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

Caught 22

It was a cloudy Friday evening. The Starbucks on platform no 2 Victoria Station was bustling with customers as usual. A man was sitting all by himself in one of the corner tables. Hari Ramanujam was sipping cup of coffee and seemed preoccupied. An innocent passerby would have described him as a man of medium height and Asian features with a pronounced pointed nose. Ramanujam did not seem to notice the waitress approaching him.

“Would you like to order anything else sir?” she asked.

Hari looked at the nameplate on her chest. It read Pam Johnson engraved in gold.

“Another cup of coffee would be great.” he replied.

He thanked Pam and she in turn thanked him. She hurried to place the order.

London was a city where everyone loved to thank each other. Hari realized this fact the moment he had set foot in London six years ago. He had a work permit but still held an Indian passport. The first time he had traveled in a public transport bus, he had noticed the strange ritual. The passengers would thank the driver before getting down at their respective stops. The driver would then thank them and wish them good day. The passengers would reciprocate this by thanking the driver and then would go about their way. Back in India people lacked both the time and the attitude to perform this simple ritual.

Sipping on the second cup of coffee that had just arrived, Hari started gazing at the other customers. A couple sitting two tables away caught his attention. They were young, cheerful and full of energy. He was reminded of that fateful day fifteen years ago when he had met Anita. He had met her at a coffee shop in Bangalore. He had been alone. She had also been alone and sipping coffee. Hari had plucked up enough courage to go up to her and strike up a conversation. One thing had lead to another and they had started dating each other. She was all he could think about. She was his power, his pleasure, his pain. She was now his wife and was probably waiting for him. He saw that it was 7:00 pm already. He gulped down the rest of his coffee, got up, paid the bill, thanked Pam and walked to the nearest subway station.

It normally takes Hari about 50 minutes to reach Upminster, where he lived. Today was no different. He took a seat next to an old lady. Hari had about 45 minutes to kill. He was bored and soon started thinking about his childhood in India. He remembered the good old days when he used to run barefoot across the streets of Bangalore, break windows while playing gulley cricket, climb trees and roam the city in search of his next adventure. His children will never have the childhood that he had experienced. His kids never had as many friends as he had back then. Indians were still treated as second rate citizens in Britain. Even professionally, he could observe this. His boss had promoted his British colleague. Hari was sure that he was more capable than his colleague and deserved that promotion. Going to Britain was like visiting a rich kid’s home. He could play with their toys, but India was where he actually belonged. His children hardly knew anything about Bangalore or India. They had never visited India. Even in school, he noticed that his children liked to hang around Indian kids. Hari then decided that he would go back to Bangalore, look for a job there and give his children the childhood they deserved. The more he thought about it, he was convinced that it was the right thing to do.

Hari reached home and decided to talk it over dinner with Anita. His wife was reluctant at first but later acceded. Hari took a few days off, boarded British Airways and landed in Bangalore. The Bangalore that he had left behind had changed drastically. The once calm, peaceful, serine city had taken the toll for the worse. The city was swarming with IT professionals buzzing like busy bees all over the place. Hari was shocked to see the traffic in Bangalore. He had never seen such a chaotic and disorganized traffic in his life. The area in which he grew up had been demolished only to be replaced by shopping malls. At that very moment he had a change of heart. He booked a ticket in the next flight back to Britain.

Aboard the British Airways, Hari realized that he could never ever adjust to the new Bangalore he had seen.'What good is an Indian who acnt live in his own homeland?'he asked himself. He certainly wasnt British and would always be treated as a second rate citizen. He was certain of that. He was neither Black nor white, but an inevitable shade of grey. He looked at the clouds and sighed deeply. Fate had played a game of chess with him and had him checkmated. It dawned upon him then that all his Indian friends in Britain were stuck in a similar warp zone. He sighed again, waiting for the flight to reached its destination.

Life @ NITH

The life at NIT Hamirpur is a rich blend of varied experiences, both unique and commonplace. From the day a student signs the registration form for his admission till the day he graduates, there is never a dull moment for the budding engineers and architects of NIT Hamirpur.

A freshman is met by students from all over India. As weeks roll by, he quickly earns the respect and friendship of his fellow students. For most students it is their first time away from home. They start making their own decisions, start thinking independently and learn important tools which help in developing their personality.

Events are held at regular intervals by departmental and student bodies which exercise the grey cells of students. These events impart self confidence to the students and prepare them for the future.

Festivals such as Diwali, Durga Puja and Holi are celebrated on a grand scale. Students lighting firecrackers or spraying jets of water on each other can be found either grinning or with contented smiles on their faces, happily posing for their photographs. These photographs would later remind them of their life in NIT Hamirpur.

Tourism comes as the icing on the delicious cake i.e studying in one of the prestigious eighteen NITs. With weekend getaways like Shimla, Manali, Dharamshala, Jalandar and Chandigarh only a stone’s throw away, life has indeed never been this good.

Time flies while having fun. This is true and students realize that they are already about to graduate! Students look back and realize that the life @ NITH is one that he would cherish and remember for years to come.

"Super" Kapoor

“The world is safe once again! Thanks to ......” Sounds familiar? The world we live in has been saved innumerable times by a wide variety of superheroes such as Batman, Superman, Spiderman and other interesting characters. These heroes have been successful in protecting us from villains whose sole motive is to either take over the earth or destroy it (only god knows why!). These heroes have however managed to entertain millions of kids in India and billions abroad!

To cater to the needs of 40 something year old ladies, Ekta Kapoor popped right out from nowhere. With her stereotype daughter- mother-in-law quarrels, one actually wonders how people still keep watching her soaps. History repeats itself, more and more soaps are screened and loyal viewers can be seen sitting glued on to their TV sets.

Let us imagine that by some bizarre twist of fate (god forbid!) that Ekta Kapoor decides to make use of these superheroes in her soaps so that it appeals to a larger majority of people!

Main Characters:

Batman: The Head of the family

Batgirl: Mother (looks 20ish in spite of the fact that her son is 40yrs old)

Superman: Son

Wonderwoman: Daughter-in-law and Superman's wife

The episodes would proceed as follows:

Episode 1:

(Title song for 3 mins!)

(Commercial break for 2 mins).

The stage is set. The episode begins and a humongous house (fit for a king) is shown. The rooms are so lavishly and expensively furnished that even the owners of the five star hotels would turn green with envy. A joint family is shown with Batman and Batgirl getting up from their bed dressed as if they have been to a party (Batgirl is still wearing expensive clothes and jewellery!). In another room far far away, Superman gets up, looks around, is not able to find Wonderwoman, and gets angry for some reason. Meanwhile Wonderwoman can be seen cooking in the kitchen.

A telepathic conversation takes place:

Superman: Wonderwoman.....Are you there?

Wonderwoman: Yes dear....Go on.

Superman: Where is my electric red underwear? I have to save the world from vile villains. (In a thunderous voice)

(A commercial break for 2 mins)

(A recap of the conversation that took place before the interval)

Wonderwoman: I am sorry dear. I have given it for dry washing.

Superman: What?

End of episode 1.

Title song for 2 mins!

Episode 2:

(Recap of episode 1)

Superman flies into the kitchen with god like speed, looks at Wonderwoman and zaps her using his laser vision. A harassed Wonderwoman takes out her lasso and starts whipping it at Superman. Hearing all the commotion, Batgirl rushes into the room, sizes up the situation and blames her daughter-in-law for everything that happened. Wonderwoman bursts out sobbing.

Episodes 3, 4, 5, 6: Wonderwoman still sobbing! New characters such as Green Goblin, Flash Gordan etc are introduced who try to console her, but all in vain!

Episode 7: The red underwear has been brought back from the dry wash. Seeing the underwear, an argument again surfaces. Batgirl gets angry again and a fight breaks out between Batgirl and Wonderwoman. The fight aggravates to such an extent that Batgirl slaps Wonderwoman. Wonderwoman storms out of the house and swears that she will never set a foot in the house ever again! She decides to go to her mother’s home.

Episodes 8, 9, 10, 11: Superman is angry with Batgirl for sending Wonderwoman home. Batgirl and Batman both try to justify why the course of action adopted by them is best for the entire family.

Episode 12: Family hears that en route to her mother’s home, Wonderwoman’s invisible jet has crashed and she is in fact dead!

Episodes 13, 14, 15, 16: Mourning begins for Wonderwoman’s death. A picture of Wonderwoman is kept in the pooja place and the family can be seen crying out loudly. Everyone is regretting that she had to leave this world so early. She had to leave without saying goodbye. Characters like Spiderman, Flash can be seen consoling the family members.

Episode 17: Wonderwoman is alive but unconscious. It took some time for the rescue team to find her jet as it was invisible! She is admitted to a nearby hospital.

Episodes 18, 19, 20: Hospital scenes! People visit wonderwoman give her flowers etc.

Episodes 21, 22, 23: Wonderwoman returns home. Superman hugs her and they hold a grand party on her return in the same grand house.

Episodes 24, 25: Life proceeds normally in the Superman home. The normalcy and day to day instances are illustrated in these episodes.

I just demonstrated how easy it is to come with episodes of soaps by Ms Ekta Kapoor which have an uncanny habit of beginning with the letter “K”. My advice to the ladies who watch such soaps is to stop watching them. Watch something meaningful rather than wasting your time with mundane and awful soaps. For the kids who love superheroes, I urge them to keep on watching as long as it doesn’t turn out to be an addiction.

I request Mrs. Ekta Kapoor to come up with better plots (which can at the least entertain the entire family!) and get rid of mother-in-law and daughter trifles. I beg her to be more innovative when it comes to naming her serials and never ever get the bright idea of using superheroes in her soaps! Lastly I would also recommend Mrs. Kapoor to get a life!

The Story

Rajat Kumar waited impatiently for the red light to turn green. He glanced at the digital clock in his Ford. It showed 10:20 p.m. It would still take him approximately 20 minutes to reach his mansion in Sion. The merger deal had finally pulled through. The company was his life. He wanted his company to be the best and the deal was a giant leap towards achieving that goal.

The light turned green. The street was empty. Rajat shifted gears and accelerated rapidly. He remembered the look on Mr Jain’s face and smiled. Sanjay Jain was his rival, a fierce competitor who had lost the deal narrowly to Rajat. He was too preoccupied to notice a young man attempting to cross the road. Finally noticing the man, he hit the breaks as fast as he could. It was not fast enough. He heard a thud as the young man’s body hit the car and slumped to the ground. Rajat quickly got out of the car, looked at the face of the unconscious man, pondered for a while and panicked. He got back to the car and sped towards the mansion. He knew that the young man’s face would haunt him forever.

Two days later, Rajat was arrested on a hit and run charge. He called A.K Ganguly, a renowned criminal lawyer who immediately agreed to take up the case. The trial was scheduled to take place three days later giving Ganguly enough time to study the case.

The day of the trial had finally arrived. Honourable judge G.S Maurya took his seat in the Mumbai courtroom and turned towards Praveen Gupta.

“Is the prosecution ready?” judge Maurya asked.

“Yes, your honour” replied Praveen, the lawyer for the prosecution.

“Is the defence ready?”

“The defence is ready, your honour” replied Ganguly.

“Please proceed with the case, Mr Gupta” the judge said.

Praveen stood up, looked at the judge, the jury, the rows of spectators and spoke with confidence.

“The prosecution wants to prove through its witnesses and evidence that the defendant, Mr Rajat Kumar, is guilty of the hit and run charge. The victim, Ajay Bose succumbed to injuries and died on the way to the hospital. I call the first witness for the prosecution.”

The witness after being sworn in was ready for questions.

“Please state your full name and occupation.” Praveen said.

“My name is Vikas Kumar. I am a software engineer, currently under the employment of arc instruments.”

“What were you doing on the 18^th of this month at about 10:30 p.m?”

“I live in Sion. I was driving home from work.” Vikas replied.

Praveen looked straight into his eyes.

“Did anything unusual happen that night?”

“At about 10:30 pm, I saw a man get into a car, reverse and drive on. An unconscious man came into view as the car pulled back. I am sure that the car must have hit the unfortunate man” Vikas replied.

“Statement objected to as it calls for the conclusion of the witness. The witness did not actually see the car hit the man” Ganguly interposed.

“Objection sustained” snapped judge Maurya.

“What did you do next?”

“I waited for the ambulance to arrive and left the scene.”

Praveen turned to Ganguly

“You may cross examine.”

Ganguly walked up to the witness and asked him to describe the car.

“It was a white Ford” replied Vikas.

“Do you know the licence number of the car ?“

“No sir.”

“Then the car could have been any of the hundreds or even thousands that ply on Mumbai streets.” Ganguly dismissed the witness with a wave of his hand.

However the next witness, Shefali Rao, a student, identified both the car and the defendant positively. A doctor from Sion hospital produced the death certificate indicating the cause of death as a head injury. The case of the prosecution was further strengthened when Arpita Bose, the wife of the deceased had a nervous breakdown in the courtroom, leaving a profound impression in the mind of the jury.

The jury gave its verdict. Rajat Kumar was found guilty under sections 279

and 304 A of the Indian penal code and had to serve a sentence for five years.

Rajat was escorted to the central jail by armed guards.

”I don't deserve this.” Rajat said in a sad monotone. One of the convicts laughed mirthlessly.”That's what everyone in this place says. Welcome to central jail. I am Parmeshwar Prasad. Call me Parry. Everyone does.”

Five years later, Rajat walked the streets of Mumbai, once again a free man.

A business magazine in the pavement caught his eye. Two faces stared back at him from the cover of the magazine. Rajat's rival, Mr Jain had become become highly successful and had made it to the cover page of the magazine. Rajat was shocked and devastated to see the familiar face of Laileen Jain, Mr Jain's son on the cover of the magazine. Rajat knew then that he had been imprisoned for a crime he had never committed.

He knew then what he had to do. Rajat headed straight to an antique shop at the end of the street. The letters “Shanker's Antiques” gleamed in gold. He entered the antique store and found Mr Shanker polishing an old lamp.

Rajat walked up to him and said without any preliminaries

“I need a gun.”

Old Mr.Shanker gave him a bizarre look and told Rajat that the store sold antiques, not guns.

“Parry, the convict told me about this place.”

Without uttering a single syllable, Shanker led Rajat to a secret room which was stocked entirely with rows of guns of various sizes, shapes and makes.

Rajat went and picked up a well oiled gun. The serial numbers of the gun was scratched out making it practically untraceable.

“Thats an Austrian manufactured Steyr M. A very fine piece of machinery. Compact and yet powerful” informed Mr. Shanker.

“What's the guarantee that the gun will work properly?”

“I give you the same guarantee that I give to all my customers. My life. As you can see, I am still alive”

Rajat paid the requisite amount and headed for Mr Jain's mansion.

The mansion had two sentries posted at the main gate. Two guards continuously patrolled the mansion grounds. Rajat climbed over the fence, gave them the slip and made his way to a bedroom window. He managed to open the window. He stepped in only to hear the security alarm system echoing loudly. The bedroom light switched on and Rajat found himself face to face with Laileen Jain, the young man whom Rajat had supposedly killed in the accident five years ago. Laileen Jain was a dead man walking. A few seconds later, Mr Jain entered the bedroom carrying a gun.

“Well, well Mr Jain. Its been five long years. I should have killed your son five years ago in that accident. Your son is Laileen. I read that in a magazine. Tell me then, who is Ajay Bose ? How did he die?”

Mr Jain looked at Rajat calmly.

“When Laileen was admitted in the hospital after the accident, I had a brilliant idea. Ajay Bose was a man who had died the same day due to heart failure at the Sion hospital. I merely substituted the death certificates, bribed the doctor, and paid his wife Arpita to keep her mouth shut. With you out of the way, the rest was easy. Too bad you wont live to tell anyone.”

Jain pointed his gun at Rajat's chest. The footsteps of guards approaching could be heard in the background.

Rajat glared at Mr.Jain.

“Mr Jain! Life is like a game of chess. You can think three moves ahead but are allowed to make only one at a time. Only one will die tonight. You have made all your moves. Its time to make mine.”

Rajat aimed his Steyr at the bedroom light and pulled the trigger. The room was plunged instantly into darkness. A few seconds later, another shot echoed in the mansion.

An hour later, the homicide department arrived at the scene to find the body of a dead man. Rajat had been right. Only one had died that night