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!  

A Clamoring Dream

“Come Fly with us, make the most of the open lock. Fly again!” The clamor broke out again; all with big and expectant eyes on me.

 I, with my recently shampooed cyan coat shinning and the strong crimson beak even more crimson in the morning rays, was perched well on the much-like-a-wooden-log stand, brooding over the options given to me to decide within a few seconds before the lock is done again. A golden steeled cage let loose from the ceiling, in his bedroom’s balcony, was my abode; my latest abode. One side was the open sky beyond the rods of the cage and the rods of the balcony grills and on the other side was the vastness of his room.

Stop brooding over, just Fly Away!

Today, all the senior members and the most learned of all that perched on the rod of the grills of the balcony had come to advise me. I was looking for my friends, the ones who would visit me every day and picked up an unsaid relationship; the ones more like me, but free. Today, the assembly had come on the grills of balcony, with everyone finding it difficult to balance on the sleek rods shaped in various forms to make the grill look more artistic. All the assembly squawked on me to let go the cage and embrace the nature; get into the wild.

I could hear the heart’s thudding and feel the pressure shooting up. For me, how could I leave all this, I have been with him for more than half of my life, he has made my childhood beautiful, he seldom locks me up. I’ve a comfortable life here, I’ve a swing, a pond for myself, the whole cage, variety of food, then what else would anyone want more? But the stories of my friends from across the grills of the balcony, the vast flying experiences, the kiss of the breeze, the flight in the rain, the chase, getting chased, falling in love, raising a family, singing the tree songs, the family-flying dance, the color of the seasons, all these seem like a beautiful dream to me. Meanwhile, the heart pounding so heavily as if to bludgeon someone to death. I had a narrow window of time to sneak out before he wakes up and loves me again for me to forget the world and sing for him and only him.

On a whim, I couched and got out; and suddenly, the clamor rose and turned into a big applaud. We took flights. I followed!

Felt the air above and below the wings, the use of wings. The heaving in air with the breeze until a smile broke my frown. I loved it!

“No, Stop!” I woke up with one hand in the space, in an upright position to stop my parrot, my beloved parrot, from leaving me forever. It took me a while to break the reverie and realize that it was just a nightmare.  I didn’t even pet a parrot but there still was the clamoring from across the curtains, deep in the balcony. I slid it through to see a few parrots perched on various levels of grills trying to get a mouthful of the food and water that I had stacked up a week ago in a pair of bird-feeder hanging loosely on the grills for the birds to savor on.

I, now, had regular visitors – birds of various kinds and species – in the balcony ranging from a Sparrow to a cute Maina, to Pigeons and obviously Parrots. These birds filled my mornings with eclectic melodies. I gave them food, they made my day. It is delightful to have them everyday and know them more and vice-versa. Now, my presence don't scare them away. They know me!

After all said and done, what was that dream about?

Do I really wish to break-free myself and fly again leaving everything behind?

Follow Dreams? Like Parrots? Like birds?

Dreams, I tell you!  

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!