My first memories as a music aficionado go back to mid-eighties with Ma listening to the “imported” Sony FM-AM transistor while carrying out her afternoon chores. Rafi, Lata, Kishore Kumar, Manna Dey, S D Burman, R D Burman.. the entire pantheon of the hindi music industry seemed to descend into our humble abode to serenade me to my euphonic siesta.
Over the next few years, my taste in music didn’t change a great deal, limited entirely to Aakashvani and the much-anticipated Chitrahaar on Wednesday evenings. I remember getting my first cassettes, Glorious Amithabh Bachan in 4 volumes! 3 months and 20,000 playbacks later, each volume had a high pitch pre-amplifier screech accompanying the sonorous tones of “Neela aasman so gaya”.
My first real rendezvous with cultural globalization, Rohit singing “I just called to say I love you” at the Spelling Bee in grade 4. I had found my favourite kind of music… “English music!!!”. I couldn’t wait to fill out the end of year scrapbooks “favourite music” category with my new heroes… Michael Jackson, Wham, Phil Collins, Bryan Adams, Boy George, Foreigner, Richard Marx, Elton John and every other queer in the world.
Puberty brought with it a whole new genre of music, Sex. “Lets talk about sex”, “Im gonna sex you up”, “Tease Me”, “A la-la-la long”, “Who the fuck is Alice”, “Can I touch you there” and all other songs with sexual connotations were memorized and ceremoniously heard during every shower and school outing. Screaming out the word “fuck” each time in chorus with Smokie seemed like a moral victory much to the disdain of the tyrannical teachers.
The next phase was almost a manifestation of the divergence in tastes between us guys and them girls. We headbanged and played air-guitar to Guns ‘N Roses, Metallica, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, AC/DC, Megadeth, Iron Maiden and the likes. They crossed their legs and crooned to Celine Dion, Sting, MLTR, Whitney or closed their eyes and sighed to Boyzone, N’ Sync and Backstreet Boys with a “He understands women. I can feel it. Why cant these idiots be like him” countenance upon their faces. Every girl dreaded the last few songs at socials where their knights would abandon them as soon as the first few notes of “Sweet Child O Mine” or “Roadhouse Blues” boomed over the sound system. What followed was a display of an unbridled flow of adrenalin, perspiration and the following day, of Iodex.
I think most music-lovers find their enduring soul-mates in their first few years of college, outside the norms of conformism. It was then that I discovered the likes of Floyd, Tull, Led Zep, Dylan, Clapton, Knopfler, Tracy Chapman, CCR, Cale. Ironically, during this phase I also rediscovered the melodies of old hindi movies. It might have been the fact that I was away from home or simply the completion of the circle of consonance.
They say you can tell a lot about a person from what he wears or what he eats. I think you can tell a lot more from his ipod playlist. The now playing song probably reflects his disposition, the genre his current predicament. A few years ago, my guitar was my most valuable possession. Today, its my little albino friend. Before this sounds like a glorified ad for Jobbs, I will bid adieu.. or as my now playing song goes… “Ai dil chal peekar jhoome, In galiyon mein ghoome…..”.
