The same year saw the release of Punnagai Mannan by
K. Balachander starring Kamal Hassan. It was widely publicized as the movie in
which Ilayaraja, the composer used the MIDI synthesizer to bring computer
music to the Tamil film industry, believed to be operated by A. R. Rahman. Oomai Vizhigal was another hit movie that year, a film written by Aabhavaanan and directed by R. Aravindraj, starring Vijayakant. But there were three reasons why the film that is etched
in my mind from that year was Vikram, another Kamal Hassan starrer. The
first reason—the story and screenplay
was by my favorite writer Sujatha. The second reason—it had Vanithavani,vanamohini…, a song considered too risqué at that time that Oliyum Oliyum, a program that was telecast every Friday by the state-run
Doordarshan TV (Channel 4), never showed it. It was a song that a trio of
friends secretly sang in the back benches at school while the teacher was busy
with the lesson. The third reason was the beautiful Dimple Kapadia who was
brought from Bollywood to act in that movie as a princess of an exotic land.
Remember the Sanyo cassette player that I started with. The
very first recording I made using it was songs from the Hindi blockbuster
movie, Bobby from many years earlier, starring Rishi Kapoor and Dimple Kapadia.
That was the first time that I saw Bobby and instantly fell in love with it,
the same way that Rishi Kapoor's character is enamoured seeing Dimple's. The
movie was telecast by Doordarshan and I meticulously taped every song. A Sanyo
cassette player, Bobby, Dimple Kapadia, Vikram—the universe conspires to design
your fate. That moment marked my
unofficial introduction to music.
My school had co-curricular activities every Thursday and I
had signed up for Yoga. After a year, I felt that I should switch because I
felt the other kids were having too much fun while I was stretching my body
into uncomfortable poses. We also had a guitar club that sounded cool and I
decided to join. When I told my mother, she asked me if I was really
interested. I answered affirmatively.
The next week she took me to a quaint shop in Mount Road called
Musee Musical. I instantly fell in love with that shop. There was an old-world
charm to that store. They had violins, guitars, drums, flutes and every other
musical instrument that I had seen before in my life. I got myself a yellow
Givson guitar. It cost 650 Rupees and the salesman gave me two complimentary
picks. My mother and I returned home in an autorickshaw. I held my Givson
carefully as the autorickshaw navigated the potholes in the Madras roads.
Our guitar teacher in school started with music theory,
treble clef, bass clef, notation etc., One day, someone brought a leaflet for a
CASIO electronic keyboard that had numbers instead of the notes and was playing
Jingle Bells using it as reference. Initially, the teacher was smiling and
walked up to that boy. When he discovered that he was playing it from that
leaflet that didn't have notation—an abomination to say the least—he was
horrified. He went into a rage tearing it apart and throwing it into the trash
can.
On another instance when he found three of us talking during
class. Saravanan was my classmate and the other one was a junior student. I
vaguely remember his name as Ravi. He asked each one of us to make a fist and
knock the other's head with our knuckles. The first one to get struck was
Saravanan and the Ravi was to do the deed. It was my turn next to strike Ravi
and then Saravanan was supposed to strike me. I had to think quickly to escape,
so I did the unexpected. I rolled my right palm into a tight fist and gathered
the maximum strength that I could and struck Ravi hard on the center of his
head! It must have knocked the living daylights out of him that he immediately
began crying, tears flowing uncontrollably down his cheeks. The guitar teacher
was stunned and didn't know what to do. He asked me why I hit him so hard. I
just shrugged and told him I just did what he asked me to. He then ordered the
three of us to get back to our seats and consoled the boy who was wiping his
tears and stroking his head. I don't think Ravi ever spoke to me after that.
I continued in the guitar club for the next two years and
then my interests shifted to dramatics. The guitar gathered dust at the corner
of my room except for the occasional time when I would feel like strumming.
After I finished college and got into a job, I gave my guitar
away to one of my younger cousins. That was my brief brush with music.
A decade and a half later, I am a happily married family man
with two sons. My wife wanted to wean them away from TV by putting them into—you
guessed it—music class! Both the boys learn Classical Carnatic violin. A random
thought crops up in my mind and out of a whim, I ask my wife. She says it is
never too late to learn anything.
A week later, at the insistence of my wife, I register for
guitar classes at the same place where my sons go to learn violin! On the first
day at class, my classmates are a couple of college students and a school-going
boy and girl, just a few years older than my sons. It was a true Vasoolraja
MBBS moment for me. The first day was just basic theory. At the end of the
class, the teacher instructed the little girl to bring her notebook during the next
class and then turned to me and asked me to copy the lessons from her. Jokes
apart, I was truly thrilled that I decided to learn the guitar. There was only
one thing left. I needed a guitar before the next class.
I was very excited about the thought of buying a new guitar.
I wanted to take my family with me to the store. Unfortunately, our washing
machine broke and my wife said she needed to stay home until the technician
finished fixing it. Luckily, he came early and she was on board for the trip to
the store. My younger son loves shopping, so he said he would join. I told my
mom that we are going to the store and she asked me if I want her to come. Not
to be left out, my brother and his wife also join the group and off we go to the
store!
Madras is now Chennai
and Chennai Metro Rail is busy digging up Mount Road for laying the tunnels.
Policemen on horseback are crossing Mount Road at the Walajah Road / Mount Road
signal. We take a U-turn on Walajah Road and come back to Mount Road. Almost
twenty-five years later, after asking directions from a bookseller who had set
shop on the sidewalk, we arrive once again at Musee Musical. The store looked
very different from what I recollect from my memories.
I select my guitar. The salesperson tuned it and gave me two
complimentary picks and a guitar belt. We took pictures at the store. Minutes
later all of us are on our way back home. I am sitting in the front passenger
seat of our car holding on to my guitar firmly as the car bumps a little. Damn
potholes!
