A suggestion to terrorists

This is in response to a report in the newspapers that the terrorist group that blew up innocent people in New Delhi did whatever they did to prove that terrorists weren't buried in the recent earthquake and also to prove that the security cover on important cities isn't a match for their bombs.

Well here's a suggestion to them from me.

The point that you fail to note is that you are hurting people who really have no real grudge against you. You're killing people who do not care much what happens in Kashmir. Some of them might want to be up-to-date on current affairs and read newspapers a lot, but they actually don't do anything more than "reading" or "knowing".

By killing them, you will not see a "change of attitude" or a "change of opinion" in the crowd. They will still get back to their own business, and the survivors keep mourning their relatives who happened to fall victims to your bombs.

If they want to prove that the security is no match for them, do something like

1. Releasing chemicals that smell like "dead rat" when the parliament is in session. Good way to prove that you could have released any other deadlier chemical.
2. Spreading a lot of smelling filth on the speaker's table in the parliament (good way to prove that you can reach that place without security noticing it)
3. Blowing up a diwali pataka right inside Rashtrapathi bhavan (you will see a dozen security officers suspended for their careless patrolling)
4. Geting into a high-security area heavily armed, threaten to kill a VIP around, and escape without getting hurt and without hurting anyone.

There are ways to pull a good one against security. You get a lot of recognition by claiming that you did it, and people will have a good laugh and love you for it.

We're lacking people with a good sense of humour around here, and someone who can put national security to shame with a funny incident is the real terrorist we need.

You have another advantage. You don't have to live in the forests hiding away from civilization. If you are caught pulling a nasty pun over a VVIP, you mjght be imprisoned for a week or a month, but the security will let you go without blowing your head to pieces in a "false encounter".

Kandisa

After spendning a long time listening to this music for about 50 times now, I am not bored. There's always something new in this music. There's always something more you can yearn for, there's always something more to look for.

Kandisa is this piece of incredible music created by a band called Indian Ocean. and I like every bit of it.

I've been ignoring stuff from these guys as I more or less avoid folkish music. But I first got pulled towards folk music after listening to Shubha Mudgal. She has such a magnificent voice, and she renders her notes in such a sonorous way that your heart yearns for more of it. Please note that there's a lot more to Shubha Mudgal than her pop albums, and that those little pop albums were some of her "forgettable" works.

When I was in such a mood, Indian Ocean performed in Hyderabad. I was listening to most of the songs for the first time, and any songs that I might have heard never registered in my mind. But their performance on stage replenished all my energy and left me feeling much beeter about myself. I should really thank Shamnu for talking me along on his awesome Avenger.

Now, don't start assuming that this is a folk-music band. The band is comprised of 4 self-taught musicians. Since they are all almost self-taught, the music is unconventional. It doesn't fit into any genre. Listeners need to approach it without a pre-conceived notion. For those who insist, I'd take liberty to classify them as a hindusthani classical folk group with rock overtones.

I especially liked the way Sushmit played his guitar. Now-a-days, I listen to Kandisa just for Sushmit's guitar. (For those who can't identify Sushmit's guitar, here are the steps - in a typical song of this band, you'll hear two guitars, one is the bass guitar, which will sound more or less like a western guitar with low-pitched sounds, and another guitar which feels more or less like a very indian instrument, like probably a modified veena or modified mandolin. I am talking about the guitar).

What's so good about the music? The sound. I like the way they sing and I like the way they play their instruments. There's peace and there's excitement. There's just plain expression of joy and deep thought. There's rock and there's hindusthani classical. And the instruments are different and they're played differently. And the way they play it is impeccable.

Where do you find indian classical drums on a 7 or 14 beat scale when great drummers are still exploring the good old 4 or 8 beat scales? Do you find him play rithm on a bass guitar? And do you see people manage all that while still singing with a voice that feels like the smells like the first rain of the season?

Where do you find a western drummer play flute and folk instruments?

Where do you find a bass guitarist sing hindustani classical while hitting chords to match the notes?

And finally, where do you find a guitarist who can churn out melodies after melodies in such a speed that you'll be gasping for your breath trying to follow his notes? (I find it increasingly difficult to describe Sushmit... heck! - throw my English to the dogs!)

Look no further.

US of A again

Picture-perfect
Originally uploaded by saisrujan.

My friend asked me what my plans are for the weekend. I said that I pray for no P1s and laze around in the house.

He asked me "Don't you have any friends from college-days you'd want to catch up with?"

"Yeah, but most of them are all scattered around"

"Then, why don't you just arrange with them to meet up some nice place like Goa?"

"Well, most of them are on the other side of the hemisphere."

"Oh!!!..."

"Anywayz, I have a couple of friends coming to Hyderabad, I'll probably catch up with them."

"Hmm.. ok...".

"What are your plans for the weekend?"

"Not sure..."

Why do people fall silent when I talk about friends in the US?

By the way, here's a picture I had taken in SFO. The roof, seen in the picture, was good. The wall wasn't. So, I captured only the roof.

Get a bang out of Bangalore

Here I present, to my esteemed readers, a write-up on my adventures at my recent Bangalore trip.

For all those morons who haven’t the slightest idea why I ventured into such a morose place, please peep into this site. I strongly suggest you take a look at the trailer in ‘The making’ section. I have no idea which champion of Idiots talked Rahman into choosing Bangalore as the only site in India where he can have a concert. I’d like to send him a sandalwood coffin. Anyway, I get an opportunity to explore a new city, to understand the woes of its people, to spend a weekend and suffer what the people of the city have to go through day in and day out.

The picture of Bangalore I had in my mind is of a laid-back city built for retired army personnel with enough parks to keep their interests high when taking their morning and evening walk. An apt example when you describe how images are distorted with ageing.

Bangalore now happens to be a congested slum of glass buildings housing the richest of morons in India. Roads as narrow as the little streets of Hyderabad, but boasts of an opulent set of classy stores. Yet, from nowhere, traffic sense still canes people to order and the police is regarded with awe and dread. Resultantly, even the worst of roads allows for a smooth flow of traffic.

Sitting in an auto, you’d love to give anything to anyone who can tell you where the auto is going. But you end up giving everything to the autowallah once you reach your destination. Autowallahs don’t have mansions in Bangalore. They prefer having farm-houses in Switzerland instead. The software professionals of Bangalore relish feeding the autowallahs with whatever peanuts they earn, and the autowallahs make a major fortune out of it. I can bet every penny

If you ask me to choose between breathing in exhaust smoke and tobacco smoke, I’d definitely choose the exhaust. But unfortunately, I see the necessity to add a rider. “Applicable only in Hyderabad”. That’s because the exhaust of Bangalore kept giving me headaches. There’s something in the fuel that they use there that makes the vehicles, especially autos, more noisy and more smoky. The smoke makes you sulk, weep, yelp and cry out till people take you for mad.

People talk high about the climate of Bangalore. Maybe there’s some truth in that story. The weather was pretty welcoming when I stepped out of my Volvo. But as the day rolled on, things got hot and sultry. Sultry means just one mean thing. Rain just when you don’t want it.

The concert was at the Palace Grounds. I never got to see any palace, but this was a flat, huge ground. After we entered our Rs.500 ticket area, we could see the stage around half-a-kilometer away. I could see the stage, I couldn’t make out any more details. The show was supposed to start at 6:30pm. We reached there at around 5pm and waited patiently. Crowd slowly started trickling in. The clouds started to collect and they thundered greetings among themselves and waited for the right time.

At 6:15pm, the clouds got a signal that preparations are on to set the stage on fire and as a preventive action, opened up the hose-pipes and drenched the stage and the spectators. The rain stopped in 10 minutes. At around 6:35pm, there was an announcement saying that the show will start at 7pm.

Now, at around 6:50pm, the second spell set in. It drenched the spectators who managed to stay dry in the first spell, and soaked the rest of the spectators, down to the core (you know what I mean).

After 10 minutes of rain, a bit of silence prevailed. Then, a local singer sang out a very moving prayer song. The sky was more than ready to shower a blessing of rain when the song reached its culmination. This was a strong spell and spelled disaster.

After the rain stopped, Sivamani tried to keep the spectator’s spirits up. But unfortunately, he couldn’t elevate his own spirits. Then Kailash Kher tried his “Allah ke Bande”, but that didn’t help either.

Rahman spoke next. He said that a rain in the Ramzan evening is a blessing and that it would wash away all sins. The music that comes out of the heart of a singer after getting drenched in such a rain would be of the highest purity that it would touch every one’s heart in this world. He asked for some more time and disappeared.

It rained and it stopped. It rained harder when the organizers try to revive the stage and it stopped when they stop. This went on till around 8:15pm.

It stopped raining after that. At around 8:30pm the participants came out and started setting their things up and the performance began.

There’s nothing much to talk about the way the songs were sung or the way the instruments were played or whatever, since this is not something that can be written. All I can say is that it just makes you feel you’re the luckiest person in the world. This feeling is hard to get. Neither meditation, nor worship nor sex nor food nor success can give you such a feeling. The only little nagging feeling I had was that I wasn’t able to make out much of what was happening on stage.

It then happened that the gates to the costlier bays were opened. This was because the rains had dispersed part of the crowd, and now this thin stadium was thinly populated. We slowly moved up to the front. The rain had made the soft sand slippery and sticky at the same time, and you ambled along stepping gingerly. We slowly moved up front till we could get to the Rs.10000 ticket area. Here, at about 50 feet from the center of the stage, you have a control center, where they monitor the lighting, special effects and sound. There were big boxes in which they had brought in their equipment. These boxes were arranged one above the other on a high-set bench. I slowly stepped on to the bench, climbed onto the harded boxes, and stood up from there. From here, I got the occasional view of the stage. I enjoyed more music and relished the occasional chance of seeing the performers. The problem was that there were people in front, and I was generally able to see only the backs of those morons most of the time.

After some more time, I began to gather guts to climb further and to get a clear view of the entire stage from on top of the heads of people in front. I got a chance to sit on a soft box, which was almost collapsing. So, I put half of my weight on it, and supported the other half dangling from the steel frame that held the asbestos sheet to shelter to the controllers and their equipment.

Now, every note of sound was complemented by an unobstructed view of the entire stage and that was bliss.

Time flew by. I was in utopia. It was almost 12:30am when Rahan started to conclude by singing his “Maa Tujhe Salam”. As Rahman’s voice explored higher pitches taking the swaying crowd along, as if in a movie, it started pouring down again.

Rahman felt that this was a miracle, and asked us to find our ways home in the rain while he was escorted into his car that will take him safely to his hotel room.

We somehow reached home. The travails and tribulations we faced at this point of time are truly beyond my vocabulary. All I can say is that I lived to tell the tale.

As one of the friends who accompanied me rightly said, if ever I write my autobiography, this will certainly figure in it. It leaves such an indelible mark in your heart, that anytime in the future you think of Rahman, the experience at this concert strikes you like a nostalgic bomb.

This post is definitely a cribber. I promise you I'll avoid cribbing in the near future.