The Liberal Conundrum

Who is a liberal? Is there anyone who is truly liberal in his political views these days? The recent conversations around the US Presidential elections really makes one wonder. It has no doubt been a highly polarised political campaign by both candidates. Trump's position is understandable, he is a highly bigoted, prejudiced and polarising figure. But even his opponents have not really been the paragons of high morality either. In fact, their hatred for everything Trump represents has been as visceral as Trump's contempt for them. They claim to oppose Trump and his views as he represents the parochial as against their liberal worldview. But could they be called liberal in the real sense of the word just because they are ideologically opposed to Trump and some of the other Right wing strongmen across the world? How could you consider your yourselves liberal and then hate and look down upon someone else and his supporters, however regressive you feel their views are? How could you disdainfully put down millions who have supported a particular viewpoint for whatever reason as if their views count for nothing? If you look down upon someone in contempt, how could you reach out to them? And if you are not ready to build bridges with someone with a divergent view, how could you claim to be liberal? This is true in the context of India also. Here also, for whatever reason justified or unjustified, Modi and his Right Wing supporters have found a lot of traction with a large majority of people. And all of them couldn't be painted in the same brush as bigoted or communal. In the same way, anyone who opposes their viewpoint could not claim to be liberal by default. In fact many of them are as bigoted on their worldview as the Right Wing. And violence too is a weapon liberally employed by both sides, be it the Hindi heartland or places like Kerala and Bengal. Just like anyone with a contrary view is declared 'anti-national' by the Right wing these days, anyone supporting Modi too is immediately certified as communal by the so called liberals and attacked vociferously. If no one is seeking a middle ground, isn't everyone partisan and illiberal? In fact it seems anyone trying to attain a middle ground is instantly declared either a 'left sympathiser' or a 'communal bigot' by the opposite sides. Under these highly polarised circumstances, it seems nobody could claim to be a liberal until you are ready to engage with those whose views or even leadership options are highly unamenable to you.

Into the Misty Mountains- A Trek To Pindari Glacier

‘Just a little bit more, you could do it!’, the voice of one of my buddies was ringing in my ears. I couldn’t tell if it was Ari or Dixie, but was then too dazed anyway to really recall now. I was running a fever and had an unbearable toothache as the consequence of a botched dental job done recently. We were at a height of around twelve thousand feet and my whole focus was on reaching the end point of our last few days of toil, the source of the Pindar river in the Kumaon Himalayas.

Before you start wondering whether I finally managed to reach there, let us go around a week back in time. It was a sweltering Friday evening in the month of June and the four of us- Ari, Dixie, RP and myself, old pals from Engineering College days, were at the Old Delhi Railway Station to catch the overnight train to Kathgodam. We had been planning our first trek together for months and it was about to become a reality now. The air was heavy with anticipation, apart from the Delhi humidity. After an uneventful and air conditioned train journey, we reached Kathgodam early in the morning, to find our local transportation waiting to take us to our next destination, around two hundred kilometres away. It was all coming together well, we thought! What then followed was a long but beautiful journey up the Kumaon mountains past the hill stations of Bhimtal, Almora and Binsar and onto Bageshwar, the base camp of our trek. We had played safe by booking the expedition through Kumaon Mandal Vikash Nigam (KMVN) and were ushered into their guest house at Bageshwar. Once settled in, it was time for the briefing by Kundan, our KMVN guide. One look at my trolley bag and he was like, ‘are you kidding me?’. I learnt, to my utter surprise, an emotion not really appreciated by our trekking hardened guide, that trolley bags are not exactly the most convenient kits to carry on the back of either a human being or a mule while trekking up or down a hilly slope. It was immediately sentenced to solitary confinement in the guest house itself till its grumbling owner returned a few days later. We were provided with backpacks for the trip and advised to carry as little clothes as possible. It seemed no weekend parties had been planned for us in the hills! After a sumptuous dinner, we went to bed, excited about the next day when the real trek would start.

Next morning, after an early breakfast, we were driven to Song village, where our actual trek was supposed to commence. Once at Song, we started a four to five kilometres long, slow and steady ascend towards the first stop of our trek, Loharghat. We checked into the small but cosy KMVN transit house, manned by two hard working and well-mannered fellows who were eager to take care of all our comfort. The air was getting cold and the mobile network already quite intermittent. By the evening, the only sounds we could hear were the that of the crickets and our own voices. We chatted away till late night, reminiscing about our college days and all the sweet and sour memories it brought along. For a brief moment, we were young boys once again!

We woke up to a bright and sunny morning next day and started for Khati, our next stop around twelve kilometres away and the last inhabited village on the way to the Pindari Glacier. We were already above six thousand feet and walking on a trail alternating between lush green meadows and dark forest canopies, with birds chirping all around us. The majestic peaks of Upper Kumaon region were already visible to us under the clear skies. On the way, we crossed Dhakuri Pass at a height of around nine thousand feet and stopped for a rather enjoyable lunch at a beautiful rest house just below it. However, it is only when we resumed our journey after our meal did the realities of trekking in the Himalayas finally begin to hit home. We seemed to be walking for hours and were still nowhere near Khati. To make matters worse, Kundan, when enquired about the distance to our night’s stop, would crisply reply ‘around half a kilometre more’, after every two kilometres! And when we finally reached the village, he poker facedly informed us that the camp was actually another half a kilometre up a steep incline! This half a kilometre thing really seemed to be getting out of hand for us!

A new development awaited us at the Khati rest camp. We came to know that a large group of trekkers from Ari’s organisation was joining us that night. You should have seen the look on Ari’s face when he came face to face with the same office folks he was trying to get away from for a few days. Amongst the group was a middle aged Assamese guy sharing my surname who bonded with us in no time. Dinner that night was a crowded affair but nobody seemed to mind a little bit of company under those circumstances.

The trek next day to Dwali, around twelve kilometres away and at a height of eight and half thousand feet, was really challenging, made even more so by the devastation brought about by landslides the previous year. The normal trekking trail had been washed away at most places and we were frequently forced to climb down to the Pindar riverbed and resume our progress along its banks. I was a bit concerned; RP, the avid mountaineer, was worried about us amateurs and Ari was reticent. But Dixie seemed to be in high spirits, undaunted by these adverse turn of events. Eventually, we too caught on to his positive vibes and began enjoying our walk along the wide river bank surrounded by the tall mountains, sound of the flowing water soothing our nerves. We took this opportunity to work on our photography skills too, clicking anything and everything that came into our frames. And with the abundant flora and fauna (mostly of the avian kind) all around, there was no dearth of objects also. By the time we had reached Dwali, we were ready to give any nature photographer a run for his money, at least in our minds.

That night during dinner, Kundan informed us that the trail beyond Dwali seemed to be in worse shape than presumed and we would need to stick together with the group from Ari’s organisation for safety. And to think that we had signed up for this trek after finding it to be rated ‘easy to moderate’ by most trekking blogs! But we were already halfway into the trek and there was no turning back from that point. So we decided to push ahead anyway. As we resumed our trek early next morning towards Phurkia around five kilometres away, it was apparent why the guides had been worried. The trail was practically non-existent at many places and going down to the riverbed was now out of question. We had no option but to move along the remnant of the original trail, navigating some heart stopping crossings along the way. At some places, we literally had to hold on to tree trunks and branches to avoid sliding down the slopes and onto the gushing Pindar. We also  came across many snow crossings where it was difficult to keep your foothold on the slippery snow. To make  matters worse, none of us, with the exception of RP, was wearing proper trekking gear and was woefully under-prepared for such eventualities. It was a really harrowing experience and we were shaken to the bones. Ari, Dixie and myself couldn’t help heaving a collective sigh of relief after finally reaching Phurkia, at a height of more than ten and half thousand feet and a far cry from the smoldering plains we had left behind a few days ago. The three of us were quite satisfied with our day's achievements and looked at RP for some validation. But to our dismay, he still seemed to be less than impressed with our trekking skills. Maybe we would have to scale the Everest to impress him! RP’s utter lack of validation notwithstanding, we went happily to bed, engaging in some harmless banter and planning our final push towards Pindari Glacier the next day. 
It was then that disaster struck.

I had recently got a dental job done to get relief from a long standing cavity problem. It seemed the job had not been done properly and it flared up that night at Phurkia. I was in intense pain all night and had to gulp down pain killers to put myself to sleep. I woke up in the morning with a slight fever. There was an intense debate within our group, which by now also included four canine members we had acquired recently at Khati, as to whether I should continue towards the glacier or stay back. Finally, it was anonymously agreed upon , that having come so far, I should give it a final push. The next 4-5 kilometres that day were going to be a test of my resilience and tenacity and I was up for it, at least I thought so. A few pills and a hearty breakfast later, I was good to go. It also helped that the trek that day was mostly through wide green Bugiyals or high mountain meadows and everyone could keep sight of the other even from a distance. I tried to take it as slow as possible, constantly reminding myself that it was not about reaching there early, but reaching there eventually. After 3 hours of painful trekking, I was finally at the base of the Pindari Glacier where the rest of the guys were waiting for me to make the final ascent together. A while later, the four of us were standing at the Zero Point of Pindari Glacier, at a height of more than twelve thousand feet, a sea of whiteness all around us. Finally, after months of planning and preparation, we had managed to reach the highest point of our first trek together. It was a feeling of accomplishment that I would never ever forget in my life. And that I had achieved this feat amongst friends made it even more special.

The next few days were spent in retracing our steps towards our base camp at Bageshwar. And surprisingly, the same points that had seemed quite insurmountable a few days back seemed to have become far easier as we were climbing down. We really started to chill out by the time we had reached Khati, even making it a point to taste the local beer, called Jhang, offered by the villagers. It was a really potent stuff and seemed to have taken away all the weariness of the of the last few days. By the time we were approaching Bageshwar, we were already planning for our next year’s trek.

Thus culminated my first trek after a gap of more than a decade and it was undoubtedly an exhilarating and refreshing affair. If only for a few days, it gave us the opportunity to get away from the rigours of our present lives and take it slow and steady amidst nature. It let us relive the camaraderie of our college days, when we were young and uninhabited. It allowed Ari and Dixie to revel in their common love for classical music and yours truly to try out my vocal chords without the worry of disturbing the tranquility of anyone, apart from the hapless birds of course. Our long days of trek taught us to appreciate and respect the mountains in a new light. The trek also gave me the chance to reignite my love for bird-photography, something I have tried to continue since. All in all, it was a fabulous experience, one worth emulating again and again, albeit with proper trekking gear and minus the trolley bag!

Roads to Nirvana- My Most Memorable Road Trips

If four decades of existence in this world has left myself, and quite possibly everyone close to me, without any doubt about something, it is that I love to travel. There just seems to be this constant urge in me to seek out and explore new places and sights, whether for business or pleasure. And by travel, I mean the ones by road and preferably driving on my own. And luckily for me, I have been endowed with adequate opportunities in my personal as well as professional life to satisfy this urge. A road trip is not just about the getting from one place to another but about experiencing the known and unknown sights and sounds that it brings along. And some of these experiences make a really deep imprint on your mind, frozen in time as if it was yesterday. Today I am going to share some of the road trips that have left a profound impression on my life in more ways than one. And no, I am not going to get straight-jacketed into the numbers game by arranging them in Top Something list, but rather in the chronological order of my first, or in some cases the only, tryst with them. So here it goes.

The first road that I am going to talk about is a part of my childhood memories, or more appropriately the foggy reminiscence of my early years. It is the NH37, connecting Guwahati to the Upper Assam towns like Golaghat, Jorhat, Sivasagar and Dibrugarh where we would go every winter vacation to stay with our relatives and more importantly, spend time with our large conglomerate of cousins. This more than five hundred kilometres long stretch of straight, undulating asphalt (now concrete in many places) is a driver’s as well traveller’s delight, with cluster after cluster of quaint little towns and villages vying for one's attention with the eye-soothing view of the famous tea gardens of Assam. It also helps that bang on the highway, midway between Guwahati and Jorhat, lies the World Heritage Site of Kaziranga National Park, home to the One-horned Rhino.

Now on to another road with childhood association. I must have travelled on this road for the first time when I was hardly 5 or 6, but have later driven on it many a times myself. Inspite of becoming quite crowded in recent times, it has still managed to retain its old charm and remains one of my favourites. This nearly hundred kilometres long serpentine road connects my hometown to the Scotland of the East. Yes, I am talking of the Guwahati-Shillong Road. And it is not in this list just because of the sheer challenge it poses to your driving skills or the breath-taking scenery it provides, but also because it keeps reminding me of both my home and my alma mater in Silchar as the road connecting the two. And every time I drive on this road, my mind just flies away to a time we were young and restless and full of dreams about the future.

The opportunity to travel on the next road came due to my professional commitments and I was quite unsure about it due to the fact that hardly anybody I knew well had travelled on that road earlier. After much deliberation, I finally decided give it a try, never to regret my decision later. It was long, it was challenging and it was awesome! Full of greenery and practically devoid of any human presence for a majority of its two hundred plus kilometres of length, this highland road connecting the towns of Aizawl and Lunglei in the Mizo hills was a revelation to the traveller in me. I had never really felt as lonely and  connected to nature as I did while on that road. And given an opportunity, would be more than eager to take on this beauty, probably travelling further south to Saiha and Lawngtlai towards the Myanmar border.

It was a November afternoon and I was shivering, but not because of the cold. It was not even because of the fact that I had just driven non-stop for around sixty kilometres on a steep, treacherous ascend from the sleepy little town of Dirang at around six thousand feet to one of the highest mountain passes in the India. I was shivering simply at the enormity of the realisation that I had just arrived at the famous Se La, more commonly known as Sela pass, sitting imposingly at close to fourteen thousand feet atop the eastern Himalayas and presently scoffing at the sheer temerity of this ignoramus with thoughts of conquering a mountain simply by driving up its heights. Words fail to really explain how small and humbled I felt at that moment simply by standing amongst those towering mountains. It was the most striking memory of my once-in-a-lifetime road trip from Tezpur in Assam to Tawang Monastery in Arunachal Pradesh through the beautiful town of Bomdi La. That moment of deep realisation of our insignificance in the larger scheme of things would stay etched on my mind forever.

How would you feel when you are travelling constantly at a height of ten thousand feet or above, through steep mountain gorges and wide valleys, occasionally crossing a mountain pass at fourteen to fifteen thousand feet, for more than two hundred kilometres? And wait, did I also mention that the road in question is not even one in the true sense of the word, with numerous water streams traversing it, and opens only for a few summer months? This was how we, myself and three of my college friends on a trekking expedition, felt while travelling on this stretch, declared rather questionably as a road, from the famous hill station of Manali to the town of Kaza in Lahaul Spiti district. It was a more than ten hours long gruelling test of the mind and the body, getting us ready for the challenging trek ahead. But the harrowing road conditions notwithstanding, the barren, mountainous backdrop was a visual treat of colours and contours like I had never experienced before. It was a photographer’s delight and a little bit of the additional time taken in reaching our destination could have been attributed to the repeated photography breaks that we had taken. Another highlight of this trip undoubtedly was our blink-and-miss encounter with the Himalayan Red Fox. Maybe more on this in a blog later!

After talking mostly about the roads that I had travelled solo or with my friends, let me talk of a road trip that I undertook with my family. While on our trip to Ooty (or Udagamandalam, take your pick!), we decided to rent a self-driven car from the Bangalore Airport itself to enjoy our privacy and drove off, full of anticipation. And neither the drive nor the view along the way disappointed any of us. The drive started with the sugarcane district of Mandya giving way to the National Parks of Bandipur on Karnataka side and Mudumalai on Tamil Nadu side and finally a mountain road culminating at the beautiful hill station nestled in the Nilgiris. All throughout, the view was an ever changing palette of colours and simply a treat to the eyes. But most importantly, what has really stayed in my memory about the trip was the joy my loved ones had while on the road.

So these were some of the most memorable road trips that I have been fortunate enough to embark on till date. Passing mention should also be made of Shillong- Cherrapunjee Road with that beautiful V shaped mountain range en route, Kathgodam-Pithoragarh-Munsiari Road with its gasp inducing gorges, Palampur- Dalhousie Road with the majestic view of the Dhauladhar range and the Delhi-Amritsar Road for the glimpse it offers to the heart of North India.

There is no doubt that the wanderlust in me would keep prodding myself to make many more road trips to yet uncharted territories and some of them would surely be compelling enough to eke out a place in my hall of memories.

Till then, do keep tour travelling shoes on. Bon voyage!  

Memories of a Meal- My Close Encounters with Food

Hi there! Hope you have managed to keep your spirits up in the midst of this unprecedented upheaval brought about by the dreaded virus. Maybe it is Mother Nature’s latest reminder to us about our place in the grand scheme of things. To those of you who have taken out the time to read, connect with and appreciate my last effort highlighting the influence of music upon our life stories, let me express my gratitude. And let me also take your permission to introduce you, and anyone else who would care to scourge through my writings, to another indulgence in the life of your truly and surely, yourselves too- food.

‘I hate people who are not serious about their meals. It is so shallow of them.’- Oscar Wilde

It would be almost sacrilegious to infer that there is nothing more to food than being one of the very basic necessities of a human being. Every morsel of food, prepared with helpful dashes of finesse, expertise and most importantly love, has the power to satiate not just your body, but your soul too. It also remains etched in your memory forever.

And I am not talking about the food that mother puts on the table every during meal for us, because that is pure love poured out on our dishes by way of some divine arrangement she has with the maker and already a part of our subconscious. Neither am I referring to this recently proliferating segment of food which identifies itself with the self-promoting term called ‘fine-dine.’ No doubt it is the rage our age with its eloquent preparations, glitzy presentation and a more than cursory association with upward-mobility in life. But in the end, it is shallow, superficial and utterly lacking in context, the very ingredient great memories are made up of.

Instead, let me talk about food that has crossed my path at different moments of my life, sometimes under the most unexpected of circumstances, and left me with an immediate imprint on the belly and a permanent one in the mind.

My first opportunity to experience outside food on my own  came when I was around 13-14 years old school kid. There was this little eatery quite near to my school at Panbazar, Guwahati which used to specialise in only two preparations- chowmein and rolls. But they made up for their limited menu of dishes with an unrelenting emphasis on perfecting the available ones. And without doubt, their chowmein and rolls are still the standard I apply to assess the quality of these dishes anywhere I order them. I recently made it a point to visit the place after almost a decade and found them still belting out the same dishes with undiminished intensity and sincerity. More power to them!

It was the late nineties, the time when we were young and seemingly fearless and Bobby Deol, with his long locks, was the screen heart-throb of the moment. Poor old Bobby has nothing to do with this story, but he has been mentioned for no other reason but to emphasise that it was a really long time back. Context established, let’s get on with the story. Three of us, my best buddies from school and myself, were travelling back to Delhi after having embarked on an eventful trip that had taken us to places like Dehradun, Mussoorie, Rishikesh and Agra and more importantly, had left us rather short on cash by the end of it. The time of the ATM cards were not yet there and we knew virtually no one in those parts. We were like the original troika of ‘Dil Chahta Hain’, except that coastal Goa was replaced by the North Indian plains and the swanky convertible by rickety State Transport buses. Anyhow, we were virtually penniless by the time we had started off from Agra for Delhi apart from just enough cash to make it back to the Delhi University hostels, our then current base of operations. Midway at Mathura, hunger pangs grew but all we could afford with whatever dime was left with us was a fruit chaat being sold by a street side hawker. But boy, wasn’t it the most fulfilling fruit chaat I have ever had in my life! That sweet and salty taste, along with all the warm memories of that trip, is as fresh as yesterday.

Around the same time, I had turned up at REC Silchar for my engineering studies. For the next four years, I had the most uninhibited time of my life, making friends for life, sharing clothes and secrets, doing a lot of foolish stuff but never, ever regretting a moment of it. And also, I found love. Before I digress further, let me get back to the food. The hostel food was, to put it mildly, just about tolerable on any given day.  But then, wasn’t hostel food supposed to be like that everywhere? But every month, came a day, a night rather, when the cooking staff at our hostel mess would channel their inner Master-chefs and amaze us boarders with the most delectable cuisines that their culinary skills and the limited mess budget could conjure up together. It was the time of the Grand Feast, the most important event in the monthly culinary calendar of our hostel life. We would turn up in all our finery, guests from other hostels in tow, to partake of the great food on offer. It was an opportunity to celebrate and cement our friendships, indulge in some harmless banter and get ready for whatever challenge life would throw at us next. The mood and the occasion, more than the food, which itself was surprisingly delicious, is what remains etched in my memory.

Fast forward to early 2000s and a dusty little town named Hospet in northern Karnataka. Posted there as a trainee recruit, I was as far away from home as a Siberian Crane would be from Siberia in the winters. I was homesick and had not yet gotten used to the cuisine down South. But then, one of my colleagues pointed me towards a little eatery tucked in the corner of the main market which served authentic North Indian food. As I made it a point to visit that place as often as I could during the next few months I was posted there and enjoy the really sumptuous food on offer, including their incredibly prepared Palak Paneer, it was like a home away from home. Although I had got totally hooked on to the rich palette of South Indian food by the time I left the place, the taste of the food enjoyed at that little eatery still hasn’t left my tongue even after so many years.

My job next took me to Ahmedabad, the largest metropolis in the land of the dhoklas and fafdas and many more finger licking delicacies. Gujarat already had quite a sophisticated eating-out culture, with numerous eateries and restaurants offering different range of dishes (mostly vegetarian, as you would imagine) ranging from Chinese to South Indian and everything in between. However, the most memorable encounter with food I had there did not take place in any of those urban watering holes, but a bit away from that. It took place in Surat, the bustling commercial hub I used to frequent as a part of my job description. My favourite place of stay there did not enamour itself to me on the strengths of the quality of its lodgings but, you guessed it, the food on offer. And the tour de force of their menu was the yummiest Chilly Paneer I have ever tasted in my life. It was definitely nothing  like the authentic version served in numerous fine-dine restaurants all around, but it was something else! It could still beat any of those authentic versions hands down on the basis of its sheer outrageous ambition and taste. I sincerely hope that they have not yet fallen prey to the mindless pursuit of authenticity and kept the taste intact.

Throughout all this years, my job as well as family commitments have allowed me to travel widely across the country, providing me the with opportunity to form different memories of the places I have visited, one of them inadvertently associated with food. I still vividly remember the Puchkas I had on the streets of Jamshedpur, the Chaat in Kolkata, the Mixed Fruit Falooda in Ahmedabad, the Dosa and Uttapam at Hazira, the Thukpa and Bun Tikki at Dehradun, the Vada Pao in Pune, the Spinach Stew at Lunglei, the Khasta Paratha in Lucknow, the Pancakes at Landour and many such little indulgences that are now part of my memories of those places.

And a special mention has to be made here of a lovely little breakfast place that we had discovered during our trip to Singapore couple of years back. It served the most satisfying array of breakfast menu consisting of home-made toasts and cakes, eggs to order and endless cups of Kopi. Everyone enjoyed it so much that we made it a point to have breakfast there every single day during our stay there.

As the journey of life moves along, food has remained a faithful companion, letting me savour the different tastes of the places I have been to and make lifelong friends of the lovely people I have met along the way. But most importantly, it has been a like silent teacher, always egging me on to be ready for life’s surprises to manifest themselves in the most unexpected of ways and places and telling me to never, ever shy away from trying something new.

I hope you too had a similar journey. If yes, do share your thoughts.

Melodies Of The Soul- The Music That Made Me

I have always had this constant urge to write a blog about something. But that faint thread of inspiration which I could hold on to and pull myself out of this morass of listlessness onto the firm grounds of affirmation always seemed an elusive thought. It is only sometimes, in a fleeting moment of self-realisation, that my mind wants to unshackle itself from the hinges of self-doubt and lay bare open its deepest feelings. Is this, then, one of those moments?

Now, enough of this irreverent brooding! What has stirred the strings of my emotions enough to prod myself to write down my thoughts today is something that has always been an intimate part my life - music. Even the great philosopher Plato had reportedly said about music that it gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to imagination, charm to sadness, gaiety and life to everything. There is something about music that makes it, more than anything else, such an integral part of our journey.

My first tryst with music as a part of my identity as a living, breathing proof of human life began when I was around 7-8 years old. It was then that I was introduced to the eclectic world of Borgeet, a form of devotional music founded by Srimanta Sankardeva and made even more famous by his great disciple Madhavdeva. The soul stirring poetry and melody created centuries ago by two great saints which could transcend time has left an indelible mark on my being. No greater proof of it is required than the fact that I could still sing many of them by heart, even after decades of being out of practice!

As I was wallowing in the throes of spiritual awakening brought about by the saints and their music, came along a musical genius to own my ear-waves, quite literally! Bhupen Da, with that intriguing mix of an unconventional voice, piercing lyrics, crystal clear diction and those haunting, haunting melodies was already a cultural icon for the millions of his aficionados. Now he had won himself an young admirer with his songs about our lands, our people, our struggles and above all, our love for life. I was hooked for life.
Access to the radio and TV meant that the world of mainstream Indian music was being revealed to my young and impressionable mind. The music of the Bollywood stalwarts like SD Barman, RD Barman and Khayyam brought to life by the golden voices of Lata Di, Rafi Saheb, Kishore Da and Manna Da was akin to a soft and soothing wind blowing in from a faraway place and caressing my senses.

Few years down the line and teenage hit me like a tornado, straining at the very foundation of my beliefs about life. I needed a fig leaf to hold on to the very things that defined me and also to make sense of  the fast and relentless changes overcoming my consciousness. They appeared in the forms of a wiry young singer with a soaring voice and some new sounds from lands far far away. Zubeen Garg was exactly what the doctor had ordered with his songs about love, heartbreak and self-realisation. It seemed as if it was I and not Zubeen who was speaking those words. And then there was the hitherto unheard music of a bevy of artists like The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Simon and Garfunkel, Dire Straits,Tom Petty, Don Williams, John Denver, Smokie, Cat Stevens, Scorpions, Def Leppard, Bon Jovi, Madonna, Guns n Roses, U2 etc. And Pink Floyd, especially Pink Floyd! I was like a child, with a particularly sweet tooth, in a candy store! It was a love affair that was here to stay.

As the years have rolled on and I have found love and meaning and become older and hopefully wiser, music has still remained a faithful companion. And I have only added new friends during my adult life, most of whom have made it a point to stay back. Lucky Ali and his wanderlust spirit, Eminem and his profane anguish, Coldplay and their world songs- they all are now a part and parcel of my life. And recently, thanks to my sons, I have been introduced to the icons of the Gen Y- Imagine Dragons, Bruno Mars, Sean Mendes, Charlie Puth, Camila Cabello, Kendrick Lamar and that dude with the ridiculous mask and wrongly spelt name- Marshmello. Fun part is, I have managed to turn my boys into Rock n' Roll junkies as a part of the bargain!

As life moves on, the music that had become an integral part of my existence at adolescence has aged like a fine wine, adding newer and newer flavours with time, which has only enhanced its taste. Music is now part of what defines me, and hopefully yours too.

Happy Listening!