Dear Reader,

I went to Delhi recently and cannot help but talk about it. A few assorted Delhi and cow belt stories are in the pipeline but right now I want to share a Delhi story I wrote years ago. Found it in someone's attic. Someone nice. More about that later!

Murder the Government

The Capital is under siege. Fat, balding men in business hats have taken over the city's Wayne's World. Rock music is dying a slow death even as the Great Indian Rock (GIR) festival has just taken place for the umpteenth time. The Age of Rock has been replaced by the Age of Frock, with rockers now throwing T-shirts at their fans. The town is full of rocks, but no rockers.

Drugs are banned at the GIR. Whoever said that rule must've been drinking! Didn't they know Bob Dylan's life? His drugs and his fear of myths? What follows is a short account of the short circuit that occured in my head a few minutes after I reached home, exhausted, after GIR 2005 on Saturday, February 20.

The song was called Murder the Government. I could not help but listen. There were at least 19 joints being passed around and the cold evening air was thick with blue, grassy smoke. Since I do not smoke joints, I chose to sit quietly in a corner with my smuggled ration of white rum. The first band had taken over and we were not interested.

"Who is, these days?" a brilliant, non-smoking, sound engineer-type began.

We were in no mood for him.

Every now and then one wants to go to a rock concert. I used to like the activity some years back when my friends (menwhopause) were establishing themselves as rockers. The only rock activity passing off as a rock concert in Delhi is the GIR, which has come to be an annual affair. I attended GIR 2002, GIR 2003, realised I needed a GIR break in 2004 before I could see GIR 2005.


The song sank without a trace. The band was terribly "original". The vocalist, in no mood to give up, wound up his act with the words: "I want a volcano to erupt under parliament."


I almost dropped my smuggled peg of white rum when I heard this. The crowd was also taken by surprise and for a minute stopped running down the band with loud, bodily gestures.


A chill ran through my body. When was the last time someone said something so foolish? Examining his sins at age 19, Isaac Newton had listed: "Threatening my mother and father Smith to burn them and the house over them."


I felt angry at being cheated. None of the bands could justify a Rs 100 ticket for the show. I wanted to plant an atom bomb under Pragati Maidan before I realised what a lousy teenager I would make.

I checked with my friends about GIR 2005. Some of them hadn't visited. Those who went were disappointed. Some said they were let down for the third time in a row and hoped the organisers understood the disillusionment of the masses.

What do you call a band whose members throw T-shirts at their fans? Jim Morrison would be squirming... wherever he is right now. Seriously. But then, when was the last time I saw a great gig? I really have to scratch my head over this one. When was the last time a rock band actually let me have the time of my life?


I have no clue what I am talking of. Isn't that what it's all about sometimes? Not having a clue, yet listening, hoping the meaning will flow. It's sad to see rock rocking the city with bad music. The fat, balding men may not even bother. They have already been told about it. This is just a bustle in their hedgerow. They have no reason to be alarmed. The prophets have said it all.

Do let me know what you think

Rave on,

Sincerely

Mayank