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Stories 2: 301 Lokumal

Memories usually don't come in any particular oder... something this morning reminded me of my PG days... the days before I met Renu.

I was asked to leave Steven's house (my accommodation) at Santa Cruz in May 2000. I don'tknow if I was relieved or scared. The house had its issues. I was paying a lot for sleeping on someone's apology of a Deewan in their living room... their mutt peeing over my chappals every morning, living off a suitcase (no cupboards offered), woken up in weekends by Steven's lousy kids pulling my hair and slapping me... having to do my laundry at 5am on Saturday and Sunday so that I would use running water and not stored water...

I would miss Bhatti, my PG-mate, who occupied the balcony (with the blue tarp to prevent the rain and sun and dust). But really, I was fed up with that existence. And one night, I came back blown out of my head... and fell when the door opened to the brotherly arms of Bhatti.

I remember Steven's wife saying,' Yeh kya ho gaya. Daru piya hai yeh.' And Bhatti replying,' No Ma'am, I think he's just tired'.

The next morning, I had to leave. With a suitcase and a few plastic bags...I made my way to the broker. He took me straight to Lokumal building in Mahim. It fitted within my budget... 2500 a month and 5K deposit. I was shown the house by the broker and a young guy (probably my age then... turned out to be the landlord's son). I would have to share a room with another guy... who looked pretty harmless sleeping on his back covering his face with a special edition of Playboy. The apartment was on the third floor... and our window had a decent view of the area.

The bed next to window was vacant... I left my bags on it and proceeded to check the rest of the house out. The living room was fairly large for Bombay standards, there was a small kitchen, another bedroom (for the landlord and his wife) and bathroom-toilet. I would share the loo and bath with these guys.

The door opened and the landlady walked in, holding a Pomeranian in her arms. The guy leapt out when he saw me and headed to attack me, teeth and all. It was pretty much a scene out of the Wild West, but in this case it was not about who drew the pistol faster. I made it to my room just in time to slam the door on the mutt's face. Phew. I hate Poms.

The commotion woke up Sheik Abdul Tayeb... 6ft, skinny guy with long wiry hair, sharp features and a dead-pan delivery that would make Bill Murray happy. Sheik sat there and grinned... pulled out a semi-smoked joint, offered it to me. I declined. He lit it, took a long drag and said, 'Lock your stuff up. If you lose anything, don't come to me'.

I was like... what the fuck is this guy's problem?

That night, I was woken up by the rain... the dream was amazing though. I rushed to shut the large windows and sat on my bed, drenched and psyched. I saw Sheik's toothy grin in the darkness. ' Its the Mango Rains'... and he went back to sleep. You can imagine what I was thinking.

A while later, the landlord walked into the room to introduce himself. In sign language. He couldn't hear or speak. Sheik later told me that the expression on my face said 'Don't fuck with me man/ God why do you do this to people/ hey we can have fun with this guy'. His wife followed him, and it appeared that 4 decades of marriage (and beating) was making her deaf and dumb as well. I was told the rules by her... in whatever muffled speech she could manage. 'No Girls, No Drugs'. I could live with that. The first I couldn't afford to keep happy and the second I was (and still am) totally against.

Mr. Gulu Thadani (the landlord) used to be a sales guy with Bush TV. He lost his voice talking crap like most sales guys do. He was a die-hard WWE fan... being deaf, he would put the volume at max, lay on the floor to feel the vibrations of each punch and fall... and cheer loudly when all the drama happened on TV. The first time I saw this play out... I thought he was lying on the floor banging his hands on the tiles because he was having a stroke or something. Gulu as it appears was a colorful man. He had an illegitimate kid (now a Bombay hustler). Jr. Thadani had a new job every week. From running a modeling agency to film casting, poultry farm to hosiery store... mostly he was a pimp. He did not live with his Dad. He used to drop by to collect hand-outs... and sometimes in the heat of the night to screw one of the unmentionables along with 3 of his friends.

Gulu's other son (the guy who showed me the house) was an animation chap at UTV toons. He also had a daughter, who was married to a total weirdo and had a new born. They lived separately... and off the old man as well.

They all had this one pom... who wore a bib while eating and had to be spoon-fed every meal. A year into 301 Lokumal, I would almost kill that animal. In a bizarre incident, I was once returning from office when this pom attacked me in the living room. Too tired to run and too fed up of being scared, I waited for the Pom. As he approached me (running), I sent a superbly-timed kick his way. The rest, as they say... was in slow-motion. I saw the dog twist in pain and elevate slowly, steadily in a trajectory that indicated that it would fly out the window. I saw the dog move slowly towards the window and suddenly in real-time when it scampered for dear life by the windowsill. It made it. And that was the last time it came anywhere near me.

Sheik was a photographer and was assisting Dilip Bhatia... a successful chap who did a lot of good advertising work. I told Sheik that I would make a few changes to the room in a couple of months... thats when i would go home and bring my speakers to Bombay.

As the days went by, I got along well with Sheik. A perfect roomie, if there ever was. We had great chemistry. Unspoken agreements and changes were made to accommodate each other.

Once I managed to get my speakers to Bombay, I took a trip to Lamington Road to hunt for a small amplifier. I got one that matched the speaker's power and from that day on, we rocked the place out. A portable CD player did the job for us. Saturday nights were synonymous with house parties. People would walk in...most of whom we didn't know because word spread that if you wanted free Old Monk, Salami Sandwiches, Nepali weed and loud Rock Music... 301 Lokumal is the place to be.

From having people passing out drunk on the floor, to getting super high on Weed seeds and attempting suicide... we had it all. We used to see our guests off as well.. and one night, a gush of wind pushed the door behind us shut and we were locked till 7am. No point ringing the bell with a deaf landlord, you see. We got away with our misdeeds on Saturday nights with 2 super large drinks for Gulu. He'd pass out by the time we finished our 10th song for the night.

One night, he walked into the room while we were playing a guitar heavy song. He saw everyone air-guitaring, bobbing up and down... and had that funny perplexed look on his face. He leaned on the cupboard and felt the vibration of the base guitar on it... and was so shocked that he fell down. He was upset alright... but nothing an Old Monk can't fix.

I left that life when I met Renu Nair.

Can't Rock On to this Shit!!

I borrowed KJo's copy of Rock On!! (the soundtrack album of the new Excel production that was released by Big Music).

I really haven't heard such trashy stuff in a long time. It makes Mission Istanbul's soundtrack sound better. Why attempt rock when all you can really do is make love-ballads and dance music? Farhan Akhtar sounds like a little adolescent in any case... and when he tries to pull of the range of rock vocalist, it just misses the point completely.

The lyrics are by the great Javed Akhtar... and it has no place belonging to his body of work. Sir, please check what Anwar Maqsood does (across the border) when he writes for his son's band. Rock music can have intelligent lyrics...even in Hindi/Urdu.

Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy giving us this trash (in the guise of rock), hoping for some 'KK-Pal' type revelation... sucks. Such trash... the only 2 songs worth listening to a couple of times are by the girls - Ye Tumhari Meri Baatein (Dominique Cerejo) and Phir Dekhiye (Caralisa Monteiro).

Everybody I know wanted to be a rock star at some point in their life. Everybody wanted an 'Almost Famous' moment in their life. Watching four guys like Luke, Farhan, Purab and Arjun Rampal live their adolescent dreams on screen is bad enough. The big question... Would Farhan and Ritesh have made this film if they had to spend their own money and not that of Big Pictures'??

This may be too 'damn opinionated'... but atleast I have a fucking opinion.

Look Ma, I'm a photographer!!

I grew up in a home where photography was big. My dad is a serious amateur and his equipment (that has evolved over the years) along with the books that he has on the subject are a testament to his seriousness. The years he has spent honing his skill is evident in the pictures he has taken... some are over 30 years old now and truly feel like they are out of LIFE Magazine. Earlier, when photography was still an art and expensive, he didn't have much scope to experiment with his subjects either... which were rarely under his control (his favourites being nature, followed by his wife and 2 kids)...

The Digital SLR has democraticized that art-form into a pastime. Everyone with a camera today thinks he/she is a photographer. And since it doesn't hurt taking random pictures anymore, strange pictures are being passed off as works of art. I strolled into a blog the other day (linked from APSD') and I ended up at one such photographer's area... one who's passion/job took her around the world. Wonder why people like them think no end of their 'talent'? To top it all, they are surrounded by people who do the 'you scratch my back, I scratch your's' bit. For example, the lady we (my company) hired to take location stills for our upcoming film Dostana, which was being filmed in Miami, spent most of her time fulfilling her voyeuristic pleasures (aimed at John Abraham's behind) or taking asinine pictures of the crew bonding with other. And yes, her job also took her around the world. Big fucking deal. We fired her half way through our schedule.

Stories from the past: The Random Speaker Sessions

While having breakfast this morning, I decided to write about old stories and experiences. Not in any particular order, but whatever came to mind.

So, story #1: The Random Speaker Sessions:

Ever since I can remember, I was shy. My folks would invite their friends home, and for a while, it would appear they had only 1 son, my brother. Till I had to be coaxed out of my room where I would pretend to be busy doing some serious shit (making my n'th copy of New Kids on The Block), reading something really important (a 3 yr old Sportstar magazine) or preparing for the next day (polishing my sparkling black shoes). This was worse if the visitors had a daughter accompanying them. This shyness (and being of few words) had its bipolar twin... the boisterous chap in school. I was in the middle of everything... good or bad. I took the hero-giri seen in the trashy films of the 80's and early 90's too seriously. So, messing a guy up for being stupid was cool. Messing a teacher's mind was cooler. I was performing fairly well in school (in academics, and to an extent in sports as well), till the day Mr. Aldridge and the other teachers decided to launch the debating society. The W-H-A-T society? Who the hell wants to get into a debating society? Its like a society for people with too much of the same thing to say.

Anyway, someone in my house was excited. My brother. He could go up there and speak. He had no apprehensions about the crowd and about memory loss or blanking out. Sometimes, he never really made sense, but he spoke with so much confidence and style... you had to hand it to him. Its only later that I realized that he was actually trying to imitate a few punks from the Hollywood films. He used to end up somewhere short of Hollywood punk and Nair Sr. (my old man)!!

Now, every week, students were chosen from each class and topics were handed out - the usual FOR and AGAINST nonsense. I would beg my way through this system... to be avoided. Every Monday, I would dread looking at the notice board, and would be super thrilled to see my name NOT on the list. After a few months, the debating society decided to change the rules a bit. They started the Random Speaker sessions where students were chosen randomly and made to speak on the topic of the day - either for or against. I was aghast. How, I had to beg my way out of this twice.

But thats what I did. I was so scared of going up there and speaking that I was ok with the begging. I feared blanking out. I feared losing the little respect I had with my seniors... and the fear my classmates and juniors held me with. Man, what would become of me? And that inevitable line... Ashok is such a good speaker, why is Arun so bad?

For a few months, I got away with getting on the good side of the Secy (Bevin I think). Till one day, lady luck found her man. When they announced my name, I nearly died... the blood that rushed to my head and ears almost knocked me out. My heart was pounding like hammer on a coffin. There was a premonition that this may happen. So I paid attention throughout the afternoon on the topics being discussed. But suddenly it all went blank.

The random speaker had to speak for 2 minutes. Thats it. 2 minutes. I took that long to get on the stage. There was a loud cheer... I remember that.
I walked slowly to the microphone.

And said, 'Hi... ... how you doin?' as coolly as I could.

And waited there quietly for 2 minutes. I didn't even say if I was for or against the topic.

The buzzer went off, I thanked the audience and walked back, all the while thinking to myself 'I'm Tony Manero'...

No one brought this matter up... either in school or at home. But it was better that way. I still remember it.

I did this to myself one more time... that was a couple of years ago. Will talk about that in another story.

The Night that it all happened

So there I was finally at Parc Des Princes, the venue I would finally fulfil a dream. I was there at 2PM although the concert was scheduled for 8.30PM. This because I wanted to get the yellow band that would allow general standing audiences a chance to get into the pit… where you get really up close and personal with Bruce and the band. Not a single person in the pit in any U2 or Bruce Springsteen gig is a half-fan.

They started letting us in at about 5.30 PM… and after a quick piss in one of those portable loos, I dashed to the pit area like I had a pack of hyenas aiming for my ass. All the instruments were draped in tarp then, and the sun was burning hotter than ever. We sat there on the floor… all of us. Sometimes chanting choruses… and sometimes just taking each other’s pictures. I decided to sleep. Every now and then, the technical staff would appear and remove one tarp at a time, neatly fold ‘em and and reappear 20 minutes later to do the same for another instrument. It was crazy watching those guys. There was this Chinese guy who was especially annoying.

So, after waiting for 6 and a half hours, we finally decided to start greeting the band. Lots of wasteful clapping only got more technical people on stage to fix the guitars and drums. Very very irritated – that’s what I felt.

Suddenly at 8.45, the music began – the music you’d expect to hear from the Jersey Shore Boardwalk… from the carousels. And we knew it was time. The crowd had filled up the pit and the whole stadium by them – all of 55000 people. And then the roar for Nils Lofgren and Roy Bittan. Followed by Suzie Tyrell, Charlie Giordano, Gary Tallent, Little Steven (who got a raucous welcome) followed by Max Weinberg. Then came The Big Man and The Boss. The crowd was screaming so loud, I couldn’t hear myself scream.

A quick Bon Jour… a wave of his hand and that familiar kick start. 1…2…3… 4 (here I felt the earth move. I swear. I was expecting Summertime Blues, a cover that was opening the gigs of late. But I had to admit, my dream actually came true that night. I remembered how I would play music for my friends and serve them cheap booze and salami sandwiches in my PG apartment back in 2000… and how I always began with Adam Raised A Cain. This song always set the tempo even in a room full of guys who had only heard Dancing In The Dark before this). The first few notes of the song killed me, with Bruce stepping back and taking over the guitar like a possessed 18 yr old. The choruses were loud and full of energy and when he took over the lead guitar portion, it was mind-blowing. I have many DVD’s of Bruce performing Live, but not a single one where he performs this song. To watch him play that guitar, strangle its neck like he was beheading a python… man!! Now, one thing about Bruce and his live performances… all the songs end with 1…2…3… the countdown to the next song. And Radio Nowhere began. The audience was wild. As wild as they would be if her had played Born To Run. I could feel the energy in the crowd. It was like a group orgasm. This was followed by a rare electric version of No Surrender. Having followed Bruce on the road for a while, I knew that this was a ‘been-there-son’ moment.

And when that got over, Bruce counted down (familiarly) to The Promised Land. The opening two drumbeats followed by the powerful harmonica was a 10 sec moment I have recorded in my brain. I hope to remember this the day I die. In the middle of the song, Bruce and the band made way for the Big Man to find the Zen-moment and blast home a sax solo that made every hair on your body stand like you were shot by some electric gun. Bruce then accepted requests and started off with Spirit In The Night, a classic from his debut album. Then, request No.2 – Rendezvous. This time, we counted down for Bruce!!

The song ended with the opening of Candy's Room. This track starts like no other really. So much of older material making it into the set, it was unbelievable. Atlantic City had its electric treatment with some brutal lead guitar towards the end. Another request was played in Janey Don't You Lose Heart. Not particularly a favourite of mine, but a great tune and easy song nevertheless. Songs like this act like a great opportunity for Bruce to catch his breath… which he surely needed for the next song.

The opening chords of Darlington County blew me away. As a kid, I would picture this song being performed live… and I’d imagine the band having fun on stage. I never expected this song this time… and I was so numb, I remember thinking ‘Glory Days wasn’t supposed to sound like this!!’ Bruce shared the vocals with Nils on this, and when he was not, made his way to either side of this stage and let the fans go for it. Man, it was a free-for-all, with groping and petting and slapping etc etc etc!! Then came a major highlight of the night - Because The Night. This song (written by Bruce and Patti Smyth) stood out because of the crowd’s involvement and the absolutely adrenaline pumping lead guitar by Nils Lofgren. He went round and round… and played the notes like a wizard.

By the time you recovered from this, Bruce introduced She's The One, a Born To Run classic. This Bo Diddley beat went through us like a fucking runaway train. It was storytime, according to Bruce. When he started talking about life in America these days when such things happened that were once considered un-American (like illegal wire-tapping and Habeas Corpus) and the notes of Livin' In The Future began, we were back to the new material. A perfect timing with Max Weinberg here… and a bang-on solo The Big Man.

Mary's Place was similar to the performance in the Barcelona DVD… minus the band introductions. Then came Fire. This was quite funny because it was actually a request, and Bruce showed the band the sheet of paper with the word ‘FIRE’ on it… and Max started playing the opening sounds of I’m on Fire!! Bruce had to stop and him and tell him, ‘Max, Its Fire, not I’m on Fire’. This song was a big hit during my party days. My friends Sheik and Bhatti would go nuts when the ‘Romeo and Juliet…’ part of the song began. Brought back great memories.

For You was performed solo on piano. The stage went dark, the audience was dead quiet and Bruce took to the piano like I take to peanut butter. It was so moving to watch him there, and to watch Max (who hadn’t vacated his position like the rest) appreciating him. Then came a crowd favourite… The River. This was followed by some fist thumping in The Rising. The lights had all gone red now… and the crowd sang the choruses with so much energy… Boiling point. Last To Die and Long Walk Home were quite normal affairs. Badlands and Out In The Street got the audience mad again. The band was done for the night (yeah right) and came up for their bows.

They returned 3 minutes later for the encore with Girls In Their Summer Clothes, where Bruce made sure every pretty girl in her summer clothes was given adequate attention by him and the hovering cameras. As this song was ending, I saw Bruce indicate to the band with all his ten fingers. And the opening chords and beats of Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out began. The eternal favourite… my night was becoming a dream come true. I got to watch Born To Run Live… an ambition I had ever since I was 18, followed by Bobby Jean, Dancing In The Dark and a loud and peppy American Land to close the set.

I made my way out of the gig, bought a bottle of water and found myself at Les Defense station at 12.50am… with no buses. I walked all the way to my IBIS Hotel… all the way singing to myself. When I reached my room, I made a quick call to my wife and told her how much I loved her and that she deserved all my love and gratitude for letting me go for this gig… at a time when we were expecting a baby and not as financially sound as we would have liked to.

As Shridhar suggested, now I can die a happy man.

Just a curtain raiser to the details