Live in Matheran



A NEW YEARS GIG IN THE HILLS

The whole tribe of musicians, roadies and freak brothers had remained behind in the deserted woodland Powai campus in cool pleasant december, to get our act together for the upcoming rockfest as part of the nationwide intercollegiate festival Mood Indigo to be held early in Jan.

From noon to the wee hours of the following morning, we'd breathe songs by deep purple, santana, doors. dire straits, iron maiden, pink floyd, steely dan, zeppelin, def leppard, kansas, skynyrd, neil young...listening to tapes, endless rewinding to try figure out the hooks and the shades and tones. Cut fingers were fast developing leatherlike callouses, and joints had a perpetual pain from playing 12 hrs a day all of a sudden. Picking up basslines in the room, amidst the sleeping forms of f-sheek and usam and capn kolli, then heading to the lake lagoon for a solo communion with nature, necessary to stay on trak, thence after tea, to the music room in the new concrete SAC where the drums were, lugging the amps anc cables and guitars all the way there, and practice there till the place closed. Perpetual squabbles with the music incharge of ITI, one oldie bumbler named Patnaik, who could not understand why we had to play electric guitars and drums, why not just acoustic guitars like good, quiet little boys. He'd forever try to close the music room to us, and once in the middle of an argument, his pretty little white pomerian bitch got seduced by a wild campus stud, oblvious to the horrified shreiks emanating from Patnaik, to the laughter from us all, with usam sounding especially uncharacteristically raucous.

Practice, and practice, There was the hyperactive crazy bhattoo on drums, a man grown up on flashy hindi film music, but who nevertheless had a fire easily translated to rock. He'd arrive roaring on his yezdi bike with his sidekick, a quiet good natured helpful youth."yarrrrooooohhh allrightttt lets jammm !" Bhattop lived in the film world, being an asistant to a cameraman in the main studios of Bollywood.

Fatpaps on vocals, a fat freddy lookalike who was convinced by usam to grow his sidelocks into his moustache. Paps was a ghazal singer from delhi, with a thick raspy voice and a fine sense of music, well suited for iron maiden and deep purple.

Steppenzulf on guitar and backing vocals. This particle phycisist from the hills of Meghalaya, he'd be playing all day, dressed in an assamese gamcha, outside the room, developing an incredible expresiveness on guitar. Many were the tales of Lou and the Great Society, the freak 70s and eary 80s days in Shillong, of musicians and hippies, racially diverse northeasterners living in paradise, a continuation of woodstock and monterey pop.

Lord Bum on guitar too, this lanky doode from Goa would be playing scales machinelike staccato all night, trying to get faster and faster.

me, the fooktom on bass. I had two, a classic peter pereira fender lookalike and a vintage sardarflute bass rescued from someone's loft by the great M'dol, completely refinished in the IDC wood lab by lennon and reincarnated in a series of concerts.

Then there were friends who'd jam in at times. the pretty boys archieboy hazra and gaurav roy, longhaired rajneesh who sang with abandon only when he was drunk and even the superlative joe dude down from chicago one year, on vocals on "i put a spell on you'. Another time Brer ron was down from manhattan, providing a solid chugging rhythm guitar. "Well they call me the brij. I just keep fartin down the road"..also on guitar.

And the pleasant days would be enveloped in a perpetual haze of maal from c-shah, mme burntface and the old man just outside central avenue.

One day bhattoo announces that he's fixed up a gig for us on new years eve, all the way in some resort in Matheran, in the western ghats hills east of Bombay. Far out ! And that we'd get paid and all ! So the 31st went by in packing equipment. Mitra went and scored a huge stash of sacred herb.The entire contingent of freakbrothers would be going of course -- freek sheek, the usam, hempestris, mitra, malloo, then there were some of bhattoo's buddies too. They were to be our roadies and sound engineers for purpose of explanation to the gig organizers.

Midafternoon in the crowded street outside YP and we load Bhattoo's jeep with amps, mikes and the drums. The guitars we'd carry ourselves on the train. Accordingly we split up into two groups, had a quick pachaas at RLC, and in the bright wintry lateafternoon sun we caught the Karjat local and got off at Neral station.

An hour from sundown, we quickly score some local mahua liquor, and sit in a little bar with wooden benches, dispelling the afternoon haze from the leaves of daze and waking up finally. El tiempo de la fiesta approaching ! Then we take a couple cabs for the ride up the hills to Matheran,a hill station originally founded by the english, now overrun with the gujarati yuppies from bombay. Shadows are lengthening as we reach the entrace of teh town, where vehicles are disallowed entry. Only horses. We start walking, trying to find where this resort is. Dusk in the hills. Until about 15 yrs ago people used to walk with big sticks to scare off panthers that lived in the surrounding forests, but now these forests are getting thinner and sparser. There's still a huge tribe of monkeys, mischevous due to their contact with humans, supposedly aggressive at times. After walking three kilometers in the blue chilly evening winding dusty road, we arrive at this resort, modelled after a dude ranch.

We go thro the gate and see lights shimmering over a small swimmingpool. Guests are already sitting around tables, fat bejewelled ladies and fat businessmen types, their spoilt kids yelling and running about. Pop music al la michael jackson's beat it on the PA system. Oh oh, someone sneers. We all file in towards the office, where we meet Bhattoo and co, they have already arrived. We are shown a room, a musty servants quarters type place, where some folks get rolling again.

Dinner is supposedly to be on the house, thats part of the contract. The management goggles at the sheer number of us, about 13-14. "Arre, how can orchestra be so big ?" "Well, there are 6 of us musicians, with a backup musician, then we have a sound engineer and assistant, a cameraman and his assistant, and three roadies." The gujjubhai reluctantly agrees, his eyes not at all convinced, gleaming with the natural suspicion of a petty businessman.

We are informed that we go onstage after dinner. A couple of us busy ourselves with setting up the gear onstage. Time to time go under a tree on the outskirts to partake of some smoke where hempes and sam are rolling away. Mitra has meanwhile slid uninvited into the pool for a swim.

Dinner happens, a buffet. Very fancy, with pudding on a saucer with brandy thats set afire. Mitra and co do solid justice, eating as if they'd been hungry for a long while.

We file onstage and pick up guitars, adjust levels on the onstage amps, and then are informed that first there's gonna be a fashion show, and can we provide music as the models slink up the catwalk to the stage. Allright. Then another gujjubhai comes and puts a straw stetson on each of us before we know whats going on ? "Whaddafukk.." collectively. "Its a country and western theme night." "Wha..la bowww !!! we're a rock band!!" -- zulf. "Shhh " this is Bhattoo "we'll rock!" ;) ;)

There's usam and co sitting under a tree, their faces splitting with laughter. We looked like a group of mexican rustics, campesinos, new straw hats incongrous with the 70s rock look of torn jeans and long hair and faded tshirts. Not quite the country and western orchestra expected by the gujjubhai..

A model starts on the catwalk and we strike up roadhouse blues. The model tries to walk faster to keep to the beat of the music, fails and the sound guy tells us, hey slow down, dance number yaaar.

So we resign ourselves to playing pop grooves every 5 minutes as a model swings her hips. And fading away as the model reaches the stage and courtseys, to the applause of the gujjus. Each tune lasts like 2 minutes or less.

zulf is livid, "What the fuckkk is all this ? Man I want to play some rock, not waste time!" Prettyboy roy gets into his element of singing soulful eagles, simon and garfunkel and wonderful tonight and all that, ideal for the catwalk. I shuffle from foot to foot, playing soulful bass, boom badoom,boom badoom slow and easy.

The tree with the monkeys ( usam and co ) are one mass of hilarity.

Finally the show is over, and we burst into 'Born to be Wild' with all the pentup energy and fury from playing fashionshow bubblegum music for half an hr. It is way too wild for the audience. A whiteshirted goldchained sweating gujubhai comes up and tells us we need to play something slower. Allright, LA wOMAN.

The audience most of them sit and gape, save for a few trippers that dance in front. We encourage them of course.. The sweatball gujjax returns and says " arre yaar, play something popular, like micheal jackson or madonna yaar" "Fukk it, this was supposed to be a rock concert, we don't do soppy pop" - zulf

We compromise and play a few slow ballads. Dire Straits down to the waterline. Queens' every little thing called love, clapton's lay down sally. Perhaps the eductaion song from the wall. Still not slow and poppy enought for the gujjax and audience, who want recognizeable billboard top 20. In the middle of hotel california the sound gets cut.

"Fukkk-kk-kk.."

I think its just a temp hitch, someone musta flipped a switch somewhere by mistake. But no, it persists. I look at the sound guy, he shrugs. Meanwhile bhattoo is still pounding and flailing away, oblivious.. looks at us all aphrodisiacally charged with rock power " come on guys, yeeehhaaaah " Still no sound on the amps. Merde !

The sweatball approaches onstage again, saying the audience has had enough. "What do you mean, we just played 3 or 4 songs, and we are supposed to play a concert, especially after providing music for your fashion show, we are not just that !" "Sorry yaar the audience does not like your sort of music" "Thats not true" yells one of few dancers, a mithibai type from the audience," these guys play good stuff man yaar" But he is brushed away by the sweatball. We encourage the tripper, "see ?????!!!!!"

Besides, after having lugged the equipment a hundred km from home, we are really in the mood to play. to get the ya-yas out, to rock and roll with the power of a full band.

The sweatball still persists. Zulf gets mad, so does bhattoo. Only by some freak chance a fistfight is averted. We can't do much without power. The audience has gotten up and are dispersing. And its not yet midnight !!

Usam, hemp and mitra arrive with a fat doobie and help coil the cables and such. Its cold water thrown on an erekshun. Bhattooo and co. are having an argument with sweatball and co. We retire to the musty fluoruscent lit room, awaiting bhattoo and co, who eventually arrive with flushed glum faces " man the assholes won't pay us " "Whadefukkk do they mean " this is a militant usam. "F it, lets get outta here"

By then the place had gotten to us. Sick of the gujjaxes and poppy soppy nouveau riches, los pitukos, we decide to just leave that place and relax in the cool air outside. So we pack up our equipment and leave. Lucky for the sweatball and co. I suppose the 13 of us coulf have made things much worse.

Outside we walk on the dirt roads bordered by trees and sparse woods. Lights shine here and there, in cottages and resorts. by now its 2 am. when did midnight happen !? Happy new year everyone !@!

We find a hotel for that night. Most of the crowd decides to catch the dawn train down to neral, while 4 of us, usam, mitra. hemp and yrs truly decide to move on to kashele. No one sleeps. we sit in the verandah, that looks out down into the plains, and on to the hills, range after range stretching to the horizon. Talking, playing an acoustic. Its peaceful. In a few hrs the stars have moved on across the sky, thats lightening in the east, a faint glow of light purple. In time dawn, and then the fires of the rising sun, illuminating the mists that lie along every ridge down below.

Time to head out of this tourist trap onto the way cooler ADS campus, to the house by the river, where its just the birds, the sheelar river whose flow has almost dried to a trickle, bringing abouit drastic changes in the aquatic environment from a flowing stream ecosystem to a static pool ecosystem. Just the breeze blowing thro the trees, whose leaves are beginning to dry. Bells of goats from the occasional herd on the low hill across the river. To our fellow spirits, Rajeev and freak brother suryavanshi and the fiery rani of jhansi. to a few days of peaceful contemplation and jamming, amidst the fragrance of wood smoke. Happy new year !!!