Blood, Sweat and Socks

Have A Nice Day

I worked my way to the back

It wasn't a pretty sight

It wasn't how I imagined it

Right after the gory fight

Saw him by the corner

A bandage to his head

Busted right open minutes earlier

Could use a hospital bed

'Mick' I said

'Could I have a word?'

'What are you doing here?'

'This isn't how you were.'

'Look son' he shot right back

'I have seen a lot worse'

'I had to battle my way to the top'

'and this isn't such a bad curse'

'But mick' I interject

'Is this what you had in mind?'

'Is this how you want to end it all'

'after that painful thirty year grind?'

He smirked through that handsome beard

And flipped his hair to one side

The gash oozed a fresh scarlet trickle

While he proceeded to confide

'They can take away my millions'

'They can take away my pride'

'They can crack me open, beat me down'

'and I might even have cried'

Those hazel eyes burnt into me

as he went on to say

'Unless they can take away my identity'

'I'll live to fight another day'

May 2013.

A simple poem.

This is the End

Not sure how many of my extensive and diverse audience (have a laugh why don't you) will be able to relate to my shock and dismay at hearing about the sudden decision by the Goenka family to close down the renowned 'Music World' branch on Park Street, Calcutta.

Other than that being THE rendezvous point for pretty much every student,young professional or tourist in the city planning a day out on what is now referred to as 'Mother Teresa Sarani'- it served as the honest middle class Bengali's go-to destination for celebrating that yearly bonus or birthday money from grandma. The franchise opened it's first outlet 15 years back at this location and it is fair to say that a critical period of my growing up has coincided with its existence.

A compilation of best pop songs before the new millennium followed by Linkin Park's 'Hybrid Theory' first occupied the empty compartment above my book shelf. Pearl Jam, Nirvana and John Denver were soon to follow. This was my first taste of buying music from the 'International' section of an air conditioned, well lit shop dedicated to music -  a major step up in ambition from the infrequent visits to Melody, Rash Behari Avenue. It signaled the dawn of a new age in some way. It was partly about walking into a store with a western outlook - something that appealed to kids my age more than sticking to the shops where Dad and Mum purchased their first record together. Say what you might.. but there was a sense of buying into class everytime a 13 year old stepped inside a hall lined with music albums stacked on giant racks placed end-to-end.

The CD player was the next to arrive at our home swiftly followed by a range of shiny round objects which my parents entrusted me with buying. Well, partly. Alright - maybe not. However, the shop did open its doors to the VCDs and suddenly one could watch a movie sitting right in their living rooms. Bangla bands simultaneously reached to their prime around them and Bhoomi, Parash Pathar, Cactus and Fossils made their way onto our 600 W system. Before I knew it, DVDs were much cheaper than when they came out and the beautiful remastered DVD copy of PULSE nestled in my cupboard drawer.

All of a sudden - the internet was faster. 256 kbps was still the fastest back then...but it was enough for us to get hooked to torrents. The word 'discography' was, well, discovered. Pendrives and external hardisks became common and suddenly the cool 5 GB on your system was just not enough anymore. The doors to music world seemed smaller now - and our gates to (free) world music standing wide open before us. Less time was spent staring longingly at the Dream Theater - Live in Tokyo concert DVD and more of it (iso)hunting for it on the web. The Music World at the crossing was now merely part of the "music world crossing". Very rarely did we browse the million aisles hoping to stumble across a bit of audiophillic gold - instead choosing to wander around aimlessly inside so that we could stand in air conditioned comfort while waiting for that precious empty table at Peter Cat. College happened and Music World was just the rendezvous point during summer vacation meetups.

Soon enough the management took notice. Cassettes were sent to a discrete corner with a sole lonely rack dedicated to the left-overs from last decades technological blip. Games, electronics and DVDs lined the racks. Assisted by a few live gigs and album launches, the once popular destination now drew a crowd only on a weekend or two. We knew what had happened. Music World was just a giant street sign for the college crowd - pointing left to Oly Pub, straight to Xaviers or right to KFC.

This post is long enough as it is. However, I'm not done yet. You see, this is not just a tribute to place that has knowingly or unknowingly played it's part in many a Calcuttans lives. It is, but also, a statement. A statement which was made the day we chose to close down Music World. A statement about how we have just stopped giving a shit. A statement on how the world of information has made us bland with choice. On how crude distasteful music formats such as the .mp3 has made us chose quantity over quality. A statement we make everyday when we don't stop to think about the time and effort a musician puts into getting that note right, the pitch on scale and the beat in time and chose instead to stream their work at a disrespectful 240p from a third party site.

Will I stop downloading music? Will I really put my savings into purchasing the legal rights to my ridiculously massive "collection"? Will I chose to load an album into a clumsy old stereo and connect it to a set of speakers over buying a track on iTunes? Will I start an anti-piracy campaign?
Probably not. But I can make a small contribution. So, on June 30th when Music World, Park Street closes shop for the very last time and crash lands in yesterday-news heaven, I will put that newly purchased Indus Creed album into aforementioned clumsy stereo and pray that we don't send our homegrown artists down the very same road.

3rd December

There were over 500 people. Every shape, size, age, caste, creed and gender. It was Jantar Mantar. It was just another day.

Some claimed that they were protesting FDI in multi-brand retail. Most claimed that they had no idea why they were here in the first place. Infact, they couldn't even find out if they tried. The protesters could neither speak nor hear.

I walked through the crowd gathered feeling extremely lost and confused at first. There was certainly an amount of awkwardness attached to any "abled" person wading through that crowd. I felt alone in this unique ensemble. I had no way of either understanding or communicating with the people around me. They were oblivious to my existence and honestly it felt like I was trying to blend into a party that I wasn't even invited to - while wearing a silver apron and a giant top hat.

..and it was then that I realized that this itself was the very purpose of this solemn gathering. I was just put through the same ordeal that each of them probably goes through every day. Feeling lost, secluded, unwanted..

It was poetic. It was beautiful. It was powerful. It was magical. It was also quite disturbing.

I realize just now how limited the options are for the deaf and dumb to make a career for themselves. I believe the whole "If you don't have no shoes, look at the man who has no legs" analogy is terribly flawed however you can't help but feel how painfully difficult it can be to not experience music, everyday sounds or even hear another human express their emotions. Life would be unimaginable.

And we think we had it rough?

Teach for India

"We ask the friends of Indian Universities to favour us with a single example of the truth of their theory from the instances which have already fallen within the scope of their experience.They have educated many children of wealthy men and have been the means of advancing very materially the worldly prospects of some of their pupils. But what contribution have these made to great work of regenerating their fellowmen? How have they begun to act upon the masses? Have any of them formed classes at their own homes or elsewhere, for the instruction of their less fortunate or less wise countrymen? Or have they kept their knowledge to themselves, as a personal gift, not to be soiled by contact with the ignorant vulgar? Have they in any way shown themselves anxious to advance the general interests and repay the philanthropy with patriotism? Upon what grounds is it asserted that the best way to advance the moral and intellectual welfare of the people is to raise the standard of instruction among the higher class?"

The above is an excerpt from Jotirao Phule's writings way back in 1882. I ask myself being a member of India's elite, a part of the creme, a chosen one per se; how much have I done, to contribute to the progress of the rural class? Or to India in general? Working in a corporate firm, sitting behind a desk, what is my contribution to society?
Born and brought up in South Calcutta, I have seen the poor. I have seen their daily struggle, their pitiful existence; while I jogged down the road from my comfortable two bedroomed apartment to a carpool service which would take me to a school where hardly a few were even granted admission. What's there to say that somebody living across the street from my home, in one of those tiny bamboo huts , would not have done as well as me (if not better) given the same opportunities.
Jotirao Phule, Rammohan Ray, Syed Ahmad Khan all recognized the importance of education. Jotirao Phule particularly desired that the upper class benefit the country's deprived souls more directly as his writings have echoed. In 1882.
We need to wake up.

Hypocrite out.

The perch

Click to expand the madness

25 years of sheer domination.
To the gaffer.
Your contribution will never be forgotten.

Watch the Football

This is on a strict need-to-rant basis. Apologies in advance.

Did you see the match? I mean, did you really? Its been 3 weeks into the new season and Manchester United have produced some of the best football I have ever seen being played in the Premier League. Rewind. May 23rd. 2011. Barcelona dominates United in what could have been a close contested European Cup final. Iniesta and co. dominate play superbly. United ego shattered, a week after notching up their 19th League title and minutes into their 3rd Champions League final in 5 years. Sir Alex deems the currently Barcelona squad the best team he has come up against in his time at Old Trafford. 2 months and 50 million quid later United are already a week into pre-season. A few weeks later they have notched a perfect start to the season winning every game on tour, the community shield and 9 points while playing some scintillating footie. What changed might you ask? Everybody should pip in and say, its the Ashley Youngs, the Tom Cleverlys and the Danny Welbecks. I, however, have a slightly different view.

It was very clear to everybody that United didn't have the best squad last season. Come the retirement of Scholes, van der Sar and captain Neville, we were scheduled to have a major hole in the squad which would be hard to fill. Big names were dropped left right and centre. The re-emergence of Cleverly in pre-season seemed to bolster the midfield, but was he what we were looking for? I mean, its Paul fucking Scholes,isn't it?
If you ask me, Scholes stopped playing years ago. Sure, he had his moments in a couple of seasons. Anybody who has seen Scholes play towards the early 2000s, will know that he modified his game. Brilliant passer of the ball. 4 eyes and everything. But he lacked that consistency for the last couple of seasons. A couple of great games there didn't fool the ardent united supporter. Carrick was a fantastic option. One of the best on his day. But those days were hard to come by at times and United lacked the legs in midfield. Fletcher had a fantastic season but then seemed to stall a little. That spark was missing. Enter Anderson. This boy who was written off a season into his United career as another Kleberson of sorts, doomed for eventual failure has upped his game at the most crucial point of his career and at almost the perfect time for United. His performances since end of last season should prove it beyond doubt. A fine playmaker, had the legs for the job, loved running at defenses while fantastic at recovering the ball and added a few goals (and hence that extra bit of confidence) to his kitty. Roy Keane had always said that he modeled his game on a simple pass-and-move style of football. Enter Cleverly, who has a similar approach to midfield play and has that spark about him. The re-emergence of these two players have been essential to United and I think we can expect some great things from these two chaps and their complementary styles of play. Welbeck has provided the strength and pace upfront and Young has fit ever so nicely into the squad. Theres always Owen if you need an impactful sub and Hernandes, probably the most intelligent runner off-the-ball in the EPL. Its one giant pool of creativity with Rooney spearheading the attack and with a defense led by Vidic and Ferdinand supported by the likes of Rafael, Fabio, Evra, Smalling, Evans and our potential Mr. Utility - Phil Jones, United have an array of options to chose form, having their most complete squad in ages. Ironically, the only person who seems surplus to requirements is our very own Mr. Dimitar Berbatov, golden boot winner from last season. Funny game this football. But its not just this comprehensive squad that is the reason for United success. You see, I have never seen Ferguson admitting being outplayed. No, that has never happened before. Infact, if you have followed the press conferences from end of last season, the words "Barcelona" kept coming to the tongues of our hotshots from Manchester. I think every player in that dressing room is fueled by a sense of vengeance which has driven them to such success so early this season. There is real intent in those lads ever since being rolled over in that match at Wembley. Never have I seen United start a season with such gusto and such drive. They want that European Cup and they want to deserve it. Whatever happens, this should be a great season for football. Glory glory and all that.

Metal Archetypes

Metal music. Enough has been said on the topic. Genres subdivided, bands discussed, songs propagated… India has opened its eyes and ears to this intense form of music. However, the listeners and propagators themselves remain untouched. The metal archetypes of our generation thus unfolds:

• The Metallica fan: Ah. One of the all-time classics. The big four is where metal begins and ends for this chap. Yet apparently metal flows in his blood.

• The \m/: A class below our Metallica guru. Probably hears the occasional metal song playing in his favourite pub every week. One standard pose in every picture ever taken of our dear good man has him flashing it. Dio shudders in his grave.

• The \\m//: Lets just expand this to every facebook status update, twitter post, birthday car, signature, epitaph.. you fucking name it.

• The lone mosher: There is one at every gig. Quite possibly he hasn’t heard a metal song in its purity yet. The sheer magnitude of the distortion is enough to set his head, well, if you can still call it banging then that, yeah. Will punch. Will kick. Will shove. Will push. Will bleed. Will sweat. Profusely. Oh how I love them so.

• The flaming skull: Lets-play-some-metal-and-unleash-my-inner-beast of sorts. Silent otherwise… can be a major headache at those indoor arenas. He will present himself as the violent schizophrenic type. Trust me, he’s not even close.

• The kvlt man: Will not look beyond LOTR. Metal is a way of life. Classical music is nothing but its lost father. Probably knows every subgenre ever invented. Can identify the artist within 0.123 milliseconds of hearing the song. Can state every field of the id3 tag from memory within 5. I salute you sir.

• The kvlt man 2 : He will silently judge your music taste. The long hair and monochromatic wardrobe is just a way of simply… being. To him, the modern day metal heads are a bunch of twats. Real metal died with Sabbath. Secretly he is a member of the Bathroom Black Metal Vocalist Club. (Inaugurated in 1995)

• The follower: Find your nearest kvlt man. Find his hard disk. Find a way to play every song through them crappy laptop speakers for 6 weeks straight. Congratulation… you are the follower.

• The lone stranger: You will never understand him. Solitude is his only friend and his enemy. He listens to metal because it defines him. It expresses his inner self. It captivates his soul. It’s what separates him from the rest. Yes. It is what makes him different.  So when he steps into every metal concert in his black t-shirt, beer mug and a surprisingly cheap cigarette moments after sending friend requests to the band members of the headlining act, he feels that he is misunderstood by society and he will remain alone forever….because its not like there are merely 1000 more like him in a 1 mile radius.

• The underground listener: Considers everything you have heard to be mainstream. Only satisfaction in life is to uncover the most obscure metal act in an underdeveloped country and tag every friend possible in the video link.‘Cause he is just that cool.

• The gifted musician: Will consider any piece of music which does not have 220 bpm, 16^th note double bass patterns and guitar solos without shredding not worth listening to. But of course if you do find that one obscure song by that one obscure artist which fulfills his given conditions, the guitar tone is just not going to be good enough. You want to hear some brutal shit… listen to his band...its awesome… actually no... he.is.awesome.

All said and done I think I have spent a lot of time falling in and out of pretty much most of the above archetypes. At one time I never looked beyond the Nirvanas and the Pink Floyds. Then came the likes of Tool, APC and Dream Theater. Finally, came college and it opened up an entire new dimension in music for me and now, after 4 years of pure unadulterated exposure to countless different genres, I can say that I leave learning a very valuable lesson.. and that is to never look down upon a particular style of music or an artist. Simply because behind the cover of these disputed musicians lie a host of people who spend innumerable hours recording, mixing and mastering their records which may or may not appeal to you or me, but quite certainly, does appeal to a host of people out there in the world today. But then again, this isn’t called the daily hypocrite for nothing. \m/