Confessions of a First Time Musician

It’s hard out there for a guitarist like me.

I’m 17 years old. I am a boy of average Indian height. I also have lean fingers. I have long hair. No, this is not directed to Mahindra Watsa. This is about my first day of college that changed my life. If one has attended life at Hindu College, Delhi, one would know of the Virginity Tree – a sanctum where all your obvious virginity related problems get cured annually after conducting a pooja. Something like Baba Ramdev’s claim on curing homosexuality where he prescribes homemade Viagra as the antidote; only the tree actually works. It’s a miracle. So, on day one of college there was a swarm of people huddled around the tree. Curiously I moved in to understand what the hullaballoo was about. Interestingly, most of them were signing up for auditions for the college’s music society.

The thought of being on stage was frightful but I wanted to be up there. But the question was what would I do up on stage? Like any 17-year old boy I wanted attention and it was squeezed into my head that girls swoon over musicians. Also, I could travel the world and get paid for it. And then free passes to the Playboy Mansion. And free invites to Salman bhai’s Ganpati party. Okay that’s pushing it. But in effect I would not need the blessings of the Virginity Tree if I were a musician. So I took up learning the acoustic guitar. The following days were hell. I had to apply lotion and rest my fingers on ice because they were swollen up with all the scraping of the strings. Oops, I mean playing the guitar. Luckily, I had a bunch of classmates who shared similar dreams. They wanted female attention too. They wanted to play anything as long as they could play with human emotions. One was learning the keyboard and the other the drums. Both became my good friends because of an obvious common interest. The drummer weighed 45 kgs; body weight. Almost as much the drum set. He was sweating it out. And losing more weight! The keyboardist was rather a poised guy whose wry half smile was creepy. Talent or no talent, he was destined to be alone forever. That left me with standing chest-outwards scanning the college for any eye contact.

That hurt!

After practising the guitar for an excruciating period of 3 days, I decided to ask my parents for an electric guitar. An electric guitar has its own tashan. My request was received by sarcastic smiles, silence, and me walking out of the house, only to return 10 minutes later because I was hungry. I was stark raving mad but my parents did not buy me an electric guitar. My friends on the other hand were getting themselves expensive items. I didn’t lose hope. I went straight to college the next day and took out the acoustic guitar and played it in class, nonchalantly. I was asked to leave the premises. My talent, like the rest of the country, was being ignored. There was no opportunity to show my talent. I could play “Smoke on Water” on one string. Do you know how hard it is to play one full classic song on one string? I did it.

Then came the inspiration bit. Covers are the most popular strategy to gain eyeballs but one original gives you an identity of your own. I did everything in my strength for an original.  Like Emperor Akbar I climbed a mountain to a holy person’s shrine. After watching Aashiqui 2, I even tried being drunk to compose songs and fought with my girlfriend. Just kidding, I don’t have a girlfriend. I even inhaled cigarette smoke, beedis, Chanel No. 5, carbon dioxide, and sulphur from the chemical lab. May be I was missing out on something *nudge nudge*. I was waiting for a stroke of inspiration. But that was it. I just wanted to take my shirt off during a performance and throw it in the audience. Then diving onto the crowds like Mithun da was a must. What was the point of being a rock star if I haven’t done those things? Tell me!

One fine day, I was sitting on the gutter near my house, sipping on chai when an idea struck, just like how it dawns on my  idol Anu Malik and he starts yelling “Aag laga dega” to everyone including arsonists. I was confused if mine was a copied tune or original. Regardless, I showed it to my sexy friends and we went to a recording studio. The studio chaps charged us money we didn’t own. So robbing a kirana store was next in line. We walked into the nearest kirana store without guns. Yes, without guns. Pocket knives are of no use. Then we were accosted by my mother’s Punjabi lady friend who started complaining about my hair and started looking for lice in it. I mean really! Can’t you let a boy diligently steal for his music?

Meanwhile, my fourth friend Roger, who doesn’t need an introduction other than ‘girls love him’, was prepping up for the ‘War of the DJ’ contest on campus. He eventually won. After winning that he started playing everywhere from wedding sangeets to baby showers to White Heart bar. He was world famous even in space. George Clooney tweeted about Roger. Actually, he was tweeting about some tennis player. Anyway, I wish my musical skills got me as famous as him. He will be the next DJ Aqeel. Nazar na lage.

My DJ friend Roger. LOL. JK. This is some random dude!

Today, two years hence in my final year of college, I offer background score while the aforementioned pooja is taking place at the tree, during the initiation or spell-breaking for those innocent souls who newly enter college. I hope my story will make you realize that making music is not as easy eating paya and phirni. It is worse. It’s like eating mutton biryani without fried onions as garnishing and coke for effective digestion and burps.

As told to our correspondent.