NH7 BACARDI WEEKENDER – ROAD TO HEAVEN

This is not an expert’s coverage of the NH7 Bacardi Weekender at Pune (from 18 to 20 Nov 11). That I am sure Arjun S Ravi would have done in NH7 and Indiecision and some of his coverage was live too. Nor are the photographs in the article even one tenth of the professional excellence, clarity and story-telling quality of Kunal Kakodkar’s. This is an ordinary music lover’s response at being amongst the music loving crowd during the music fest in Nov 11.NH7 Bacardi Weekender this year was simply great in its organisation, crowd response, and the gigs that participated. One can listen to the music and the songs on You Tube and one’s best hi-tech music system. But, there is nothing like the Live Experience. It is electric. It transports you into another world of excitement, love, ecstasy and happiness.

Papone and the East India Company at the Dewarist Stage

This year was probably the best assembly of gigs in an Indian music fest. There were five stages in all at the same Laxmi Lawns: The Dewarist, The Other Stage, Pepsi Dub Station, Eristoff Wolves Den, and Bacardi Black Rock Arena. The organisers need to be congratulated for having put up the stages, and the programme so meticulously. Arjun told me that most of it was done by his friend Dhruv and his team.

A view of the on-site admin office – Arjun and friends operated from here
Whilst the stages buzzed with music and crowd frenzy the organisers “quietly” (???) went ahead with their job

In addition to the music gigs, what makes an even like this special are organising and ensuring participation by the crowds; for example, the flea market selling anything from memorabilia to T shirts, hair dos, caps, hats, trinkets.

A happy visitor at the Flea (not free) market

Then there are food and drinks stalls and…hold your breath, a Tattoo Pavilion.

One of the many watering holes. The pictures collage at the rear wall is by Kunal Kakodkar and all the pics were lit at night

Even though the crowds were huge (when Imogen Heaps had the stage about 700 people had to be sent back due to no place available for the crowds to even stand), these were managed very well. At the parking lot, there was complete order. One of the newspapers brought out at the end of the fest that the policemen on duty had nothing to do since the crowds were so well behaved. They were in there to have a good time and they were genuine music afficiondos. Have a look at the total orderliness even at the entrance despite the ‘bouncers’ frisking everyone for drugs etc:

Entrance to the music fest

We enjoyed the music, the ambience, the young foot-tapping crowds with their lovely, colourful hair dos and head gear. To our surprise we found that Anna Hazare is the rage with the youngsters and Gandhi caps were the most preferred headgear:

An Anna Hazare Designer cap
This group of girls were always in these hats
A nice blue hair-do
Some more colours

As you entered the fest arena they gave you a Guide Book to the facilities there and a Pocket Guide. Both were very beautifully done and provided complete information about the stages, the programme, the artistes, flea markets, food stalls, watering holes etc. Here is Lyn holding one of these Guide Books:

A Gibson stall in the fest

Let me now give you a glimpse of  the Food stalls and the Tattoo shops in the Tattoo Republic

The armed forces bands play the Tattoo!
The atmosphere at the food-stalls

Before I go on to the music, the real reason for the fest, let me give you glimpses of riot of paints and colours:

Lyn trying to merge with the paintings.

As far as Music was concerned, there was so much to choose from. On the first day, Friday, the 18th Nov, there were three live stages: Eristoff Wolves Den, Pepsi Dub Station, and Eristoff Club Invasion. The gigs that played included Sky Rabbit (formerly Medusa), Midival Punditz, Ash Boy, Dualist Inquiry, Basement Jaxx, Jatin Puri, and DJ Swaggamuffin. Here is a pic of Sky Rabbit in action:

Sky Rabbit (formerly Medusa)

The second day was a delectable treat of music: On the Dewarists stage there were, amongst others Imogen Heap and Raghu Dixit. How did it go? Well, even though the crowds filled the lawns fully, they were not really on the grounds; most often than not they were airborne. Bacardi Black stage had, amongst others, Tough on Tobacco, Pentagram, and Blackstratblues. Eristoff Wolves Den stage had Reggae Rajahs.

The third day was sadly the last day. There were gigs like Scribe, King Creosote, Swarathma, Papon & the East India Company, Bhayanak Maut and Indian Ocean. In the end, another treat awaited the fans in the shape of Weekender All Stars on Bacardi Together stage.

See how neatly the organisers had worked out everything:

A Directions Map from the Guide Book

 

And an ‘Out of Toon’ Guide to the fest
And from these ‘before’ pictures, lets go to the pics of crowd frenzy, the vibrations, the rhythemic jumps, screams of joy and charged up atmosphere:

When the last of the gigs, Indian Ocean played there was not an inch of ground left to stand on. Well, no one was standing anyway. People were air borne most of the time. Lyn and I found a good vantage point to watch Indian Ocean live. Halfway through a girl tapped me from behind and said with becoming pleading, “Sir, you are tall you can watch from anywhere, can I come in front?” What would you have done? I did the same. She stood next to Lyn and watched and I felt like a boy scout having done my good deed for the day.

Lyn not allowing her place near the stage to be taken by anyone

There was a treat waiting for Lyn and I at the end of Indian Oceans performance. We could meet the versatile Rahul Ram of Indian Ocean and even take pics with him; all this courtesy Arjun:

Lyn and me with Rahul Ram of Indian Ocean

For Lyn and me another great and warm feeling was to be with Arjun; he lives music, breathes music. His friends say about him that other than music nothing registers in his mind.

Arjun looking satisfied with the response to NH7 Weekender and Lyn looking happy that Arjun is satisfied

The last item was the All Gigs Together and….like one often did with a long novel just before the ending, you didn’t want it to end.

The last item: Weekender All Stars – jampacked

On return, we were on the Expressway back to Mumbai and the only thought in our mind was: The real expressway (to heaven) was in Laxmi Lawns, Magarpatta City, Pune, from 18 to 20 Nov.

MOBILE ESHTYLE

Cellphones have become part of our life; so much so that an ad campaign shows the mobile phone craving for a man’s attention – through urgent ringtone – even when he, with his would be wife, are taking rounds of the nuptial fire (agni), or attending a funeral, or a class in a college or even in the library. Together with the cellphone have come various styles of attending to the calls or talking on the phone. I am listing out some that I have observed. You can add to it in the comments below.The queerest of them all is what I call the Jain wayof talking. This person has the hand in front of his mouth, covering his trap, half his face and extending it to the cellphone at his ear. He or she is convinced that if they don’t direct the sound energy from the mouth to the ear, the phone and hence the recipient won’t be able to catch it.

Then there is the man who feels every phone conversation is a public address. He walks up and down with his phone at the ear and is loudly discussing transactions with the third party. He is totally oblivious of the crowds around him; however, they can’t be so oblivious of him thanks to his irritable pacing and taking for granted that people around him would be totally interested how much he gets out of a truck full of old gunny bags.

I just love this style: the phone rings and the man or the woman looks around as if betrayed by the ring. He or she then picks up the phone furtively and goes to the corner of the room like a scared puppy and talks into it like a prompter in a play.

Pic courtesy: zyozy.org

Then there is the one more used to the olden day (early twentieth century) phones that had an earphone stuck to the ear and a microphone attached to a wire in front of the mouth. So, in memory of this style (at that time a necessity) he or she alternates the cellphone to the ear and the mouth. For example, he puts the phone directly in front of his mouth, mutters something, and then quickly takes it to his ear to catch what the other party has to say.

black-man-yelling-into-cell-phone

I am rather amused by this inimitable (for me) style: in this the person speaking on the phone sticks it between his shoulder, neck and ear and then goes about doing other important things such as skinning a radish or shelling peanuts with both his hands. Most often than not he has a lit beedi in his mouth that he puffs at without the use of his hands. And just when he is comfortable with doing all the three things, the other phone in his trouser pocket rings. I keep imagining this guy working in a circus or playing a number of instruments together like Vinod Khanna in the Hindi movie Amar, Akbar, Antony.

stock-photo-smiling-young-woman-cutting-vegetables-and-talking-on-cellphone-181403234

Then there is the one who can only be called ‘lambi race kaa ghoda’ (Long race horse). He knows that his conversation is not a matter of minutes but hours. He not only keeps putting the phone to alternate ears, but, even in the same ear he keeps shifting the angle to match with whether he wants to hear or talk or even to emphasize a point.

You have seen and heard of the person with ears plugged and a wire going to the trouser pocket or speaking through a bluetooth device. However, none of these are for the eternal lover. He walks past you as if talking to himself whilst in his pocket is the cellphone on speaker. He describes everything to his girlfriend including rain, guy almost falling off a bus and the lovely puppy eating the ice cream cone thrown away by the rich-kid. He is also in a perpetual trance and, if it is not for the kind hearted old woman, he’d walk straight into the open man-hole.

This man is rich, very rich. He is a Telugu from the rich East Godavari district. He has any number of latest models of cellphones. He has one on his left ear, another on his right and one in the hand on which he is playing Angry Bird. Next to him his three daughters, two sons, his wife etc all are doing the same on their phones. You don’t find it funny? Well, niether does the air hostess who had made a fervent announcement to switch off the cellphones before the take off.

pic courtesy: textually.org

Then we have this girl. The cover of her phone resembles a cassette or a pencil box or a giant eraser. You are amused that she can talk to such objects but she is carrying on a conversation as if it is perfectly normal for people to talk to an eraser.

We have the group cellphone. On this phone first the man talks and then throws it to a woman at the other end of the railway compartment and shouting to her, “Mata ji kaa hai, tumhaare baare mein poochh rahin hain.” (It is from your mother enquiring after you). Just when you pity the couple for not getting a seat together on the 6:30 PM fast from Churchgate to Viraar; she throws it to their son tring to edge himself closer to a man about to get down, with, “Vikaas, beta, mata ji ko pranaam kar le” (Vikaas my son, pay your respect to your grandmother). Before, Vikas can throw it to the rest of the family, you get down at Borivali after having endured long-distance telephony.

We also have this guy who takes his phone everywhere whilst talking, even to the toilet. It appears that next they will have a cellphone that dispenses toilet paper.

Pic courtesy: best-choice-tech.com

Then there is the man who feels it is totally the fault of the cellphone that life is treating him bad. Hence, he directs all his anger on the phone, screams, shouts, waves it angrily as if to throw it. For him the biggest crib in his life is the phone – his biggest enemy. People around him pity the makers of the cellphones. He could be used in the cellphone companies for carrying out endurance test of the phones.

I end with this guy who could have been a director in a movie. He builds the scene on his phone and includes you as the other actors (extras) in the movie. He gives you directions like “Shhh” and even asks you, “Sala samajhta kya hai apne aap ko?” (What does he think of himself?)

CRAZY SPECK SONNET

Ah, is it just a speck?
An insignificant fleck?
But, could it be so grotesque?
So as to be in a story Kafkaesque?
Or may be in theatre burlesque?
Lets just do a check:
Is it a mere stain on deck?
Or perhaps a smart Aleck?
A veritable pain-in-the-neck,
Who is not worth a peck?
What the heck, it could be a wreck,
Found whilst out on a trek.
So, from afar, when you see a speck,
Please just go closer and check.

MAN IN THE MIRROR

The court was assembled
Splendid and majestic
People looked down
Awaiting the arrival of the King
A bugle…hushed silence…pronouncement
And then he walked in
With the edge of his robe
Held by minions behind
He took his seat
At the throne.
This is what he said:
“Last week when
I went hunting
I came across a pond
In a recess in the forest
With clear and placid waters
I looked down
And saw it all
Truth, Beauty and Perfection.”

He looked down at them
Mere mortals
In the presence of the Monarch.
He laughed derisively
Enjoying his power over them
No one could deny
His having found
Truth, Beauty and Perfection.
As he laughed
He looked horrible
Uglier than the Evil.
A far cry from
Truth, Beauty and Perfection.
But the King won’t know this;
There wasn’t a pond in the palace
And the king won’t go hunting
Until next season
When the pond wouldn’t be placid
And the water would be muddy.

NO, NOT PALOMA BLANCA

I heard a flutter,
And there it was
On my window sill.
It looked small and frail
But with restless energy
And eyes alert and moving
Smelling danger and
Chance to peck.
What lovely combination
Of colours and shades, I thought
And freedom to move
With abandon.
You can keep people out
And even dogs and cats
But you can’t
Keep birds like that out.

I wanted to hold it,
Caress and
Feel the warmth of its belly
And be protective.
But, as I extended
My hand to do so
It flew and
Landed on the other window
I quickly moved there
And it flew
To the tree
And stared at me
Out of reach.
I envied the freedom it had
To fly the skies
And reach places I can’t.

I can’t, and it can
I was jealous of its colours,
Flight, independence
Anywhere, anytime
Even on the water
Over electric cables
Roof tops and ledges.
I, wanted nothing
But to be like it…
“Just a bird in the sky”.
“Rather be a sparrow than a snail.”
And then….. a gunshot
A violent and helpless flutter
And it fell like a ripe fruit from the tree.
Bruised and bleeding.
My fancy fluttered and died.

Why would anyone
Shoot down a bird
That brings as much joy
As a butterfly fleeting amongst flowers?
Will we ever
Make Darwinian Theory
Stand on its head?
Don’t caresses and whispers
Stand a chance
Against shouts and screams
And barks and roars?
Is Life an unequal race?
Can Beauty protect itself?
Does anyone know?
A Bird is what we want to be;
But, a bird is what we shoot…
Because….we can.

The radio played:
“I am a Paloma Blanca
I am just a bird in the sky
No one can take
My freedom away”
We pretend
But, we detest freedom
Of birds, animals, people
No one can fly
No one can soar
We have enough means
To shoot, kill, bring down
“Get in line,
Do this, do that
Follow…
Or else.”

JOURNEY OF A RAIN DROP

It arose from the sea,
As vapour,
Still not fully formed as a drop.
There was unbound excitement
At being born, created
A separate entity
Proud to be by itself
Rather than mixed in the salt of the sea.
As it took shape,
Amongst millions others,
It was conscious,
As do all of us
That it would be carried
By forces beyond its control
To far places and people
To lose its identity again when it’d fall.

“Where would fate take me?”
It mused as winds carried it landwards,
“Will I fall on a tree and hang
On to the leaves for dear life?”
“Or will I fall in a pot hole on the road
To be cursed by drivers and walkers alike?”
“Or worse, on a heap of rubbish,
Carrying stench in the air?”

“If I am lucky,
I may fall on the Ganesha idol
In a procession
But then, I shall be quickly
Back into where I was born and arose:
The vastness of the sea.
My friends and I may also fall in the milkman’s pot
And he’d rejoice for increased sale.”

“I have no choice
But, I don’t want to be part of a gutter.
God, I am small and feeble,
Be kind to me,
Let me be valued,
By myself and not
As part of the gang
Together called ‘rain’.”

The cloud that carried him,
Deposited him
On the cheek of a small child,
Naked and hungry,
On a street in Mumbai;
Where it mingled with a single tear
That shot from her eye
On the death of her mother in a bomb attack.

“God”, it said,
Let a hundred drops fall
To wash the sin of
What man has done to man.
But, they should never
Forget that single tear from her eye.
I don’t want to be born again
And again, and again, and again.”

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