.I write this post as a lament...not regret, but more as an expression of grief, although it's often tough to segregate the two.
The past one year had held a lot of promise, primarily, in the music scene of my life. Having taken a long hiatus from live performances, while in Singapore, i pretty much played alone (except for friday nights). All this musical wanking, i hoped, would eventually lead me to a state where-in, if i were to be part of a band sometime in the near future, i would be 'ready'.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Playing alone for nearly two years, and the events over the last few weeks has made me realise one thing: I am selfish, hence i make music only for my personal pleasure and growth.
Here, growth and pleasure are not mutually exclusive, and strangely, either one begets the other.From this, i know, playing music is not just some hobby that i'll run to after a hard day's work, nor is it something that i'll ever want to do under inebriation. To me, playing music is sacred. This means, i dont care if the music i make is heard by anyone else or not. The only thing that matters is the process of 'creation'...if i may even call it that. After all, any song of absolute music is either a note-re-organised,augmented or reduced version of any other song...and pithily, that's all there is to it. Yet, i find it so sacred and this i can't explain...yet.
There is more to how music and the human mind works. Any 'familiar' tune i listen to, 'brings back' memories of times when i first got familiar with it. This process of bringing back, transcends almost all barriers of time. I remember VERY vividly the colour of the sky and the 'setting sun' one evening, while i was listening to 'The Carpenters' at the age of Four. I remember at the age of Six, the warmth (or the lack thereof) of water during chilly Bangalore school-mornings when my Father religiously played those select few 'foreign' tapes accessible to a typical middle class family by means of relatives in distant lands. I remember at the age of Seven, playing at home with 'action figures', and my Mother returned from the market, carrying a brand-new, wrapped-up G.I. Joe Bike, while Konkani folk songs played-on in the background. I also remember at the age of Ten, observing how my Brother would lay back and read all those books while listening to tapes of Grammy Award artists of the 80s & 90s...tapes he procured by cajoling my folks...tapes that i owe my entire life in music to. I also remember at the age of Eighteen, falling in love head over heels, while The Beatles' "Abbey Road" and Queen's "Greatest Hits" spun like merry-go-rounds in my hormonally influenced mind.
In,through and out of all these memories, it was never the words/lyrics of a song that actually made me relate with the moment. It was always the 'tune'...the absolute music aspect of the song. This is what i cant explain. Further, it hurts that i can't explain something which evokes such emotions from me; Something that can drastically change my mood literally by the flick of a switch. Music has always been there, its presence shameless and very evident,but its purpose? ...always mysterious, clouded and often contradictory to whatever reason i could attribute. Like a puzzle, music has driven me on a search and has subsequently lead to a near rabid hunger for the answer. Though unrecognised at first, of late, it has reached a different level, both, with respect to the recognition and the intensity of the search. From what i recall, and what i figure, the first step i took towards this search, was inadvertently but undoubtedly, hours and hours of fooling around with my keyboard (also read piano). Hours and hours of playing songs...ANY song. I just wanted to play. I liked the sound, i loved how it made me feel. It generated a great sense of accomplishment to play a song that i heard on a 'professionally recorded tape', and to play it perfectly, 'JUST LIKE THAT'...hence the phrase 'tape-perfect'.
But, there is only so much you can do with playing someone else's song. You may bend it, twist it, shake it and even rock it... but it still isn't yours. The obvious next step is to reach a 'state' where you start playing whatever you feel; An accurate description of this act would be :
"Transcription of thought into art".
Towards this state, i have been inching , for the past few years. Mastery over this state will be, according to me the ultimate achievement. For accurate transcription of thought into art, should imply the reverse from anybody's senses and not just the creator's.
The only problem with this, is that step one lingers, and rather stubbornly. We will always get back into a phase of 're-living' those moments through the thought-transcriptions of others. Step one is also a nasty and easy way out to instill a pseudo sense of skill. I stand by this belief.
It is this feeling that drives me towards solving a problem: something i cant see, hold or worse, explain. For music which has meant so much to me, it is the least i can do: solve the problem.
Follow my art to the end of my dreams, and then even more.
I cant even fathom what happens after step two, but i sure will pen it down, if i figure it out someday. But, by the looks of it, not someday soon.
Over the last one year, i wrote music, toiled, gigged and 'made merry' with a band. I believed that as a band, this would lead to a permanent detachment from step one...it nearly did. Unfortunately, this belief did not sustain. A band, no matter how 'skilled', may need to compromise, and go through reaping the myriad plastic fruits of step one in order to move on to step two; but as long as step two is in the cross-hair, the band will be. Even the focus doesnt matter...its just the direction...'for now', so to speak. Sadly no such thing figured in the cross-hairs. Fame is pseudo and subject to current trends in society, whereas true recognition comes only through original contribution...Recognition does not necessarily imply fame, and according to most people, a band can't survive on recognition alone. As defined by most people, fame for a band is not just a thrill, but a necessity.
I don't define a band that way.
Which is why i am in pain.
Mostly self-inflicted.
Refusal to accept.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
A little less, for a little more
A college is incomplete without its certified ‘adda’. It could be the college canteen, the sports complex, the parking-lot or even the space beneath a shady tree. Sometimes, an adda may also be located off-campus, usually a stone’s throw away. Trees and snack-shacks are famous contenders for the coveted adda status. Still, the likelihood of any area to turn into an adda is always in direct proportion with its ‘Factor of Coziness’ (F.O.C) which includes numerous sub-factors, the important four being:
i) Close proximity to campus
ii) Adequate shade or cover from sun, rain and teaching faculty
iii) Convenient access to ‘snacks’
iv) A guaranteed supply of mint flavoured mouth fresheners
So, unless it’s cleverly engineered to bear REALLY special fruit, a tree fails on the account of a bad F.O.C. Therefore, the perfect adda would be a cross between a tree and a shack: natural, yet cosmetically convenient. ‘Dream on’ some may say, but it actually existed, no, thrived until a few weeks ago, right beside M.S.R.I.T.
‘The Little Shop’: Pretty much a shack that mysteriously seemed to sprout a tree from its roof!
Botanical travesty, Architectural blunder;
An unholy union between stone and wood,
“Raze it we shall” they exclaimed, “with axe and hammer”
“For some such thing’d do more harm than good.”
Good or bad, it existed. The scores of students who’ve passed by the tiled walls and walked on the wallpapered floors of ‘old’ M.S.R.I.T will certainly remember this sweet-sounding-shop; such memories mostly augmented by shades of slacker-student activities. Back in 1999, while still in the first year, I dreaded passing by the shop. One word: Ragging. Barring the occasional trip for some vague stationery item, the shop was off-limits for freshers. “Go there, and you’ll get ragged raaaa!!”. Horror stories would ensue, as any fresher dared to cross that line, in through the back gate. Ok, I may be exaggerating, a bit.
When it comes to ragging, I consider myself extremely fortunate to have skipped out on any ‘horror stories’ and even more so, to have been ragged mostly by a bunch of ‘mild’ seniors (Kowmi, if you’re reading this, we still love you). Back then in M.S.R.I.T, there were many nooks and crannies where a supple fresher (such as my 1999 self) could’ve been ragged. Fortunately for me, most of the seniors who ‘associated’ with me, in such times, were a part of the cul-team. Needless to say, I learnt a lot from them.
I remember one such place being above the old conference hall, above the old library. It was a place known only to a select few. A place with a view! The then highest point (nearly all puns intended) on campus. Looking down from there, you could see the entire expanse of M.S.R.I.T. Only, back then, you couldn’t see much except for green cover. Trees…and LOTS of them. There were other places such as the ‘Medical Canteen’ and a ‘snacks point’. Hardly addas, they were barely watering holes. Eventually, the medical canteen turned sour, policy-wise: ’Engineering students are banned from entering’. Ha! That’s ok, we didn’t need their ‘accidentally non-veg’ fried rice anyway.
Gradually, the trees disappeared. So did this ‘high-point’. Other structures came up, some near, some far. A food court, a nice little eatery near the dental college, and numerous joints for parantas, rolls, all around college. Still, none quite adda-like. Just low on the F.O.C. Tsk tsk!
Throughout this I noticed, the Little Shop stood out, and with each passing semester, as anti-ragging laws were enforced with growing rigour, the shop seemed little-er. What with more people crowding around, juniors and seniors, slackers and toppers, all alike. Like a ‘Woodstock’ of tea-time; only, almost all the time.
The Little Shop served as an ice-breaking venue of sorts (Not to forget, the indomitable Bhatt-re’s shop; which by the way, still stands). This continuous mingling of students from various semesters and streams of engineering is one of the many reasons why most graduates from M.S.R.I.T feel that ‘oneness’ with the institute.
A good educational institute has a distinct culture/mindset, and hence projects a unique ethos through its students. This culture/mindset, needless to say, needs to get passed on if it has to survive. Unless students across various semesters associate with each other, at a forum, fest, maybe a trivial party or even an adda, the feeling, culture/mindset will not propagate. Unfortunately, this ‘mingling’ is waning in recent times. We could owe it partially to stricter laws being enforced on campus. There are institutes choked by such rules, where, in the eye of ‘The MAN’, every student is capable of ‘crime’. Lesser degrees of freedom, especially in an educational institute can curb creativity, stunt intellectual growth and thereby thwart maturity. Fortunately, M.S.R.I.T still maintains the attitude it did a few years ago. “19A” is a testament to that attitude.
After attending Udbhav ’09, I was reminded of how it felt being a student in M.S.R.I.T. I miss those times… terribly! College has always been plagued by demolition and construction, and for years, that seemed to be the only continuity. You break some, to build some. The little shop is no more, but knowing M.S.R.I.T.ians, (and I’ve known more than my fair share) it won’t be long before a new adda is identified and set in place.
Botanical travesty, Architectural blunder;
An unholy union between stone and wood,
Amidst the fallen rocks and evident plunder
A lonely tree stands, where the shop once stood.
-Snehal Pinto
EEE, M.S.R.I.T (1999 to ∞)
*************************************************************
Submitted to '19A', M.S.R.I.T's hot lil e-mag. I dont know if they'll publish it or what... but i missed writing, and i finally wrote something after a long time... so.
i) Close proximity to campus
ii) Adequate shade or cover from sun, rain and teaching faculty
iii) Convenient access to ‘snacks’
iv) A guaranteed supply of mint flavoured mouth fresheners
So, unless it’s cleverly engineered to bear REALLY special fruit, a tree fails on the account of a bad F.O.C. Therefore, the perfect adda would be a cross between a tree and a shack: natural, yet cosmetically convenient. ‘Dream on’ some may say, but it actually existed, no, thrived until a few weeks ago, right beside M.S.R.I.T.
‘The Little Shop’: Pretty much a shack that mysteriously seemed to sprout a tree from its roof!
Botanical travesty, Architectural blunder;
An unholy union between stone and wood,
“Raze it we shall” they exclaimed, “with axe and hammer”
“For some such thing’d do more harm than good.”
Good or bad, it existed. The scores of students who’ve passed by the tiled walls and walked on the wallpapered floors of ‘old’ M.S.R.I.T will certainly remember this sweet-sounding-shop; such memories mostly augmented by shades of slacker-student activities. Back in 1999, while still in the first year, I dreaded passing by the shop. One word: Ragging. Barring the occasional trip for some vague stationery item, the shop was off-limits for freshers. “Go there, and you’ll get ragged raaaa!!”. Horror stories would ensue, as any fresher dared to cross that line, in through the back gate. Ok, I may be exaggerating, a bit.
When it comes to ragging, I consider myself extremely fortunate to have skipped out on any ‘horror stories’ and even more so, to have been ragged mostly by a bunch of ‘mild’ seniors (Kowmi, if you’re reading this, we still love you). Back then in M.S.R.I.T, there were many nooks and crannies where a supple fresher (such as my 1999 self) could’ve been ragged. Fortunately for me, most of the seniors who ‘associated’ with me, in such times, were a part of the cul-team. Needless to say, I learnt a lot from them.
I remember one such place being above the old conference hall, above the old library. It was a place known only to a select few. A place with a view! The then highest point (nearly all puns intended) on campus. Looking down from there, you could see the entire expanse of M.S.R.I.T. Only, back then, you couldn’t see much except for green cover. Trees…and LOTS of them. There were other places such as the ‘Medical Canteen’ and a ‘snacks point’. Hardly addas, they were barely watering holes. Eventually, the medical canteen turned sour, policy-wise: ’Engineering students are banned from entering’. Ha! That’s ok, we didn’t need their ‘accidentally non-veg’ fried rice anyway.
Gradually, the trees disappeared. So did this ‘high-point’. Other structures came up, some near, some far. A food court, a nice little eatery near the dental college, and numerous joints for parantas, rolls, all around college. Still, none quite adda-like. Just low on the F.O.C. Tsk tsk!
Throughout this I noticed, the Little Shop stood out, and with each passing semester, as anti-ragging laws were enforced with growing rigour, the shop seemed little-er. What with more people crowding around, juniors and seniors, slackers and toppers, all alike. Like a ‘Woodstock’ of tea-time; only, almost all the time.
The Little Shop served as an ice-breaking venue of sorts (Not to forget, the indomitable Bhatt-re’s shop; which by the way, still stands). This continuous mingling of students from various semesters and streams of engineering is one of the many reasons why most graduates from M.S.R.I.T feel that ‘oneness’ with the institute.
A good educational institute has a distinct culture/mindset, and hence projects a unique ethos through its students. This culture/mindset, needless to say, needs to get passed on if it has to survive. Unless students across various semesters associate with each other, at a forum, fest, maybe a trivial party or even an adda, the feeling, culture/mindset will not propagate. Unfortunately, this ‘mingling’ is waning in recent times. We could owe it partially to stricter laws being enforced on campus. There are institutes choked by such rules, where, in the eye of ‘The MAN’, every student is capable of ‘crime’. Lesser degrees of freedom, especially in an educational institute can curb creativity, stunt intellectual growth and thereby thwart maturity. Fortunately, M.S.R.I.T still maintains the attitude it did a few years ago. “19A” is a testament to that attitude.
After attending Udbhav ’09, I was reminded of how it felt being a student in M.S.R.I.T. I miss those times… terribly! College has always been plagued by demolition and construction, and for years, that seemed to be the only continuity. You break some, to build some. The little shop is no more, but knowing M.S.R.I.T.ians, (and I’ve known more than my fair share) it won’t be long before a new adda is identified and set in place.
Botanical travesty, Architectural blunder;
An unholy union between stone and wood,
Amidst the fallen rocks and evident plunder
A lonely tree stands, where the shop once stood.
-Snehal Pinto
EEE, M.S.R.I.T (1999 to ∞)
*************************************************************
Submitted to '19A', M.S.R.I.T's hot lil e-mag. I dont know if they'll publish it or what... but i missed writing, and i finally wrote something after a long time... so.
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