An iffy prospect

Let’s first get a couple things clear — I’m all for IFFI in Goa, provided it’s done properly and projected in a nice way. And, I’m not an expert on film festivals, the only other festivals that I’ve been to are MAMI and the small festivals in Mumbai. But, I do know how things can be done and what makes sense. IFFI 2006 doesn’t make sense to me at all.

Let’s recap! The inaugural ceremony was tailor-made for Bollywood and for TV viewing. There was nothing about Goa there. The official song lauds Indian cinema and I ask myself and everyone else, isn’t this supposed to be a festival of International films?

Throughout the last few days, I’ve been doing the rounds of Kala Academy and Inox, only to see Bollywood stars walk in amidst media frenzy, some of them aren’t even here to promote a film. Some of the foreign directors and cast and crew have been ignored or given third-rate treatment. What kind of nonsense is this? What are the DFF and ESG thinking? Don’t they know that these people are coming down for the festival? A producer of a Marathi film created a hue and cry about the fact that his director and cast weren’t given a platform before the screening of their movie. Why wasn’t someone informed of their arrival? And why has a company that puts together conferences and other small events in Delhi given the opportunity to manage IFFI this year?

The first year, 360 degrees did a good job, so did Wizcraft the following year. Why give it to a different event team each year. Doesn’t anyone realise the advantages of having one person do it for three or five years at a stretch? Do you even know what that can be like, from so many different aspects, including sponsorship? Is there any criteria when it comes to lobbying for the festival? Do you just have to be in the business or do you have to have years of doing large-scale events, major concerts and more, to qualify? Now, doing a brilliant job has taken on a whole new meaning. In fact, the next time someone tells me I was brilliant at something, I might just cringe in fear. Brilliant Entertainment Network has been anything but brilliant, in fact, I can’t imagine how an incompetent group of individuals can have the gall to call themselves event managers. From the gaudy cheap décor on the streets and the Inox courtyard to the not-so-International events at Caranzalem, it’s all a whole big mess. And the head of Brilliant even had the audacity to claim that the whole Konkani concert was a printing mistake? What an excellent excuse, or should we say a brilliant excuse? They have a haphazard way of doing things and most of the press that they favour has been national media, obviously since they’re not from here. It seems that everybody has vested interests. Is there anyone who loves films and is doing something at the festival?

Getting back to the festival, the country focus is on Argentina, which is a good thing for Latin American cinema. But, where is the Argentinean contingent? They’re here; we met one of the directors and interviewed her. No one else even knew that she was around. There has been a parade of Bollywood stars and starlets, whom we see and hear about all the time. Why is it so important for the press to meet them and not the people who have genuinely come here to promote a film that they spent time making and that they took pains to finish?

Goa is a great place for IFFI but we do need to stop this nonsense and concentrate on what it really is — A film festival. IFFI is not about Sonu Nigam, Shankar, Ehsaan and Loy, Kunal Ganjawala or the others that get on stage and wax eloquent on how they love Goa. Bosh and more bosh! Goa is a great venue, it’s got international acclaim, it’s got an international feel and most importantly, it has the infrastructure. But, none of this has been exploited. Why can’t some of the festival movies be shown on the beaches, instead of Lage Raho Munnabhai and Rang de Basanti. We’re even screening Krissh today. Yes, Krrish! Show some of the regional films instead, even if you can’t screen a Volver. The government needs to realise that everything can’t be turned into a political gimmick. At the end of the day, if IFFI goes away from Goa, the government won’t be blamed, Goa will.

The ESG should have a committee of people who have worked in the entertainment industry, who know how things can be done, who can not only give it an international flavour but a Goan flavour as well. The answer is not in holding it at the convention centre so that you can get more seats, it’s about crowd control, and it’s about quality. One thing’s for sure; the movies at the festival are perhaps the only saving grace of IFFI 2006.

I was standing close to J P Singh, the Chief Secretary of Goa, when he wondering out loud, why IFFI was getting so much bad press. Well, here’s your answer. Don’t make it an over-hyped Bollywood mela, let it be what it is — the International Film Festival of India. Put it there on an international level, get the international directors and actors down, and give them their due. And for crying out loud, send Brilliant back to Delhi and make them start doing birthday parties, they’ll learn a lot. Perhaps in ten years time, we might think about giving them a second chance. Then again…

November 30, Gomantak Times, Goa

When will India play beautiful?

There have been so many stories of great football, skillful goals and heroic exploits throughout the years. Today, football has scaled massive heights, not only is it the world’s favourite game, but in a few places, it rides a close second behind one’s religion.

Most of the teams have played their first match in the World Cup and like I predicted a while ago, this is one tournament that is spread wide open. I was surprised to see teams like Netherlands, Sweden and Portugal struggle against smaller opponents; but then again, the first match is always nervy. So far, India hasn’t stood a chance, we haven’t gotten anywhere near the World Cup, except once, 40-odd years ago and even then, we didn’t play.

I happened to chance upon the new Indian football jerseys on the Nike website and they look glorious — classic blue and white! But what’s the use of looking good and not playing well? I’m sure that quite a few officials will have already headed into Germany to catch a few matches. Why not send the players? New Zealand played against Brazil during their practice matches and they’re ranked lower than us in FIFA rankings.

I understand that cricket’s the bigger game and that’s where all the money’s going, but what of the other sports. Yes, there are reports of Sepp Blatter taking interest in Indian football and coming down here soon to set up a few youth programs. Now, while that’s great news, do we really have to wait for him to come down before we realise that we have the talent but not the platform? Or have we already realised that and are just sitting around twiddling our thumbs and waiting for foreign aid. Why should we put our money into it when FIFA might just give us some of their small change? That’s not great attitude! We have the money, but not the proper people in place to take football out there and make it big.

West Bengal, Kerala and Goa, are three of the biggest states that have great football teams, with Maharashtra not that far behind. There are also some really good players from the North-East, proving where the talent pools are. When I grew up in Mumbai, in school and even after that, it was always football and hockey. We played our hearts out, a few of my friends even represented Maharashtra in the Nationals…but there was no future then. Or at least, that’s what we were told. Maybe the future was bleak then, but it certainly isn’t now. Today, kids have more exposure to the different leagues around the world. Every weekend, we have the Premier League, La Liga and more on our TV screens. The FIFA games also teach people about strategy and so on. It’s all there, the aids that help people learn. Now, they need to showcase their talents. Is there even one decent youth program anywhere in India? Perhaps it’s time to start one.

We all support teams like, Brazil, Portugal, France and Spain but wouldn’t it be nice to see India there, even if they don’t play that well at first and struggle to make it? I’m not being pessimistic but I have seen how hard it is for the newcomers at the finals. We all love the game and I personally would love to see my country up there. I want to cheer for them, to see a goal scored and to wear the jersey with pride.

Until then of course, I guess I’m going to have to be content with the rest of the world playing the beautiful game. In the words of Eric Cantona, “Joga Bonito!”

June 14, Gomantak Times, Goa

Seeing the light, in every drop of rain!

I’ve fallen in love, with Goa, all over again. The monsoon is finally here and at long last, I can see it rain for miles on end. The other day, I was sitting at a friend’s place and staring out of the window, watching the rain fall off the branches of the trees close by. It’s such a beautiful sight. Even when I lived in Mumbai, the only time I enjoyed the monsoon was when I hopped onto a train and came here. The smell of wet mud just smells so much better here than in the big city.

Falling in love is not an easy thing. One minute you’re doing what you normally do, the next thing you know, you’re catapulted into a vortex of colour and sound — A kaleidoscope of emotions. Then again, that’s not what I feel about Goa. I would reserve that for a certain someone, wherever she may be. At this time, I’m more inclined towards being footloose and fancy free in the rain.

Goa never felt so good. I would often extoll the virtues of spending a few days here in the rain, to everyone who would want to do something different. I would long for the chance to come here, book a room in a resort on the beach and sit there reading, sipping on something warm or watching a good movie. Experience a different Goa. I can do that now, but then again, I have a day job. Not such a good idea now, especially since after this little piece, my boss is not going to believe me if I call in sick.

Even now, I dream of heading to the beach and walking barefoot in the rain, feeling the wet sand crunch beneath my toes. Standing on an empty shore, the waves crashing down with immense ferocity. In some ways, I’m a child of the wild. Like those people who love to be amongst nature and beautiful things. About two years ago, a few friends and me went out for a holiday. Somewhere between Mumbai and Goa, it was in the middle of two hills and by a beach and we spent two beautiful days there. I remember getting up in the early morning and walking up a hill and just sitting there, taking in the sights. We had so much fun, just squatting on a rocky outcropping and eating lunch, or playing cards in the late evening until dinner. It was a pretty peaceful but short holiday. My only regret was that we didn’t have more time or else we would have just driven down to Goa and had more fun here.

The only scary part about the monsoon in Goa is riding a bike on the wet roads. Drivers still show no mercy for bikers when coming down a slope or overtaking on a straight. The chances of an accident happening are even more now, but the apathy still stands.

On the brighter side, the roads are cleaner and the place has gone quieter, which, in a lot of ways, is a good thing. Though, I strongly feel that as a tourist destination, Goa can do so much more. This season can also be a good time to visit the state and someone should see to it that the wheels are set in motion in this regard. Until then though, I look forward to cantering in soaking wet to work, sipping hot coffee on a damp morning and walking carefree in the sand.

May 31, Gomantak Times, Goa

My memories of midnight…up to the early morning

The last few weekends have been crazy. I’ve had loads of fun, right from the Easter weekend up till last Saturday and I hope the fun never stops. Actually, it never does, in a little lounge in Candolim. It’s one of the newest places in Goa and a party place it is indeed — Vanilla. The name conjures up something peaceful and sweet and if anything else.

Come the weekend and the northern half of Goa gears up to head down to Vanilla to get into retro mood. I went there over a month ago for the first time, not knowing too many people there, but now, you see familiar faces and they nod and smile back.

The summer months are hot and sweaty in the day and it turns out to be quite similar at night, but, on the sands of Candolim beach, with the River Princess in the background, you really don’t mind it. I think back to when we used to party in Mumbai, or play for parties where everyone wanted to swing to a different beat, barring the occasional hip-hop or house hit, people love to go retro. It’s fun! Shaking a leg to Madonna, the Bee Gees and some Shakin’ Stevens, who would’ve ever thought that Goa would love it so. When I first came here, a lot of people told me that retro wasn’t ‘in’, even a few Goans in Mumbai were of the opinion that hip-hop and house, trance and rock, that kind of music sells in Goa more than anything else. “Retro? Nah, it won’t work that well.” Well, you tell that to the hundreds of people who jump up and down around me every weekend.

Well, I’ve seen a different side to Goa, in fact, I’ve met a few people who drive down all the way from the South, to party here and get a different vibe. I guess, you never really know how well it will work until you actually go ahead and do it.

It takes me back to my younger days, not that I’m not young now (ahem!) I’d still like to think of myself, in some ways, as an unruly teenager out to live it up. Then I look in the mirror and see a few gray hairs and get a little subdued. But, that’s all behind me now. I’ve found a nice place to feel at home, dance the night away and get nostalgic at the same time. I’ll often turn to a friend and say, “This track, I heard it way back in ……” or perhaps I’ll talk about how often I used to play the track when I was a DJ.

In a track called Mrs Potters Lullaby, Adam Duritz sings, “If dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts.” I’ve made a lot of films then I guess, about ghosts and whatever else. Sometimes, our memories are all we have, sometimes not.

There are a lot of things that I do now, which take me back to the days when I was crazy and wild, long-haired with a care-a-damn attitude. I figure, that part of me never died, because it’s back with a bang! I’m usually the type of guy, who takes a while to get used to something. I like to feel comfortable wherever I am; I like to feel at home. Vanilla’s also one of my favourite flavours of ice cream, but then that’s not what I’m actually talking about. I’m talking about the place where the faces are familiar, the people smile all the time and the music plays all night long, well, for most of it.

I’ve this strong urge to head down to the place during the week sometime, put my feet up and gaze at the stars. It’ll give me a chance to feel the vibe when there are fewer people around. Might even see a different side to the lounge. Then again, I might just get up and cut a rug on the dance floor. Who knows, the place brings out my wild side. Grrrr!

May 3, Gomantak Times, Goa

Loving every minute of the beautiful game!

2006 is football year; actually football year happens every time FIFA hosts the World Cup finals, because there’s no absence of football during the two-month gap between the leagues. We now have the World Cup! And I love every kick, cross, tackle and pass of it, apart from the fact that I don’t own a TV, yet!

If you ask me, I’d rather watch a couple of football games than sit through an entire day or cricket. Not that I hate cricket, but there’s something exciting about football that keeps my eyes glued to the screen. I remember my first proper World Cup — Italia 90. It was the first time that we actually got to watch more than just a few matches. For the 1986 finals, DD (our only hope then) hardly showed too many games apart from the semis and the final (I think). That was when Italy was on a roll, I still remember the match against Argentina in which Italian goalkeeper Walter Zenga finally got beaten, by a chance header by Claudio Canigga. Of course, Argentina suffered in the finals, conceding a penalty (which I still think shouldn’t have happened) and Lothar Mattheus took the cup home to Germany. I was 11 and even though I watched football, played it throughout school, I fell in love with the game.

I’ve never had a favourite team to support though. I somehow can’t do that. Though, I sit and evaluate the bigger teams and decide who is capable of reaching the semis. After that, it’s anybody’s game. Then, I’ll wait till the two teams come through and then I decide which one I want to win. Sounds weird? Well, maybe, to someone who supports one single team throughout, but I have too many players I admire and I love to watch. When it comes to clubs, you’ll find me cheering for Arsenal and Barcelona (both of which might make it to the Champions League finals and then I’ll be in a dilemma all over again).

I’d love to see Brazil win, simply because they would break records. European teams have always won the World Cups in Europe though Brazil is the only team to have won outside their continent (2004). But then again, it’ll be so nice to see Spain, Holland or Argentina come through, something different for a change. Ahh…me and my ‘expert’ opinions! It will be fun though, wouldn’t it? Watching the likes of Thierry Henry, Ronaldinho, Leo Messi and others battle it out for football supremacy. I’m already making plans — where to watch what. And since the Champions League final isn’t far away either, it’s down to footballing heaven for me. I’ve met many football fans among the tourists that I’ve run into. And even though most of them were English, a few of them actually didn’t fancy England’s chances. I was surprised. Not that I think they’ll win, but they actually outlined their reasons why. And it’s fun discussing football with the people who know how to evaluate tactics and strategy, rather than the many who say, “I think this team’s going to win.” Why? “They’re good!” Eh? And that’s your answer?

If you’re wondering where I’m going with this, stop! I don’t know either… I’m just excited, that’s all. I’ll be in Goa, and the frenzy is going to reach fever pitch in June. What better place to be in India than here, right? That reminds me, anyone got a TV set to lend me? I’m leaning towards a 29-incher with surround sound. I’ll give it back as soon as I buy my dream set, which should be somewhere in 2010. In the meantime, here’s to the football fans of the world (and Goa)… Cheers!

April 19, Gomantak Times, Goa

Prayer for the dying

It was the day of the cricket match that I got a call from a friend of mine. They had a bad experience at the cricket stadium when they went there to watch the match and so they left halfway and came back. They couldn’t even understand why, when they went to the police for help, none was given. Luckily, there was only about Rs 500 in the wallet that was stolen. What was not lucky was the fact that his driving licence and Inland Revenue card, as well as his bank cards were in the wallet, too. Fortunately, he plans to go back to England in less than two weeks, so it won’t be too much of a problem.

I, on the other hand, was sad. Sad because I didn’t have an answer to give them, when they asked me why the police didn’t help. People often wonder out aloud, in my presence, how is it that things like this happen and that we let it pass. I remember a friend who lost his bag once, in a crowded train in Mumbai. He didn’t lament the few books and DVDs, what he did miss was the little present for his girlfriend that he had saved up for months. Ok, so the thieves are heartless. But why are they doing what they’re doing? Has poverty driven people to do these things? Of course it has, and that is just the beginning. Murder, rape, armed robbery and more… All these crimes occur every day of our lives. And we turn a blind eye, until something happens to us. People also wonder, how is it, that road accidents kill people and still there are rash drivers, speed demons and plain old fools who race through the streets, not caring about who they could injure or kill. More often than not, they are the ones who escape with just a few scrapes and bruises while others die, for doing nothing wrong. They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

We got lots of letters for the edit page, where Goans wrote in to say they were saddened by the fact that the riots shamed Goa. People were harassed and property was damaged. I don’t think I can recall the last time someone wrote in to say they were shamed by the fact that people are killed everyday, on Goan roads. No one has ever written in to say that they were saddened by the accidents that occur every single day. What are you waiting for? Someone to run down your loved one before you have to get up out of your armchair, the same place where you sit and criticise everything, to protest against this? Look at the stats. Walk up to your nearest police station and ask them to tell you how many people died this month in road accidents. A little kid died a few days ago, along with his father. A truck with its lights off smashed their car. That little kid probably didn’t even know what hit him. That little kid will never be able to grow up, fall in love, play a sport, watch a movie or do anything else. What did that kid ever do to die like that? It could be you. It could be your kid.

I’ve seen everyone in such a hurry to go to wherever they’re going, that they just don’t care who they slow down, how they cross lanes, who they endanger or what they do to get there. They just need to reach point B. I’ve almost been run over by a bus, a truck and a crazy guy in a Scorpio who definitely needs his high-beam shone in his own face, so that he realises what it is to drive like that, not being able to see for about 10 seconds — enough time for one to miss a dog, a pig or a vehicle in their way. And that’s the case with 90 per cent of the cars on the road. If you can’t beat them, join them. Is that what it has come to? Follow the rules no matter what and somewhere down the line things will change. That’s what I’ve always hoped. Now it seems, that it could also kill me. How sad is that?
So, if you ever see someone on a Bullet with his middle finger sticking right at you, switch to low beam on and then say hi. I’ll wave back!

April 5, Gomantak Times, Goa

Bring back my chicken to me

I’m usually not the type of person who would give up meat for Lent, come to think of it, I hardly give up anything at Lent (please don’t burn me at the stake, I swear I’ll be good). But this bird flu scare has got me down. I love eating chicken, cooking it with different marinades, wolfing down my mom’s red chicken curry, which is swear is the best chicken I’ve ever tasted.

I’ve had nightmares of me sprouting wings and clucking all throughout the day, my colleagues at work staring at me sideways, all suspicious and conspiring in whispers to pack me off to the nearest madhouse. Whenever I head down to a restaurant and order chicken, people look at me weird, some places don’t even serve chicken anymore. I have eaten chicken in the last week, but it just doesn’t taste the same. Perhaps I’ll sprout wings the next morning, or run around screaming, “The sky is falling, the sky is falling.” I haven’t even seen Chicken Little yet. Perhaps that’s one of the symptoms of bird flu, you feel as if the sky is falling on your head. Perhaps it’s a sign, notice how the bird flu scare happened just when Lent was around the corner? I wonder…

There could have been an elaborate plan in place, some secret society that want to stop us from eating chicken. Or maybe, just maybe, the chickens got fed up and planned this whole thing. We all need a holiday sometime. I can just imagine them, sitting around in this huge coop, hidden from view by a giant sign that advertises fresh chicken (how ironic!). The head, in a deep booming voice (to us, it’s still cluck cluck, just with a little bass effect), says, “We need to go off on a holiday, all hands in favour?” These are the head chicken and roosters of the world, flown in from all over to plan this mass holiday.

There’s Don Teriyacci from Sicily, Xavier ‘the Shah’ Coutinho, the sole Goenkar, Taro Nestte, who didn’t reveal which country he represents, Xi zwan from China and a couple others from Greece and Brazil, a loud red Texan, Conrad Bleu from France (known for his valour during the Frog wars) and an Australian chicken who insisted on beer being served at the meeting. As a result of the beer, there are loud burps throughout.

So the head rooster, simply known as the Phoenix continues, “We are all in agreement, lets create a scare, let the pigs suffer for a while. Lent isn’t the same anymore, I miss my holidays, but now, there are some that don’t abstain for 40 days. Those ungrateful humans.” Don Teriyacci, dressed to the nines in a tux, says in a hoarse voice, “I wanna thank you, for inviting me here. I am old, and my olive oil plantation shall continue flourishing through my children. I would like to spend a few days away. I suggest we go some place quiet. Perhaps we rent a yacht and sail away on the ocean, while the rest can travel the world in peace.”

(Burp!)

And so this meeting continued, and they came up with a holiday destination and planned on diversions and misdirection strategies. And the whole world was scared, held to ransom just because a few old cocks wanted to shun work for a while and rest. So the entire chicken breeding business was stopped till they came back to the helm of the affairs.

But they didn’t count on us; we sculled chickens while they were sipping white wine on a yacht somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. It’s their fault, there were wars while they were away, people and chickens suffered and died. And they slept peacefully. I’m angry, “How could they do this?” I ask, all the while sipping home-made chicken soup.

March 22, Gomantak Times, Goa

Where is the love?

I was there when Bombay burned, when fires raged throughout the city. I was there when people fell down in a pool of blood, I was going on 14, but I could still feel the pain. I saw people get chased, get knocked down, lie on the road in a pool of blood. I heard about slums being burnt. I was afraid and confused. Why was this happening? Why did people have to get killed so mercilessly? Why do people get so fanatical about religon?I didn’t understand that then and I don’t understand that even now. I saw Bombay burning, saw it become Mumbai, felt the ground shake when the bombs exploded and left it for sunnier skies.

Then Goa started burning… And I thought to myself, “Will this ever be over?” I recently met a man, a Goan, who comes back here from his home in Bandra, in Mumbai. A man who constantly has humour around him and who writes about what he feels. He had written this piece about his Muslim friends and how pained he was when he heard people say that all Muslims are terrorists. I knew what he was talking about, because I too have Muslim friends, and in times like these, I wonder what they must feel.

There was Tabrez, possibly my closest friend in college, who along with Imran and a few others were the guys I would hang around with in Navelim. He used to stay in Cuncolim and in his house, I never felt uncomfortable. In fact, I think they went out of their way to see that I had the biggest helping of everything. Even the boys, the guys I would hang around with in college, never ever made me feel like an outsider, even though they were all Muslim and I was not. There were girls in my class, who would always help me out with my notes when I felt sick, who would come to me for help whenever they needed it and who would often bring me kheer, because they knew I loved anything sweet.These were the guys who ran out of class one day in front of our professor, because they saw me have an altercation with someone on the ground. They didn’t bother about the consequences of having run out in the middle of class, they knew I needed help.

Salim and his wife used to stay a few feet away from me in a little colony in Andheri. Whenever I would fall sick, because I was staying alone, they never let me cook, or wash my clothes, basically do anything except rest. They fed me, would send someone out for medicine and threaten me with dire consequences if I attempted to get out of bed until I had totally recovered. Then there’s Rahim, still a good friend of mine, who used to work with me at a music store in Mumbai. Rahim was the guy who would finish work by nine each night and hang around till I wrapped up my work, sometimes even up till 11 in the night, just so we could go home together. And Aashna, who could never meet me for a cup of coffee, but who would always stop the bike, turn around and chat with me for a bit, whenever she saw me on the road. She would sms me often and we would have the funniest conversations. We still do, this time over the Internet, from time to time.

There have been more, guys who were regulars at the club I used to DJ at, a long time ago, guys who would walk in, give you a hug, buy you a beer and dance all night to the music played. I didn’t care what religon they belonged to, they respected me for the person I was and I did the same in return.None of them are terrorists, none of them feel like outsiders in India, in Goa. To them, this is home. To them, you are their brothers and sisters, their friends, their neighbours.

Goa, according to me, was a great example of communal harmony until a few days ago. I don’t know why, but I’m scared now, not for myself, but for the people who’ve been a part of my life for ages. Why can’t we live the way we always did? There’s no need to point at someone and accuse them of trying to stir up trouble, to burn their homes and cars and shops and everything else they’ve worked so hard to achieve. These are the same people whose children play cricket and football with your children. Who sell you your meats and vegetables or even perhaps drive the bus you travel in. Don’t burn them, because by burning them, you’re burning the very idea that this world was built on. We’re supposed to exist in peace, in harmony, but that has to start from within. Remember that school textbook pledge? All Indians are my brothers and sisters…? There seems to be a disconnect between what we were taught and what’s happening now. Even if you don’t want to treat them as brothers or sisters, for goodness sake, atleast start treating them as human beings. Can we find it in ourselves to do that? Take a chance, try it…

March 8, Gomantak Times, Goa

I'm so happy, I can't stop crying!

2006 is a sad year for me, simply because I’ve got so many weddings to attend, most of them my close friends. Why am I sad then? Well, these are guys who I’ve seen through school, we’ve partied together, sit and sipped coffee till the wee hours of the morning, shared crazy moments on the weekends when we would have movie marathons, but most of all – they’re getting married and I’m still single! Woe is me…

Then again, staying single is a good thing. Whatever it is, it’s now a different feeling. The first people in the group to get married did so less than two months ago, and that night we all were ecstatic, but at the same time, we knew we had crossed over onto a different plateau. From guys and girls who would hang out at every opportunity to juggling work schedules. Everyone would try and get together sometime on the weekends, but even that didn’t work due to the different kinds of jobs we did. Some of us worked in call centres; some did the regular 9-5 routine and me, with my radio shows, regular job, and once-in-a-while DJ routine that threw keeping a proper schedule out the door. We still stayed in touch regularly through messenger chat and phone calls, but somehow we then had evolved. Now, from that to this — a group of people who now hop from one wedding to another, losing one friend after another to wedded bliss.

My best friend, Leroy, and me, sometime back, wondered how long it would be before we would start meeting with our wives and husbands for a Saturday night barbeque. We laughed so hard that night threw back a few glasses of vodka and watched Superman. We also made a pact that whoever got married first, the other would be his best man. We still haven’t got that chance but sooner or later, we will. Life changes quickly sometimes. In the past month, one friend’s engaged, the other just started booking the venue and sound for his wedding in January next year. And we’ve walked on… It’s difficult to explain; one moment you’re running in the fields without a care in the world and the next moment you’re booking a band for your wedding. Where did time go? Every year you grow older, every time the sun rises, you’re faced with more and more responsibilities. And you take them on, but there are times when you wish you could just give it all up for a week and laze around in the sunshine. Some of us will get that chance in the near future, some of us will not. But whatever happens, we’ll stick together. We still do, inspite of the fact that we’re scattered all over the world, London, Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Melbourne and soon, somewhere in America. And we still counsel each other, and help each other cross over, pick up a heavier bag and trudge on.

Growing older seems scary sometimes. When I turned 18, I wondered what would happen five years down the line. I’ve passed that milestone a long time ago and now look forward to 30 with the same trepidation, albeit with more confidence. And as we walk down, we sometimes look behind for glimpses of the past, when we had a good time, when we laughed into the night and we hope that we’ll still get times like those ahead. We most definitely will, at weddings, barbeques and parties, whenever we can. Hopefully, we’ll see each other often, but then, that’s what good friends are all about, you come back after a year and they’ll greet you like you never left. And that’s what growing older and wiser is all about too. Walking the line…and smiling!

Feb 22, Gomantak Times, Goa

playing the strings of life

Music is the food of life! Music is something that I’ve loved ever since I can remember loving anything. What I love most about music is its ability to adapt to the changing times effortlessly. In the early 1900s, classical music was for the elite classes in most parts of the world. In Europe, there was raunchy cabaret that enchanted the poorer folks, that and songs of struggle and strife. In America, classical music was ‘in’, but not as much as good old country music down south. Then came jazz! And as Satchmo wooed young women with his golden trumpet, he helped carve out a niche in music history. Jazz music, till today, remains America’s only original art form.

In the 60s, people like Bob Dylan, the Beatles, Elvis, John Mayall and the Rolling Stones revolutionised music and were part of a movement that created the myriad of genres that still exist today. Now, we have thousands of artistes and sounds to choose from.
What I also love about music is that, if you know music carefully, you can find a song for almost every mood, every emotion and every breath you take. In my collection of almost 300 CDs and over 100 records you can take your pick and groove to the rhetoric and multitude of moods in each song.

India, quite alike the Africa it broke away from when the continents were formed, is filled with music in every drop of blood and sweat and the colourful corners on every street. India still has its music, not the music of most Bollywood films, but classical, fusion, ghazals, regional sounds and more. The poetry in those traditional instruments has captured hearts all over the world.

Today in Goa, like the melting pot of cultures it has become, you can find different sounds all over the place. Each hotel and restaurant, each club and disco, the parties on the beach and the rare, unknown, yet amazing musician that plays at Anjuna. As I walked into the Saturday Night Market at Arpora, Carlos and his merry band were playing their hearts out and everyone around them couldn’t help but tap their feet. Friday nights at Cavala’s sees Alex, Nini and Menino — the Music Company regale the people who walk through the restaurant’s doors. They and many more at hundreds of places all over the state add to the emerging Goan culture, which was earlier only thought to be found at raves on Saturday night. To an outsider, Goa is the place to be, except for the high priced taxis, and drug and child trafficking. The reason Goa is so badly exploited for the wrong reasons is because some people weren’t interested in anything other than making a quick buck. Now, it’s up to you to try and help change that and make Goa into what it should be — a place where the music plays into the night. A place where you can relax to Sting and Miles Davis on a quiet evening, or jam it up with Bob Marley, Snoop Dogg and Martin Solveig at the clubs in the hills and on the beach. Music makes me happy and music makes the world go round. Music is in every Goan and every visitor to the state, in the food that’s created all along the beachfronts, and by the river. Music is also what makes Goa come alive every night, right into the early hours of the morning, in the art at Kala Academy and in the films and stage productions all over. But somehow, the music just doesn’t feel right, not with the garbage in the river or the ban on locals entering shacks in some beaches up north. It’s still our state… your state. Don’t let the music play on it’s own, get behind the decks and dictate the flow.

Feb 8, Gomantak Times, Goa

Staying connected — An ode to selflessness

It’s a small world… I’ve never actually realised how small it is till I came back to Goa in November. I’ve made friends here and then learnt that they are also pretty close to the friend who travelled on the bus with you to college when you studied in Mumbai, or the person who sang high tenors in your a capella group. Or when you walk into the local multiplex and the person you’re with tells you that she’ll just be a minute, she wants to say hi to a friend. That friend turns out to be someone you haven’t seen or heard from in 10 years. Yeah, it indeed is a small world.

The connections you make in life, ever so often, remain long after you abandon them for different reasons. Not many of us would stop acknowledging people, unless of course, there was a difference of opinion. You reap what you sow. And when you plant a seed, it continues to flourish. Maybe I’m digressing a little bit, but basically, what I’m trying to say is, good friends never go away for too long.

Take, for example, one of my best friends who’s now in Dubai - we’d lost touch for a couple of years. But when I ran into her about six years ago, it was like things hadn’t ever changed, and it really never did. All that happened was that we’d drifted apart due to the distance between us. She’s getting married in four months and I’m the best man. Some things never change. People stay connected, bonds are established and life goes on.

Growing up isn’t easy. I’ve had to deal with rents and payments since I was 18. Some have had it worse; some haven’t had it at all. Some people live sheltered lives; some people get thrown out into the big bad world, feet first. Some learn how to deal with problems, some learn by falling flat on their face and then picking themselves up and walking. I know of someone who lost her parents when she was 12 and had to bring up her younger brother and go through college and make a career for herself at the same time. Another friend of mine ran away from military school in America because he wanted to do something else. Today, he’s a great chef and he doesn’t regret working tables at a restaurant, because at the end of the day, struggle makes you what you are. The trick is to keep breathing.

You realise where you’re going only when you stop to smell the roses. Running through life, trying to prove someone else wrong is not the best way to do things. It’s only when you’ve been down and out that you learn to appreciate the good part of life, because you know how hard and how long it sometimes takes to get to a point where you don’t have to worry about your next meal. And then, the people around you, the people who pick you up when you’re down, who call you up way past their bedtime; just to make sure you’re ok, the people who selflessly watch your back, not because they might have anything to gain, but because they care. Then, no matter how dark it gets, they’re always there to turn on the lights. That light at the end of the tunnel — it’s them standing there waiting to pull you out of the depths of your own dark hole.

I’ve gone through life often for a bit hitching a ride on someone, leaning on someone’s shoulder, not just financially, but more so emotionally. And many of us have all done it the same way. To see a smiling face and an outstretched hand just when you’ve given up hope is a refreshing sight. And at the end of the day, I would count my riches, not by how much money I have in my bank account, but by how many people I’m connected to, how many people look at me and with a knowing smile, silently let me know that they’ve got my back. I’m there for them too and they know that. It’s a give and take relationship of a different kind. It doesn’t matter who comes out of it with more in hand, what matters is that you come out. This is a tribute to the people who care, the friends who’ve always been there when you need them and who’ve walked the line, no questions asked. Take a bow!

Jan 25, Gomantak Times, Goa

The Wonder Years - move over Kevin Arnold

I grew up on a farm. Well, actually, by the time I was born, there wasn’t much of the farm left. The rice wasn’t harvested anymore; the three acres were now just fields, but for us four little cousins, they were fields of fun! There were mango, tamarind, jambul, chickoo, guava and love apple trees and we boys could spend hours frolicking around underneath the open skies. I also remember filling the centre of green mangoes with a mixture of red masala, salt and vinegar, and either burying them underground all wrapped up in newspaper for a few days, or just keeping it somewhere safe. Eating those pickled mangoes was one of the highlights of our summers. We just didn’t care, band-aids were in good supply and we never got tired of having fun. There wasn’t much to watch on TV in the early eighties, so playing cricket, football, hockey or just running through the fields was the thing to do.

I remember catching snakes. Oh, that used to be another highlight of my childhood, especially during the summer holidays when we would scour the fields for snakes. We were terrors then too. One day we would be fighting, and the next day we would be laughing about it, making fun of what we said when we were angry with each other. It was a different bond then; the only video games we knew of were the little hand-held ones that had 'Donkey Kong' and the amount of fun and games we had outdoors surpassed anything else. Those were simpler times.

We had to break down the massive bungalow in the late 80s, owing to the buildings that were coming up around us, and the buildings that would soon come up on the fields where we played. Looking back then, I guess my mother and her siblings would have felt as if their childhood was breaking up into pieces. I wasn’t even ten then, perhaps too young to comprehend how good and valuable memories are. But little by little, these memories come back. When my cousin came down from New Zealand, where he’s now married and settled, we sat back and talked about all the naughty things we did, and how, as the eldest, he would prey on us from time to time. And we laughed about it now, those precious memories.

As we grow older we change, most of us lose that inner child as and when we start moving up in the world — some consciously, some unconsciously. I know of a few people, who at 26, act like they’ve just retired from their job of 25 years and love to sit at home in pure geriatric ambience. Or some who are so obsessed with their jobs that they can’t stop talking about it, even on the weekends!

Balancing responsibilities came early to me, more out of compulsion and necessity than anything else. I left home at 18 to go out there and learn what I had to. Today almost nine years later, in spite of the strife and struggle, I can smile, because it made me who I am. Those were the days, when I lost that child in me. Today, I can feel him, the little boy who didn’t care about material things, who just wanted to float through the green, green grass of home. Today, looking out over the hills in Goa, I get the serenity among the trees, the tranquillity at my parents little home amongst the Sahyadris, or the beauty by the river at Kala Academy. It brings back memories. Memories that I don’t ever want to lose.

It’s important to be a child sometimes, not act childishly, but just forget the bills that need to be paid, or the story that needs to be completed by five the next day and just envelope yourself in a different world, quite alike the one that we lived in when we were young. Back in the days, when we were carefree, living free.

So, here’s to the good times, wild and free, when we had a song to sing and a different life to live. When we didn’t know about the differences in religion, about black or white, about racism or communism. We cared only about today, and which tree we would have a party on tomorrow. I can still taste the fruit, I can still smell the fresh air, I can still see the four of us, frolicking among the trees…

Jan 18 - Gomantak Times, Goa

Of life, bike rides, and how to slow down

I finally made up my mind to make the move to Goa about three months ago. And since I didn’t want to cart down my beloved bike by train, (that’s blasphemy, bikes are meant to be ridden), I settled on the next best thing, riding down from Mumbai. Now I’d never ridden more than 100 kilometres before, and that too not at a stretch. So what was a guy like me, with a four-month-old Royal Enfield Bullet, doing on the highway to Goa? Living the good life!

I had company up to Chiplun, the halfway point. Zuri and me left at six in the morning, and began my first actual ride. There’s nothing like the wind in your face (I wore a helmet, but it was windy all the same) and a 350 cc, 18 bhp engine between your legs. We didn’t ride rashly, kept the needle at 80 (though there was a time when I tested her out and took her up to 110). I reached my little home on the hill, where my parents stay, the next day (we’d stopped for the night at Chiplun and went in opposite directions next morning). I was tired, dirty, and smelt of fuel. But, man, that was some ride! I was in Goa, (well, nearly there)… Why Goa, you ask? Well, it’s a difficult answer. But I guess I got tired of the rat race and wanted to actually live my life the right way, have some time to write, read, sip beer on the beach, or just see more than just two trees every 500 metres.

When I joined GT, IFFI was on a roll and the first week at work was a mad rush. The people were great, but it took time getting used to a whole lot of things and as usual, I did it the way I usually do things – nice and slow. (The nice and slow part is me, all me).

But, here’s something I didn’t really understand and I’m still trying to figure out - how can people, most of whom love to enjoy an afternoon siesta, take things easy and in their own time, jump into a car or onto a bike and zip through the roads at breakneck speeds? It looks like every second vehicle on the road is trying to break the sound barrier. Unfortunately, the only ‘boom’ anyone is ever going to hear, is of two vehicles ramming into one another.

Last Friday, I had an article on accidents published. I’d looked into the ‘where and how’, spoken to a few people including members of the police. I realised (also because I travel from Mapusa to Panjim every day) that something needs to be done about the way people drive here in Goa. I left work all excited and ready to head to Candolim where a friend had just opened up a new restaurant. And as I came down from the slope past the Porvorim tisk, I saw what turned out to be a pretty bad accident. The first thing that came to mind was, “Don’t these people ever read the papers?” I stopped, tried to see if someone needed any help, but there were already too many people shouting and gesturing, so I got back on my bike and proceeded home. But I guess some people never learn, no matter how many articles are printed, how many people die or get badly injured, there are always going to be speed demons out there who try to defy gravity and speed records. Sadly, however, the people they injure are sometimes bystanders and innocent, safe riders…
So, if you want to make a difference, and stop this needless drive to prove who is the king of the road, start with yourself (and a few neighbours if you can manage it) and ease off that gas pedal. It might just save a life and that life could just be your own. I thought of a way to start and this editorial was it.

Dec 21 - Gomantak Times, Goa

A day of reckoning, introspection and sleep deprivation

I have a dream that in a country of millions we shall manage to elect the few hundreds that will run this rich country in the right manner, truthfully and honestly.
I have a dream that one day we will respect each other lives, value each others lives and not endanger ourselves or others in any way, be it speeding recklessly on the roads or committing heinous crimes. I have a dream that economically we will reach other upper echelons of this fourth rock from the sun that third world debt shall be done away with and poverty shall no longer exist. I have a dream that wars shall be outlawed, people shall live free and no mindless president shall wage war for oil under the pretext of eradicating terrorism.

I have a dream that one day we shall be free, because free we are not. How can we be free, if we can’t live freely, if we can’t get our basic amenities, if we have to struggle to put our children in the right schools, work all day and into the night sometimes and still have pending debts, not because we don’t spend wisely, but because our cost of living is high. High enough that we have to pay through our noses for the simplest of things, that our taxes are high and we just never get paid enough to survive.
I have a dream that we will not have to run around from pillar to post for our basic rights, that our roads will be even, and that our power supply will always stay on.
I have a dream that hospitals will not refuse patients, that we also get more hospitals, and we manage to live such healthy and fulfilling lives that we won’t have to go there anyway. I have a dream that we shall respect the authorities, and they learn to respect us, because at the end of the day, we put them there, and our taxes pay their salaries. That they don’t treat us as lesser individuals just because they have some sort of power, power which was bestowed on them to help us, not hinder our rights.
I have a dream that one day politicians shall not ask for bribes to grant us something that should be granted anyway, and that they shall bow their heads to the public in shame when caught, not turn around with an angel face and claim their innocence.

This is not a dream that will never become reality. This is not a dream that will never see the light of day. For as long as there is hope, love and brotherhood, we shall be able to stand together and fight for our rights. This is a call to arms, let us stand up and demand that our voices be recognised. It is not an easy task, and for this to happen we need to stand – shoulder-to-shoulder, arms linked, ready to face the onslaught of resistance - the resistance of the greedy and unjust. We need, not to sit in our chairs and criticise, but go out there and let the cry of the faithful and the voices of the common man be heard.

I have a dream, that since all men and women are created equal, we shall treat each other with respect and support each other in need. I have a dream today. That in this new year we shall realise what we haven’t realised before, that we can all live together in peace and harmony if we start from within, start with ourselves. I have a dream that one day we shall rise above the shackles that bind us, and go forth and spread the message of love and peace.

I have a dream that Martin Luther King does not turn in his grave due to part plagiarism, but smiles at the thought of his immortal speech making to the editorial page of a Goan daily.
Happy New Year! May 2006 be a wake up call for most of us.

Jan 4 - Gomantak Times, Goa