The Three P's of Rock

Choose ten random strangers and give them an hour to interact with each other. Tell each person to jot down the characteristics of every other person. It will be observed that no two individuals will have the same perception. Let A, B and C be three such individuals in the group of ten. B may perceive A as an introvert of remarkable intelligence. C on the other hand might be under the impression that A is reserved because he is too dumb to string two words together and form a sentence. Each person is perceived differently by different individuals. This leads to ambiguity and conflict in perceptions.

Rock is no different. Ask any rock lover the basic question: “What is the essence of rock?” and a variety of answers will crop up.

Most rock lovers consider the rock lead as the driving force behind rock. Joe Sat, Steve Vai and Stevie Ray are considered as idols in the temple of rock. A rock lover devoured by the psychedelic lyrics of Pink Floyd might be tempted to conclude that lyrics are the soul of rock. Lyrics reflect the emotions of the composer. Hate, love , sorrow and loneliness are some of the most common themes. Some lyrics can be so mind boggling and abstract that the listener is left stupefied. The title ‘An American Poet’ given to Jim Morrison of the doors in well justified in this regard. The impact of well composed lyrics can be exceptional. John Lennon’s lines ‘You may say I am a dreamer, but am not the only one’ created waves in Britain during 1970’s. Lennon believed in a conceptual world with no wars, no discrimination of any kind and equality to all. His lyrics inspired thousands to support his cause. Great lyrics however are useless without the music. Mere enchanting poems! Lyrics are like diamonds. They need to be polished (with music) to bring the sparkle.

Some rock lovers might associate rock only with the insane headbanging. These headbangers insist that rock is meaningless without oscillating one’s head at breakneck speeds in sync with the music. What these dolts forget is that The Beatles who revolutionized rock and roll in the 1960’s did not compose any songs that needed headbanging. Metallica’s Nothing else matters and Led Zepplin’s infamous Stairway to heaven demands the listener to sit back, relax and be swept away. Headbanging might be one of the ingredients of rock but does not define rock.

For the love of ROCK!

A compound is a mixture of its constituent elements in an appropriate ratio. Rock too is the culmination of a great guitar solo, mesmerizing lyrics with a touch of headbanging and amazing vocals.

Posers of rock: For the present generation, rock has become synonymous with cool. A person who rocks is one who is cool and popular. This has lead to the emergence of two kinds of people, people who truly love rock and rock posers (losers). Rock posers taint the sanctity of rockhood. They consider themselves as rock lovers but cant really differentiate between Britney Spears and Iron Maiden. A girl in my college, who claimed to be a rock lover, was found headbanging to a Backstreet Boys track. May her musically inclined soul rest in peace!

Rock posers welcome each other with a ‘cool’ hifi. ‘Fuck’ and ‘motherfuckers’ are the two most common words in their dictionary. A rock poser ideally does not know more than 10 rock songs but thinks he is an expert. He permanently wears a rock band t-shirt, has untidy hairstyle, smokes weed, talks in a fake accent and tries to act cool. Such people deserve to be mocked at, to be publicly humiliated at and should me made specimens for humour.

“I know I love rock. I don’t need to go about flaunting in public trying to prove that to everyone! ” remarked one of my friends. He listens to bands most guys wouldn’t have even heard of and participated intensely in discussions about rock. He is a simple chap, someone u might just bump across on the road and move on without so much as a second glance. So, the next time you are travelling in a bus, just remember that an ordinary guy wearing a plain dull t-shirt sitting next to you with a bored expression on his face might just turn out to be a true connoisseur of Rock.

Parallels of rock: A few weeks back, I ended up attending a Nityashree (carnatic singer) concert. It struck me then that parallels can be drawn between rock and other forms of music. The similarities between Indian music and rock are astounding. The guitar lead in rock is replaced by a violin or a veena lead. For the drums in rock, there exists the ghatam, Mridungam and tabla. The base in Indian music is provided by the droning shruti box. Talented carnatic vocalists such sing high noted and pitches simulated only by gothic singers in rock.

It is said that while visiting Ettayapuram, a small village in Tamil Nadu, the great composer Muthuswamy Dikshitar was anguished to see the drought-hit arid land and people facing severe water shortage. Moved by their plight, Dikshitar looked up to the sky and burst forth in praise of the goddess in a raga called amritavarshini. He beseeched Devi to bring rain and alleviate the plight of the drought-hit people. It started raining soon after he finished singing the raga.

Such is the power of Indian music and it cannot be ignored. Rock lovers must occasionally take a break from rock and indulge in other forms of music, thus expanding their horizons. Thus the Indian classical artists are rockstars in their own world of music.

Rock is like Cerberus, the mythical three headed dog. Chop one head off, and two will take its place.. KEEP ROCKING!!

The Mocked Bird

When we are divided in the ecstasy of passion

Beyond the division of our souls

Though we endow the act of love with every power of imagination and poetry

It remains the act of two divided solitary beings.

We are mocked like two birds seeking each other through the glass pane.

- H.R

Stepping down the Chevrolet, I made my way to the marriage hall in Malleswaram. It was the first time I was attending a marriage uninvited. I entered the hall without hesitation. A simple fake moustache with a French beard had ensured that I would pass by unnoticed. The classic case of each spouse’s family thinking that I belonged to the other’s ensued.

The bride was sitting on the altar looking radiant. She was my first love. The courtship that we had shared was love in its most innocent form. Things hadn’t gone quite the way both of us had expected or imagined and we had to break up. Three long years had passed since then and fate had led us on different paths.

The reason I was attending her marriage was perhaps because at some distant corner in my heart I still cared for her and wanted to see her happy. Seeing her married would give me the permanent closure that I needed.

I looked on as the gold taali was tied to her neck, a ritual indicating that her heart now belonged to the silent man on the altar. Our eyes met, but only for a second. I walked towards the huge pile of marriage gifts. I deposited my gift, smiled at a little girl in a dhavani and made my way to the exit. I did not look back even once and boarded the Chevrolet.

She would later unpack my gift to find a elegant necklace and earring set with a note attached:-

To a happy wonderful life ahead

- The Mocked Bird

The Weekend Trip

Life at NITH can get extraordinarily monotonous sometimes. The same trees, the same people, the same old Nescafe with engrossed couples can get to a person. A change becomes mandatory, especially during the weekends.

Desperately seeing this change, I packed my bag and decided to go to Mcleodganj for the weekend. The trip was different as I relied on my I pod to give me company instead of people. The bus journey was uneventful with four long hours of music. I reached Dharmashala at 8 pm where I was greeted by a great masala dosa, four tasty vadas and a hot cup of coffee. I rummaged around Dharmashala desparetely seeking a roof over my head. Lying down finally on a comfortable bed, I heard the wind howling with great gusto in an attempt to break the window off its hinges. I was so tired that I didn’t know when I actually dozed off.

A road in Dharmashala

Getting up at 7:30 , I headed to the bus stop in Dharmashala. I stumbled upon the ever eating couple of our college in the bus stop. Mutual astonishment was apparent. The three of us (couple + I) boarded the overcrowded bus and ended up in Mcleodganj. I bade the lovely couple goodbye and made my way to an obscure Tibetan restaurant. Munching on Tibetian bread and Jam, I conceived the next course of action. After the I wandered aimlessly in Mcleodganj. The entire Mcleodganj was covered within a span of 1 hour. I then decided to cover a distance of 10 km between Mcleodganj and Dharmashala by foot. En route to Dhamashala, I explored St John’s church in the wilderness, a church built in the 1800’s by the British.

After having lunch in a small dhaba in Dharmashala, I boarded a bus for Hamirpur.Just as luck would have it, the same bus was boarded by my juniors Vinod and Rajeev who gave me company till the institute. The wonderful weekend trip finally ended at about 8:30 pm when I finally reached the institute