From Breswana to Bangalore - for Metallica

My blog post in Mint Lounge a couple of days after the Metallica concert.

Basically, it was fantastic, and Shro and I were doing silly shit like this before we headed out for the gig that day:

The complete, unedited, much longer version follows:

It is only fitting that months of planning, excitement, long-distance travels and pre-show jitters came to fruition with a very satisfactory attendance of the Metallica concert followed by temporary deafness in the left ear. Yes. Metallica. I was there.

The magic of attending any live gig lies mostly in the tremendous buildup to it. What goes down at the concert is only the culmination of everything up to that point – scrambling to get initial information, shrieky high-five behaviour with other fanbois and fangirls, huddling with friends to plan attendance and logistics, procuring tickets, travelling to concert city, rendezvous, make-up, costume, emotions, excitement, and… BAM! …final body frisk as one walks into the venue.

Anyway. Here is a full personal account of travels on my noble Metallicause [apologies in advance, this sort of word play will be rampant throughout the piece].

A few days ago, in my village in the mountains of Doda, Jammu and Kashmir, a full day’s travel away from the nearest city, I sheepishly told the parents I had to head down to Bangalore.

‘Why? It’s very far away.’

‘I know. Music concert.’

‘Whose?’

‘Metallica.’ [*awkward silence followed by quick exit stage right*]

Early next morning, I was packed and ready to leave for the city from the village. Downhill walk for a couple of hours, then on horseback for some time till we got to a motorable road, and finally the highway whence I traveled to Jammu at day’s end. Final packing, more shrieky behaviour and expensive last-minute ticket-booking later, I was ready to begin the final leg of the journey. Overnight on a near-empty train to Delhi – it was Diwali - with phosphoric celebrations in the night sky outside through the lands of Jammu, Punjab and finally, the capital. And the last easy bit - plane hop to Bangalore and its naturally-chilled climes. Two full days of travel concluded, I was here.

Preparations for this had begun back in April 2011, when the first vague rumblings of a possible Metallica gig in India were doing the rounds. As soon as a confirmation came in that Metallica [oh, my God, METALLICA!] was playing in India, one knew one would attend somehow, come what may. By the time tickets were up online in July 2011, with dual options of Gurgaon or Bangalore, I had decided on attending the latter gig [fortuitous?].

Forget about everything else; Bangalore has rock concert vintage. We have had the best of the best here over the years [and we have also had the other sort]. When jokes are made about ‘Bangalore’s knowledgeable crowd,’ it’s not all jokes, let me tell you. More than anything else, Bangalore is known for its rock. From school and college level up, you get a good schooling in indigenous and international rock music. The underground rock scene is booming. Teenagers and their coolth infest garages and makeshift studios across the city. High quality Bangalore bands like Thermal and a Quarter, Galeej Gurus, Kryptos, Synaps have made it big across the country. Let us look proudly on Bangalore’s modern concert history, in no particular order: Mr Big, the Scorpions, Elton John, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Sting, Deep Purple, Uriah Heep, Jethro Tull, Mark Knopfler, Roger Waters, Megadeath, Lamb of God, and IRON MAIDEN for the love of God [phraseology to be noted] – they have all played here. It thusly followed that Metallica would too, and that I would witness the event in my home away from home in ‘Luru. And so, on a hot July afternoon in Jammu, this writer purchased concert tickets for October 30, 2011 at the Palace Grounds, Bangalore.

Cometh the hour, cometh the band. With great trepidation one watched news of the Gurgaon fiasco and Metallica’s cancellation there. Bangalore was on the edge of its seat. We waited. And waited. The gig was still on! Celebrations! By the morning of the 30^th, the interwebs resounded with many variations of: ‘In Bangalore, Metallican.’ Ha. Ha ha. Precious.

One knows that good people from all over India [and maybe abroad?] had descended on Bangalore to see the band perform. The most obvious travelling fans were identifiable across the city by their unique appearance – in their grungy tees, dirty jeans, long, greasy hair and a certain look - thronging M G Road, loafing in malls, being sullen in pubs. Complete strangers would glance at one another, exchange a slight nod, or alternatively, show the finger affectionately in a spirit of oneness with Metallica. It was almost spiritual.

The morning of the 30^th. Comfortable shoes had been purchased just for the event. Attire selected carefully. Rain predictions in [it would rain], we were prepared. Metallica merchandise and jeans for them as had it, and mostly black for the rest. By noon, we were ready to leave. We had decided we’d watch India’s first F1 race after lunching somewhere and then head to the venue. We zeroed in on The Biere Club, renowned for its, well, beeru, and as for my teetotalling sort, I recommend their fresh lime soda [sweet and salt] also. Heady mixture. The flat screen TVs served our F1-viewing motives and it was a most pleasant interlude. The Biere Club was packed to the rafters with other Metallicans, and smug, knowing looks were being thrown around like it was someone’s coming-out party. It was all quite silly, and quite beautiful.

By midday on the 30th, well before the gates opened at three, an ocean of black T-shirts, jeans and otherwise comfortable attire was slowly making its way across to the Palace Grounds. ‘No drinks at the venue’ was the weird rule for this heavy metal gig, so enterprising concert-goers planned an early start to the day and tanked up at various watering holes across the city before staggering in to Palace Grounds. All the contraband that need be smuggled in *wink*nudge* was arranged for also, with bags and pouches concealed artfully in hair, inner garments and footwear.

At five in the evening we pushed out towards the Palace Grounds. Nodding and grinning at all fellow concert goers in other vehicles headed the same way. In a pre-planned maneuver, we parked the car at a friend’s house, quite a ways from the entry at Gayatri Vihar. Hopped an auto and oh-my-God, crazy traffic as we neared the grounds. What a sight. Thousands of black tee shirts inching their way along roads and in vehicles, and streaming in through the gates. We were borderline manic happy. A crush at the beginning where tickets were being checked, and then the final walk towards the stage grounds.

The high-level security at the entrance has to be mentioned specially, and appreciated, and giggled over. We had the faintest of pat downs, and the lady checking one would ask apologetically, ‘Cigarette toh nahin hai?’ [You’re not carrying in cigarettes, right?’] ‘Maachis?’ [‘Matches?’] All one had to do was shake head in the negative, and they would take our word for it and we’d be politely passed on without so much as a ‘But-wait-let-me-check-properly-anyway’. I suppose the men had it easy as well. Let me tell you, a LOT of stuff got in. *grin*

There we were. After decades of fandom and adoration, we were going to watch Metallica [oh, my God, Metallica!] live, in front of our eyes. Right there. Ah, but we could have peed our collective pants. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was ready, all tens of thousands of us.

And so into the crush of bodies, in the rain, trying to home in on the most suitable location to settle down into for the rest of the concert. A few moves and attempts later we found our sweet spot. By this time the opening acts had kicked in. We walked in on Biffy Clyro, a Scottish rock band, warming the crowd up. Apparently two other acts, Guillotine and Inner Sanctum had gone up before, but we missed that lot. It was past 6 now, lightly raining and everything was most enjoyable, even the minor scuffles and shoving that is natural in huge crowds of very drunk, quite stoned people. Biffy Clyro were tight, impressive and did not get booed off stage. That is saying a lot when you’re opening for Metallica.

Then. A lull. Tense moments in between as organizers asked the crowd near the stage to move back a little. ‘We need you to move back so the security can move in.’ ‘Come on, guys, cooperate.’ ‘Safety first.’ What, after the opening acts they realized this needed to be done? I can tell you we were pretty nervous about things turning fugly again. Obviously it took a while, but the knowledgeable Bangalore crowd worked it out in time, much to the chagrin of many people who were hoping for a second cancellation. Ha to you! Ha!

For almost an hour there was nothing except music playing on the speakers. And amusing incidents with cops chasing down people from the scaffolding and sound towers. We waited.

The Black Album or 'Metallica'

And just past eight, the lights went out, the crowd roared, drums and a familiar riff screamed through the air… AND METALLICA TOOK THE STAGE! Starting their set with Creeping Death and right through the two plus hours they played, IT-WAS-ON. Hetfield, Ulrich, Hammet and Trujillo [My heroes! My heroes!] blazed through a mix of their best songs from all albums – Fuel, Ride the Lightning, Sanitarium, Sad But True, One, Master of Puppets, The Memory Remains, Cyanide, Nothing Else Matters and the performance of the evening – Enter Sandman – pyrotechnics and all. The encore closed with Battery and Seek and Destroy. The older music definitely took it, especially songs from The Black Album, because people of a certain vintage [like me] know that music better. So the kids enjoyed the newer numbers more, but the classics were for everyone. The opening riff of Enter Sandman caused a near-frenzy, and the crowd sang as one. Roaring, head banging, smoking, drinking – it was a true-blue concert. Great sound on the speakers [though we lost audio on one set for a couple of numbers in the beginning – fixed soon] and enough big screen projectors for those who couldn’t see the stage that well. From just past eight till about ten thirty, Metallica gave us heavy. For me, Hetfield’s clear vocals, Ulrich’s crazy drumming and Hammett’s guitars-from-the-gut always win it. The gig of the year wound up with the band thanking us, us thanking them, them throwing souvenirs into the crowd, emotions running high and overall awesomeness.

As the band disappeared, we hung around on the grounds taking it all in. Thousands of happy fans – Bangaloreans and guests of Bangalore - with our once-in-a-lifetime experience. Metallica’s first ever gig in India. With the promise of more as they left. All of us were mud-stained, tired and happy. Feet killing us. Many smiles. The throng moved out slowly. There was the long trudge out to the gates, and then the horror of exiting the car park. By the time we worked our way out it was well past midnight.

As always after a late night, Bangalore headed to the very few restaurant chains it knew would still be open – the most popular being Empire. We headed to the Infantry Road joint and one hears that all the Empires were hit alike. So also those comfortable eats in the heart of Shivajinagar that know how to care for the nocturnals. It was like a spillover from the concert. Hundreds of hungry rock fans laid siege to the restaurant, some eating outside on the street, some seated, some waiting. Everyone was served, the entire black sea of concert goers - it was slightly surreal.

That was a special day. A good day. Completely worth the long pilgrimage here from my mountains. As the deafness in my left ear wanes, let me end the narrative with a suitable smarmy something I read online: ‘If you like Metallica, raise your hand. If you don’t, raise your standards.’ Such Metallicads we be. And well done, Bangalore, you do us proud again and again.

Ginger Boy in Bangalore

Up for adoption, the most adorable cat-boy item. Please to read here for full details. This is Adopt-A-Stray again.

Audience reaction: Awwwww.

About time to leave, you think...

...when you get smacked by a truck driver?

Today, while inching along and balancing precariously in bumper-to-bumper, horrorific traffic near Dairy Circle on my Old Reliable, I got attacked by a monster.
There I was, trying to ride in a straight line with my very large and heavy brother seated behind me, shoulders and back aching with the effort (not to mention under tremendous psychological pressure because in spite of the abominable traffic I didn't want to weave and ride out of line or 'break any rules') when this speed demon in a big truck starts honking like a madman right behind me. Please note there was no place to go ahead, WE WERE IN A TRAFFIC JAM for God's sake! But apparently I was cramping his style and I could hear a continued barrage of screams and cusses from behind. So I ignored him and continued my careful balancing act. When suddenly this beast vrooms up alongside, sticks his scrawny neck out his window and to my great shock and horror starts yelling at me, pointing and shouting stuff at me I had done him some personal wrong (like laughed at his clothes or something). I swear he was almost frothing and foaming at the mouth and I wanted to reach out and give him one tight slap, like MTV. Except I didn't.
I asked him to shut up and try driving straight, and this was possibly the last straw because stud muffin then swerves dangerously in front of my bike, leans out of his window and... hits me on the helmet! Then races away, nearly killing people on the fly. Aiiiiyayyayyayai!
If anything can knock the wind out of me, it's people's rudenes, and here I was subject to just so much of it as one can take in a lifetime.

I mean, what, what, what? What the hell was this?
Like a loser, seething in anger and still unable to digest what had just happened to me, I pulled up next to a traffic cop (in spite of my chequered past with this set) and in a very uncomposed and disturbed, damsel in distress state ( I know, shameful, but I was actually shaken and very out of sorts at that point) narrated what had happened. I asked him to get the next cops to hold up the damn truck (already visualising myself pointing at the loser in court saying, "It was he!" and the jury- which we don't have in India, I know- saying, "Guilty on all 300 charges of attempted murder"), but Traffic Cop just asked for the vehicle number and said he would register a case of 'rash driving' against him.
Well, what else?

Hmmmph. I'm leaving. It never used to be like this.

Good Gawde writes about his disillusionment with the Mumbai he grew up in.
Let's talk about right here right now. I've been in Bangalore since the infantile age of 15 so that takes care of my growing up years, I think.
Back in '97 it was a lovely, quiet, cool (climatically and otherwise) place.
And today it comes to this. Rowdies on the road bonking law-abiding, smaller-sized citizens on the head and getting away with it.

Tchah, I tell you, it ruined my day of fasting it did. More's the pity.

One good deed a day... Or should I?

And so it is. Lightning has struck twice. Every time I go out of my bleddy way to do a good deed, it blows up in my face in the most unbelievable manner. (Okay, not every time. But two big shockers is a lot.)

Let me hark back to my Mumbai days, where I lived for all of one month - December 2007. I was taking the morning train as usual from Andheri (home) to Lower Parel (near work digs). And more often than not, being one of the earlier stops, I'd get about 5 to 7 inches of seat space between corporate type ladies reading the Economic Times and college gals and other assortments, which I used up very gratefully. Lulled by the slow train into a semi-doze, I was whiling away the minutes and mentally preparing to claw my way out, visualising a way out as it were; this is probably the toughest part about riding on a Mumbai local.
Came a stop and a flood of women entered the compartment. As is the norm, with a lot of gentle nudging, tsk-ing, shoving, squashing of toes and other acceptable forms of Mumbai train etiquette, the ladies were arranging themselves in all the available gaps they could find. One lady established herself in front of me. I shifted back and assumed a ramrod straight posture to make more space available to both, the party of the first part: me, and the party of the second part: newly established lady. And that's when.... eeeks. My insides started an uncomfortable churning thing that had nothing to do with digestion. I began feeling extremely uncomfortable and not happy with myself. I felt I had to DO something. You see, the lady in front of me looked very preggers. She was youngish, not yet 30, with an otherwise slim bod except for her very cute protruding tummy. I estimated her to be at 6 months gone or so. And here I was, sitting pretty while a pregnant lady was balancing herself precariously using the rails and the hand-holding suspended thingamajigs that all trains have. Anyway. So.
Now by this time I'm getting increasingly antsy. You see, motherhood and pregnancy and all the beautiful miracles that come under that umbrella affect me very deeply. *sniff* (I would of course be equally ready to hand over my seat to elderly women, or frail, sickly, swoony anorexic types who suddenly couldn't breath, others injured/bleeding profusely or in a similar predicament, SO DON'T BE JUDGING ME!!!)
So now I'm thinking, "She's pregnant but how do I KNOW? What if she isn't? Won't she kill me if I'm wrong? But what if she IS pregnant? How dare you sit there with your young, fit, strong bod and let her stand by in her delicate state...?" And so on and so forth for about 5 dreadfully long minutes. (All this while I'm also checking her out scientifically to satisfy myself that yes, she is very much carrying another precious life inside of her.) Finally, I can't take it anymore. I steel my guts and prepare a face to meet her face etc. On the point of tipping over, since I've made up my mind to stand up and offer her my seat, I ask her (very casual, like so), "Hi. Are you pregnant?" And just as my toes are about to propel up the rest of me, she looks embarrassed and smiles sweetly and shakes her head and.... *sob! KILL ME! KILL ME!!!*, she says, "No." Aaarrrghhhhhhhh!!@@@#$#!!#!!!!!!!
Noooooooooooooo..... Don't be NICE to me, I want to screech. I am a horrid, horrid, nonsense person and I put you on the spot and made a fool of myself and you have every right to give me withering, dirty looks, but you just smiled and looked away as if it was your fault. Naaahiiiinnnnnn. That was not a good day for me. I felt like shit for at least a week after.

Moving on. Many months since.
Today's episode in the life of the Saab is another case in point. August 2008, Bangalore.

Had just finished fabulous lunch with the Insaneuptas and Co. at Nanking, Sigma Mall (aside: had the best crab ever... Overall meal experience gets 9 on 10) and was heading homewardly on my sputtering ride.
Reached the traffic junction down past HOSMAT, just before hitting the approach to the Army Quarters and Vivekanagar (you know, the junction one where the Mahindra service station is), and stopped at a red. A few other cars were stopped ahead of me, some waiting to turn left towards Airport Road, some right towards Lifestyle etc. I was calmly waiting to go 'On Straight On', like a true Cottonian. Suddenly, as is the wont near traffic signals in Bangalore, all the cars in the left-most lane started making a godawful racket, honking and cussing and gesturing at Car 1 waiting to take a left. The young man in the driver's seat of that Car 1 was being a doll and following the rules and staying put because the traffic light visible to him was showing red. But from a little behind where I was, the traffic light on the other side of the road(where he couldn't possibly see it) was signalling green for the left lane. Which is why everyone else was showering him with the choicest abuse and honking and pissing me off in the process. So, Heroine Sabbah decides to help everyone by going out of her way and putting the young man out of his misery. I vrrrooomed up confidently to him, snapped up my helmet visor and said cheerfully, "Hi, they're all making a racket because the traffic light's actually green. Back there." (Self pointing to traffic light behind.) Young man does not know what to do, he says, "But this light shows red." Advocate Sab persists with her case and says, "Yes, but it's probably faulty. These guys are honking at you because they can see the left is green. You can go. Cheers!" So he says, "Thanks," and takes off turning left..... and noooooooooooo....!!!!!!
Before my very eyes! A traffic cop with standard unhealthy paunch and half-asleep-obnoxious-expression emerges from the foliage on the left turn and stops him! He charges him with flouting the rules and breaking the law and all such things. I can only imagine the young man's confusion at what has just happened. With mouth agape I'm watching this unbelievably ridiculous turn of events. I'm still at the traffic lights waiting to go on straight on. But I can't take it anymore. I swerve off my route, take the left and stop next to the cop.
The young man is still stunned and looks quite emotionally wounded. And now the most unreal scene starts to unfold. Here I am trying to explain to the paunchy, inept cop that, "No, no, this guy was stopped at the red and everyone else was yelling at him to go, and the other light was showing green and he didn't want to go and he's innocent like anything and wait...! I TOLD HIM HE HAD TO GO," etc etc etc. Hah. Fat chance the cop registered anything. He looked at me with utter laziness and said, "You go, maydum." Nawwwwwww.....
I of course start apologising to young man and his wife/gal pal, and they smile sweetly at me and say, "No, not your fault," "This happens," etc. I try hanging out and explaining to the cop again, but he just totally disregards me and tells me to be on my way. Young sweet couple shrug and wave me a "No problem, you carry on," and me and my broken heart, feeling extremely guilty and stupid and very angry, make our way home (having to take a wide detour because I had turned left etc etc). And what really gets my goat is I'm sure there were folks in the cars behind Innocent Victim who had a good laugh at what happened to him on account of their nonsense. Sheesh.

So there.

That's what happens when I go looking for sawaab any which way I get it. Grrrowl. I'm mad. As in, pissed off with what happened.

In other news.

Good Gawde has just reminded me that I haven't been keeping my vast readership up to date with various developments in my life and my very important opinions on events transpiring across the world. I thank him. All four of my readers also thank him. Especially Ma. And Pa. ;)

First things first. Get well soon, BB. That stomach trouble you've been having is causing trepidation across the globe. Your legion of admirers is on tenterhooks, biting their finger and toe-nails in an atmosphere of uncertainty and anxiety. Bu chuss yehai dapan ki tsu gess gasun jald nish jald theek. Booz-thha? Shaabaash.

And now on to more public topics. The Turkish GP yesterday. What a fantastic race! Finally a really exciting watch after oh-so-many races.We've had few and far between. The Brazilian GP to wind things up last season in October was a thriller. Then the season-opener in Melbourne this year was entertainng. And after a couple of boring months, yesterday's great race in Istanbul. Well done, little Massa. And Hammie, just when I had lost all hope in you, you took it up one notch and drove a damn good race. The 'Surpise!' three-pit-stop strategy almost worked. Very well done. Kimi stormed in third, close on Hammie's heels. Poor Heikki. Had an unlucky race but some nice overtaking moves all along after his 'flat' start. And Alonso.... *sigh*... Let us take a moment to daydream about this wonderful Spaniard. He was tres bien as usual. And coming up next is the wonderful Monaco GP. Woo hooooo!

On to the IPL now. Started off with a bang in Bangalore, and the tempo's been good ever since. Bangalore's team is by far the biggest joke this tournament's thrown up. Mmmppfhfhppphhhh. *That's muffled laughter*. Tired and Test-ed, is what the Royal Challengers are all about. The Saab is gunning for Dhoni's Chennai Superkings and Delhi's Daredevils (a lot of which has to do with Akshay 'hubba-hubba' Kumar being their posterboy.... I am not ashamed of this fact. I can't help it.) Other teams that look good are of course Warne's Jaipur lads. And Kolkata has a few very bright sparks in the form of Saurav Da and an impressive bowling line-up: Ishant Sharma, Umar Gul, Dinda and possibly, Shoaib Actor, no, no!, Akhtar. (Thanks to Sir Khurram Abbas in the Amreeka for this moniker.)

And then! Soccer. ManuU have romped home with the Barclays English Premier League cup. Whatte! Waiting for Moscow where they'll hopefully make it a double and win the Champions League as well. Chelsea were kicking up a happy storm last night when they saw a faint light at the end of the tunnel with their goal against Bolton. If Man U drew, that would be it. As it turned out though, the Wanderers pulled out a gorgeous equaliser themselves and Chelsea was left undone. Ronaldo had a foot in this winning match as well, and thanks to Rooney, Giggsy pulled off a nice second goal towards the end of the match. And that wrapped it up for the Reds.

In other news, looks like Barack Obama's going to be it. Unless the law suddenly changes and it turns out Dubya can run for another term. In which case it's probable that America will reinstate him as Prez. Ho hum.

Fireflies in the night

Fireflies Music Festival, Fireflies Ashram, Off Kanakpura Road
6:00pm, Saturday, Feb 22, 2008, through to 7:00am Sunday morning, Feb 23, 2008.
An all-nighter music concert featuring assorted Indian and foreign musicians. Nowhere near the scale of awesomeness that Vasantahabba used to be, but it's something. I tagged along with my Shro and friends and we spent quite a fun night at the open-air jamboree. Musicians performed on a stage under a big, beautiful banyan tree.
We had Kabir's poems in Hindustani folk, we had Oikyotaan, a folksy-Sufi-somesuch band from Bangladesh (thumbs up to Karthick Das Baul), we had mediocre but extremely entertaining qawwals and there was a Mr Glenn Rogers on classical guitar. Special mention for the qawwal troupe. They really got the crowd going. (Although I was laughing in amusement having grown up on the genius of Nusrat Khan saheb, the Sabris, Abida Parveen and the like.) This troupe was something else, but I liked the main man. He had charisma. He hit the high notes alright but really lost it down low. So cute.


Nice nippy night, excellent bisi belle bath and bhajjis as full meals, and barring the many rascal, rowdy type elements that always mar such occasions, 'twas a pleasant night sure. (These abberrents got pissed drunk as soon as they sat their bottoms down, laughed and talked loudly in the middle of perfomances, did the cringe-inducing pelvic-thrust kind of dances while religios songs and qawwalis were being performed and screamed out things like, "Eyyy, refugees!" when the Bangla band came on. These are just a few for instances.)
I enjoyed like anything. It had been a while since I had been to one of these cultural dos. Maybe not top-notch, but definitely a good thing.
And now back to Vasantahabba....
Why, oh why,
Did Protima die?
And leave the suits to say "NO MORE."

Back from Mumbai

Apologies for not publishing/responding to various comments and absolutely no new posts up in the past week. Internet parlours are not found every 15 feet in Mumbai as is the case in apna Bangalore. So.
Incidentally, here's a beautiful bug I found on my balcony the other day. I know it's neither here nor there, but I wanted to put the photo up and so I will.

Some days ago...

I forgot to mention.
Last week, I met an angel and her new baby girl, Snowbums [above, with favourite ball in mouth]. I was very pleased to make this acquaintance. I get all chokey whenever I see nice, plain old good people because I don't find too many of them around anymore. I went and met said Celestial Being at her digs and she was chortling and giggling and being silly in love with Snowshine.
(The Seraphim keeps claiming that Poopster's name is Snowflake but we know better....)
This is Snowslumber with Envy [completely mauled, blinded by the time of this post] in her arms.

Ahem. Angelic Item also found out that far from being a baby, Snowstorm is in fact FIVE YEARS OLD. Haha. The useful things our vets tell us.

Have fun, Shobs...

Dear Shobie
We're missing you aldreddy. *Huggs*
Have much fun in Bombay, doll. Meet exciting people [fillum stars] and don't snub them, throw yourself at Akshay Kumar [remember, he takes the trouble to wax himself. Ouch.] and don't forget to make a weekend trip to Pune and meet Sanju Baba.

Will call often and, as per routine, please don't pick up on the first attempt. I shall do the same at my end. Henji.

PS: (Enjoyed like anything at Take 5, especially when you wet yourself. Your camera smile is inspiring. I shall practise in front of my mirror everyday.)



To the common man: Shobhie is the nut in the picture above [extreme left with big red bag]. She left us, Bereft in Bangalore, and headed to Bombay on the fateful morning 6th of August, 2007. Moday morning blues like yenything.
She's a darling and we hope she has a mad, mad time and is part of more interesting stories in the near future.

Beyond Compare

Sunday, August 5, 2007: Gayatri Vihar, Palace Grouds, Bangalore hosts a live concert- "Beyond Boundaries" - with ghazal meastros Ustad Ghulam Ali and Padmabhushan Jagjit Singh. I was there [wooohooo!] and enjoyed a lovely evening with the two greats. One is obviously of a higher caliber than the other, as Jagjit himself admits, and in this pleasant understanding of what's what, the music flowed.

The show was supposed to kick off at 6 pm, and audience memebers were requested to dress formally. So obviously a huge chunk of Bangaloreans traipsed in well after 1845 hrs, dressed in cargos, dirty jeans, scuffed sneakers, three-fourths and other horrors.
The seating arrangements were godawful- the venue was basically a big shamiana with rows and rows of plastic chairs. For our tickets worth Rs. 600/-, we were hoping to be in a nice enough place to be able to comfortably view the performance but unfortunately we were quite ways behind and managed to NOT see any of the stage. We had to make do with the big-screen projectors. This being a ghazal concert, what was important was that the sound quality be good and thank the Lord, it was. Great audio throughout the show.
(Except when the caterers just outside the shamiana took to collectively rattling their cutlery, or when the rumbling from the nearby Freedom Jam made itself heard. At which point Ghulam Ali paused mid-song to say, "Iss aafat ko guzarne do.")

At 7 pm, Jagjit Singh took the stage and we had a lovely two hours' worth of his most popular numbers. He took us through the best of his repertoire: Mein nashe main hoon, Yeh daulat bhi le lo, Baat niklegi toh phir, Kiskaa chehraa, Kal chaudvin ki raat thi and Sarakti jaaye hai among others.
The audience was lapping it up, singing along with Baritone Jagjit in most places. He threw in a few pleasant variations on some lines but for the most part stuck to the script and the crowd had a fun time feeling full of itself thinking, "We know our ghazals so well."

Jagit Singh wound up around 9 pm and made way for the fabulous Ustad Ghulam Ali. There was a touching moment or two on stage when the dear old men started hugging each other, smiling and pulling one another's cheeks like so many 4-year-old kindergarten girls. Pleasantries done with, Ustadji took the stage.

And then........ *drumroll*

For the next two hours, we sampled the brilliance that is Ustad Ghulam Ali. He dazzled the remaining audience and how! Ghulam Ali took on each new piece as a separate work of love, slowly guiding the audience, explaining the difference between a ghazal and a nazm, giving a short, pleasant preamble to each number, giving due credit to the poets, and, when in the song itself, explaining the Urdu shaaiyiri to the crowd as needed.
The gorgeous rolling deepness of Ustad's voice, his ease with the language, his genuine love for the form were all evident during his performance. The audience were loving the poetry, of a much higher quality than Jagjit's engaging but simple lyrics. Each sher was followed by a resounding cheer after the spilt-second it took them to understand what had just passed. Unlike Jagjit Singh, Ghulam Ali gave us a variety of ghazals not many in the crowd had heard before. It was right up the alley for those of us with a genuine love [if not understanding] of classical music and shaayiri, a guided tour with arguably one of the best ghazal singers in the world. I had goosies for a good part of his performance, along with a silly smile and much contentment at the crowd's pleasure.

Unfortunately, all of the audience was not deserving. As with all big gatherings, there has to be an Embarrassing Group. I had had a nasty sinking feeling at the beginning of the show itself when I saw the very obviously cavalier, non-serious set of people coming in for the show. And the foreboding came true during the performance.
After Jagjit Singh finished his segment, a lot of our overfriendly, noisy, culturally-deficient Bangalorean friends left since the popular hit ghazals they were familiar with were done. Good riddance. Unfortunately a lot of annoying, brash items stayed behind, talking loudly to each other during songs, walking up and down the aisles, taking calls on their cell-phones [good grief] and other indecorous behavour.
If this wasn't bad enough,we had unbelievable audience members somewhere in the very front [and therefore the freebie/ uber-rich ticketholders] repeatedly disturbing Ghulam Ali during his performance. He actually had to stop in the middle of his songs and ask them to stop goading, taking videos, talking/whistling, clapping out of turn etc. Also, as if this was a college band performing cover versions at a cafe somewhere, some freak kept on shouting his farmaaishes to Ghulam Ali. "Oh, God, do you realise who is up on stage, you twit?" The cringe-factor went very high for me, personally. I wanted to tear those people from their places and boot them into the rain outside. What was more infuriating was that none of the organisers stepped in to take preventive action. Terrible. I can only apologise to the maestro for the (mis)behaviour of the hooligans left behind to mess up the evening.

Ustadji took in all this unpleasantness in his wonderful stride ["Yeh toh inke pyaar ki daleel bataati hain"], kept the audience entertained with jokes and anecdotes and wound up his performance with his very famous numbers Hungama hai kyun barpaa, and Chupke chupke raat din. The 11 pm axe was hanging around everyone's necks or he might have carried on for a while more. Unfortunately, things had to come to a close and they did wit a sweet farewell from Ustad saheb.
At around 11pm I made my way out, for the most part a very happy girl, but also, with slightly murderous thoughts directed towards the Embarrassments.

Well done, Sania.

Sania Mirza is on a roll. After an iffy performance at Wimbledon [just back from injury etc], she's moving up and how. She's the fittest she's ever been and if she would only work on that serve of hers plus reign in on the unforceds a bit, she's going to get nicely dangerous.
Well done at Stanford and San Diego, Sania. Seed-toppling is very nice [for us].
Have a personal soft spot for Mirza because her match at the Bangalore Open [where she won the doubles finals, 2006] is the only tennis match I've watched in person. Also, I think she's a smarty-pants. I'm going to keep track of this kid.