Resolve

Of late,

I’ve been sitting

Pretty alone.

Of late,

Companions

Have been walking

And have left me sitting.

Of late,

I’ve heard echoes

And I’ve heard music.

Of late,

I’ve gotten used to

Solitary ruby.

Of late, I’ve

Got new glasses

To look through.

Of late,

I’m looking through

new glasses.

Of late,

Am looking

At an old vision.

At a mirage

That’s constancy

And bubbles.

Of late,

I’ve learnt new languages.

And invented an old game.

Of late,

I’ve decided to

Stop fooling myself.

Of late

I’ve been laughing.

At us.

Jan, 2006

My Love Affair With Split

I've had strange tendencies. In my relations with rockstars.
During my first year in college, my boyfriend started a band: Seguey. I loved them. Not only because I loved him, but I loved the excitement of jamming, getting gigs, performing and all that.
Seguey had nowhere to practice, so I let them come to my home. They'd get guitars and amps and the drummer would practice on my electronic piano. And I'd tell my parents that this was important.
I'd print out lyrics, and note down chords, and serve tea.

Soon after I broke up with my boyfriend, Seguey dissolved. Everyone had scattered by then. There were plenty of other bands in college - Zephyr, Something Relevant. But I just knew them. I wasn't a part of the universe anymore.

Last December I met Garreth, the vocalist of a well known band called Split. I'd heard of them, and had seen them perform at Independence Rock - twice. Garreth told me about a gig coming up the next few days. I promised myself I'd go.

I did ... I saw them, and felt that great thrill that being pounded by loud live music beats always gives you. And it's even better when you know the person creating that live music.

A few days later, I met Nigel at a Christmas Eve party. He plays drums for Split. We were both drunk. I went up to him and told him I'd seen his band perform two days back and that I knew Gary. We immediately sat down on the grass and spoke.

About Garreth and how he is Nigel's God. About Split and how I'd love to attend practice. I promised I'd be as silent as the furniture. Not that they'd care about me being there, but just to be earnest.

Nigel and I danced, I thought it was funny. A few weeks later, I was at band practice and then I never missed any.

I love Split.
Garreth sings, or croons, or screams. And closes his eyes, like Jim Morrison. And goes berserk on stage.
Vishwesh plays guitar and jumps around and trips over cables on stage.
Mel plays guitar and wears a communist cap and bobs his head.
Shekar plays bass and looks as if he's performing a surgery.
Nigel hides behind the drums and complains that no-one can see him onstage.

They're immensely talented, like so many others of our young musicians.

But there's a tragedy here. Here in India, no rock band makes money. Not enough money for them to be able to just do what they do best- make music. No, they can't do it.
They all have to have jobs. And then what they want to do most gets put aside for weekends. Practice on Sunday morning? Yea. Inevitable, someone can't make it.
Gigs get cancelled often. Our entertainment industry is booming. People would pay anything to have a good time. But still no one arranges good live shows.

The rock scene, at least in Mumbai, where I come from, is dominated by Death Metal and its variations. Not that much variation of that kind of noise is possible, but yea, that's what one means by Rock Music here.

But Split is still around. They love their music too much to stop. They think and talk about the band a lot. They fight and get drunk and abuse cops. They argue about wanting to do something to the world. About a revolution. They write songs.

I've known them for 8 months. I've felt the heart-ache of the music.
I want things to change. I want more people listening to new music, music created by our musicians. I want crowds to appreciate Original Compositions. I want they to be willing to pay for this music, so that musicians can make a living from making music.
I want Split to never stop. I want them to be able to stop doing what they don't want to, but have to, and I want them to change the world.


I want them to record their first album in December.

Push Button Publishing

I like blogs. I like what blogs have done to people. Made them write, think, show off, make friends and - write more. It's a good thing. I didn't ever imagine I'd come across so many brilliant writers as I have on blogs. And they seem to write exactly the way I'd want to.

So, I'm jealous. And finally brave enough to attempt it myself.

It's more like a test though. Or a disciplinary exercise. Am I really going to be able to keep this thing going? Most of the stern and brave resolutions I've ever made (or any that required any regular effort) have vanished over the moon. I'm curious to see what will happen to this one.

But then, I've always wanted to write. And always known that it requires discipline. And always known the levels of discipline or self-control are negligible in my case. And always felt that I must start doing something about it.

But just examining what blogs have really done to people is a rather interesting thought. They get hooked; and obsessed. Especially about those comment things. Yea, those comments are at times the most amusing and annoying things about blogs...but I'll admit, am always curious enough to read them.

So yea, blogs convert people. And change lives. And save lives. And do all those things that things, ideas, habits, people do when they're given a tad bit more attention.

Meanwhile, I'll just press the button, and publish and join the world of self-proclaimed authors.

Fuckbuddies and Corporate Slaves

I'm the slightest bit tipsy, which is the only reason why I'm writing. Because when one is the slightest bit tipsy it is the only time when one really does what one really wants.
So I've decided that I want to be the slightest bit tipsy, and while am doing that, I might as well write.

I heard the word fuckbuddy recently. A friend told me he'd been introduced to people as some one's fuckbuddy.
Wow. Fuckbuddy- a grand, apt and self-descriptive word.

I've been a fuckbuddy. But am not sure how I'd react to being introduced as his fuckbuddy. Since when did sex become so commonplace that I'd want to be declared to the world as a sextoy? Well, it's been a while maybe since the world got there, but I'm not there yet.

But it's an exciting word: it's strong, brave. It's outrageous and scandalous. It's honest and brazen. It's hardcore.

It's a concept and idea that we're apparently embracing easily. No strings attached - Flings - Fuckbuddies.

I guess it makes things easy for everyone. I'm sure men have no objections to fuckbuddies. And women, on the other hand, can save themselves the heart-break of being subjected to fake wooing and lies.

Or maybe, its just a mature way of dealing with life and time. If you haven't found someone you care enough about wanting to spend the rest of your life with, there's no need to turn chaste.
But then again, I'd like to give the term some more volume. If I was a fuckbuddy, I'd still want to enjoy my fuckbuddy's company and be able to have a conversation with him. No daily phone calls, and no asking where you are and what you're doing. Let's just enjoy each other company when we can and have fun while we're doing it.

That's enough brainwidth spent on fuckbuddies.

Meanwhile, there's another term that I've had just under my skin for a couple of months now.
The Corporate Slave.
When I first thought of the term, I used it in a derogatory manner. Or maybe teasing, taunting. I didn't ever want to be one myself. It's not a bad thing in its own way, anyone who wants to be a corporate slave should be one. He'd make lots of money and generally have a satisfactory life. Or at least till the cholesterol evil got him, but that's not pertaining to this blog.

So, I didn't want to be a corporate slave. I wanted to be an artist. A modern artist, as I like to imagine. Just a vagabond. A film maker. Photographer. Author. Yea, that's what I want to be. Like 60 million others.

And so now I'm scared and for good reason too. I'm as close to being an artist right now as winning a Pulitzer for this blog. I'm a Corporate Slave.
I keep saying it to myself. I joke about it to others, and we all laugh. I'm trying to scare myself. I am scared, goddammit. But fucking can't do anything about it. Yet.