pace; panted more than the covered miles; the jiggling protruding bellies and asses; the fight over water much to one’s delight. No meaningless drunk nights and dancing in the clubs could give you that what a fatso friend (Vinit Shah) of yours, running like a Rhino, between the wickets just to be on a safer side.   

For a brighter side, how much fun would it be to first get drunk, all of us, and then make that fatso run?

Evil, I’m!  

Sing it, Nation!

What is it like standing in dark, with hundreds of people, shoulder to shoulder, crooning a melody?

I came vis-à-vis the melody, crooned in the dark with scores of people standing upright, the last time I went to watch a movie – The Martian –  in the PVR cinemas just across my home, with my family. I wasn’t unfamiliar with the regulars of a cinema that runs before a feature presentation begins; in fact it was mundane! This time though, the set of actions that I ran through were unprecedented.

I, on a Sunday evening, was among the few lucky ones to have had our seats reserved – God bless internet booking! To the likes of every family, the father and the son were ready before time and the mother and the daughter were dilly dallying over what to wear. We were late!

Now, thanks to PVR cinemas for providing a buffer of fifteen minutes; full of movie trailers and undesired commercials.

 Sing it, Nation!

We got into the auditorium when some commercials were going on. I helped myself assume my seat next to a lady who had got the whole row occupied with a dozen or more children, whom I couldn’t fathom, again, because of the dark.

It is mandatory to play Jana-Gana-Mana, India’s National Anthem, before any movie begins. No sooner had I got myself comfortable than the big screen flashed – Kindly stand-up for the National Anthem. I stood up!

Now there runs an unsaid protocol wherein one needs to stand-up in order to pay respect when a National Anthem is played, be it of any country. If one doesn’t stand-up or is lazing around, then the moral policing eyes of the people, who are standing, whether in real respect or not, will give a look of disgust that would pierce deeper than a dagger and compel you to stand-up; often this moral policing is done by the people who doesn’t get a head or tail of patriotism or its values.

I often valued these principles at mediocrity, but was always pro-active at such occasions, however brief they maybe. I stood up! My parents and sister, would either hum or croon the anthem with me grinning at them. I didn’t! I didn’t because I couldn’t as I believed I would kill the harmony and also a part of mine was hesitant.

The National Anthem began, as melodiously as it could get, with some old and lazy people still managing to get on their feet. A big tricolored flag flashed heaving on the screen. I looked towards my right, my folks had already began humming and me showing them my teeth in the dark in a very awkward standing position. It was nothing new. I was surprised when I heard the croons coming from my left. The noble lady with all the children was crooning it with all having their right hand on their respective chests. They all were so enthusiastic and so true to themselves. Their singing had purity and was rose-water bathed. It was serene!

Slowly and steadily, the rows ahead and behind ours picked it up and gradually went up to almost each and every one picking up the rhyme to either humming or crooning it. I was mesmerized by such unprecedented happenings in the auditorium brought by those bunch of children and a lady, supposedly their teacher.

The 52 seconds rhyme had its effect on everyone. I, though picked it up late, maybe last, but got along and hummed it if not sing the remains of the anthem. Nostalgia groped me; took me to the days of school, long missed, where we all would, every morning, sing some prayers and our national anthem with so much of pride and so much of love, incredulously; which only got layered under the saw-dust of mundane activities of growing-up.

Later, in the intermission, I figured out that those children were differently abled. I kowtowed in reverence!

p.s. The National Anthem with the differently abled school children and the one with the Army officials at the Siachen Glacier are the best as per me.

SOPHISTICATED HEADBANGING

''Ye shaam mastaanee, madahosh kiye jaa
  Mujhe dor koee khinche, teree or liye jaaye..." 

Finishing the last line in a low pitched, stretched, melodious way with a little humming in the end, singer Amit Kumar, the son of the legendary singer and my father's singing guru-Kishore Kumar- hung the mic on the mic stand only to hear the roars of applauds from the audience, some even giving a standing ovation. Those were the ardent followers of Kishore Kumar who were only present there, on a Sunday evening, to pay their unfading respect, unending support with unconditional love to their music Ekam, the sole singing legend, on his 86th birth anniversary.

Amit Kumar paying Tribute

Last Sunday, a noble organization held up a programme to pay tribute to the most loved singer of all times, in Shanmukhananda hall in Sion. Many big celebrities and nobles were invited. Singer and son of Kishore, Amit Kumar, was the star player of the night. He is taken to be the near-perfect Kishore Kumar; the old withered eyes look for their beloved singer in him. Apart from Amit, even Bollywood playback singer, a minister of state and the chief guest of the night, Babul Supriyo, hiked the moods of audience, making them go gaga for him, in disguise to Kishore. There were a few other celebrities from the singing fraternity of the Bollywood clique. The whole event consisted of paying tribute to Kishore Kumar, formerly, then also providing a better platform for the uprising singing talent who were used as fillers. Besides this, a monograph based on the life of Kishore was launched. Meanwhile, a power point presentation was played, on a 100'' LED screen, consisting of  very few pictures of Kishore, set in a loop, circling the whole time till the end of the event. 

The sheer occupancy and the soaring roars echoing in the auditorium was the epitome of the success of the event. 

On my part, I like Kishore and his style of singing, which is versatile. Having grown in a family where music is more than a religion, where legendary singers are no less than deities, where sordid affairs relating music is no less than terrorism; one needs to respect, if not love music. Such fidelity is observed for music and musicals ideals. I don't sing but I enjoy music, any good music, no boundaries whatsoever. 

Despite having lectures on Sunday, my classmates and I, we planned for a dinner to take a break from the monotony of the class. The monotony was maddening. A break was a sine qua non! A WhatsApp group, on Friday, was made for the same. Slowly but strongly a restaurant was fixed. The plan was on! It was on, but for me, only until the Friday evening. As I learnt that dad had bought tickets for a musical night, wherein singers would be singing to pay tribute to Kishore Kumar, leaving me with no choice but to go with the family.  

At the entrance there was a marquee saying ''Yeh shaam mastani... on 86th birth anniversay.''

Now, let’s flip the coin.

Headbang

Normally, youth of my generation and Gen-Y prefer the western music leaving a few to the soothing of classical and retro music. If today, one suggests an old song to one's peer, there is a likely chance of being laughed at calling that one for living in an uncle's age. Music these days isn't about the choice, preference and liking but about the masses. People follow, engross and adapt themselves to the likes of others and what media wants them to like. Dancing in clubs to any Bollywood or Hollywood numbers. Following suit of others so as to be well accepted in the cult, whatever it maybe. The loyalty was nowhere to be seen. All things Ephemeral! 

I, for myself once, was a Heavy Metal music lover; followed bands, attended different gigs, saw people getting drunk. Got myself drunk as well. What amazed me the most was the sub-culture of these Metalheads or Headbangers. The way they express their music or the music expresses through them, such well entwined . The headbangs, the mosh pits, the death wall, stage diving, crowd surfing and what not. Of all, the most aggressive and the most loyalty gaining cult, albeit less in numbers. Definitely barring the classical cult.

Think of the times you were in the gig banging your head. You might end up finding many such times. Some even long forgotten. The reverie for the music, the adrenaline push that you got despite the hours of horrendous amount of energy spewed in moshing. The music taking you to new highs, with a little of alcohol catering to, way above the earthly desires. All alone, in a happy space, really Happy!

Flipping the coin back again.

That night, in that event, i experienced a new world, a new energy, all driven by the loyalty and love- all Happy! 

Though initially I was sulking about being brought into the auditorium instead of letting me go to have dinner with friends. This sulking and grimace ditched my mind no sooner than the two performances were performed, though still not performed by the star of the night. All I could see slowly and steadily, I, along with others, was getting myself, involuntarily, into the oscillations of the musical pendulum. I observed, like a Metalhead bangs his head, a Kishore fan, generally in the age group of 35 and above, would hum along swinging his head with rhythms or tapping his foot, with a smile of delight and even more smiling eyes to complement it. If it were for his favorite song, then the excitement may come out through a whistle or two and then again following the above mentioned suit. Thundering claps and a loud cheer before and after the performance was rudimentary, I fathomed, was the driving factor. For the audience, who had a draconian Monday the next day, stayed glued for over four hours; eyes of content, smiling throughout. 

This different world, consisted of elderly people more than the young adults, coming from various parts of the country and diversities, forming a ball of super charged energy was not different to me than the mosh or the head-banging guys in a metal gig.

If today's generation growls, make horns and head-bangs; the earlier generation does the same with subtle sophistication!