MUSIC MAN SHANTANU MOITRA ON HIS WONDER YEARS

The purpose of art is not the release of a momentary ejection of adrenaline but is, rather, the gradual, lifelong construction of a state of wonder and serenity — Glenn Gould

So childhood was a collage of school, football, Joan Baez and Bob Dylan with a dash of Rabindrasangeet, while idolising dadas with cigarettes and didis in short skirts. Childhood was about going out to eat Chinese with my parents to a restaurant called Suzie Wong once a month. And lots of comic books. I remember watching West Indies dominate the world of cricket, and a small handsome man called Sunil Gavaskar taking on the mighty Marshall, Roberts, Garner…. all in black-and-white of course.

Chitrahaar but no TV

Childhood was also about looking forward to Chitrahaar, a sci-fi called Fireball XL5 on TV, and going to mashi’s house every Saturday to watch television. I never understood why we didn’t have one, never understood why my father worked so hard and never understood that there was no TV because I had to be put into a good school. It was an either/or situation. But those were the times when hardships were never discussed. Post-Partition, the times were so bad that my parents’ generation did not even notice there was no TV at home.

Being a single child I had lots of friends but no one stayed back. As the sun set they all went back to their houses. That’s when I realised it would be great to have a friend who did not go home and stayed in my house only. My colony (in East Patel Nagar in New Delhi) was a cauldron of cultures, my neighbours being south Indians and Sikhs. My best friend was Garhwali. Yet it was the other Bengalis who gave immigrants like us a sense of belonging.

Without a care in the world

My colony’s biggest event was the Durga Puja. The month preceding it was full of frantic rehearsals, both in theatre and music. Durga Puja was a godsend for me, pun intended! Parents suddenly became busy, and did not care about our studies, food, what we wore, whether we took a bath or not. Since they were busy with Ma Durga, we the children were FREE.

Meeting the princess

I met her during a rehearsal for a children’s play by Tagore, directed by Ganguli kaku. She was the princess in the play and I was a tree. I had no dialogues, I had no movement and I had no role. I was just a prop. But there she was, so beautiful. She danced like a ballerina and sang like a dream. Even though I was a tree I never missed a rehearsal. I was the first to reach and the last to leave. 

While I stood there as a tree, I imagined that the king, who was played by a cocky good-looking boy, would have an upset stomach, and on the day of the show I would be asked to be the king. The transition from tree to king would be smooth as I knew all the dialogues of the king, and I would get to sit next to my princess.

Well, nothing like that happened. The play was performed, and she and I both stole the show. My parents said I was the best tree they had ever seen!

Next day there was a singing competition where I played the guitar and sang Imagine by John Lennon. After the song my princess, who was waiting to go on stage for her performance, whispered to me — “You sing so well. You would have been a much better king in the play”. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. 

Age of innocence

Now, I look back at those times of innocence with fondness and love. Those were the wonder years which will never come back but always tug at your heart... running to catch Congress leaflets dropped from planes during the Emergency, my mashi who I was very close to passing away, and our family leaving the colony and moving on to greener pastures. It’s those wonder years that have shaped us and made us who we are today. One looks back at those days as a movie, beautiful and innocent, yet of a different time when I was happy being a tree....
Bawra mann dekhne chala ek sapna.

Shantanu Moitra has composed the song Bondhu chol for Open Tee Bioscope

ANUPAM ROY TAKES A NOSTALGIC TRIP DOWN THE MEMORY LANES OF HE-MAN AND HEARTBREAK

 

I  keep searching for something I can never find. I keep going back to my room and my hours get stretched. I always thought I could have stayed on until I realised it’s all gone! Like a distant ribbon in the sky, winters away from where I stand today. 

I remember my first bicycle, my first balancing act. My dad was helping me gather momentum. I kept thinking that he was holding the rear saddle of the chain-driven vehicle when suddenly I felt a shiver down my spine. He was standing at least 20 paces behind, watching me, learning to fly. I screamed desperately in joy, “Baba!” but my delight was short-lived as I fell sideways. I picked myself up and tried to get back on the rider’s seat. I failed. I tried again. My dad kept watching me try and fail as he stood there smiling. In two weeks I could be seen speeding my bike all over my para (Satyen Park in Thakurpukur), racing with my friends, stealing sunset as we came back home every day, bruised with the memories of cobblestones.

Johnny Soko and He-Man

I was never interested in cigarettes and I have no memories of the first puff. I still find the entire habit very old-school, very retro. The typical Feluda-ish glamour of smoking is all gone. It’s high time my childhood hero quit smoking too. Talking about childhood heroes, first television adventures of Johnny Soko and his flying robot, the spider, the bat, the super and the ‘he-men’ ruled my imaginary world. They were the masters of my universe. Comic book characters from Nonte-Fonte to Asterix talked to me in my dreams. Mystery and stupid adventure stories were all that I wanted to read. Famous Five, Secret Seven and the Three Investigators took away most of my reading time.

First Song for a girl

I remember my first poem, my first cartoon and the first song I wrote for a girl who travelled with me in the same school bus. I desperately wanted to talk to her but never managed to find my voice when she was around. I kept on listening to Abba and Bee Gees on the radio, on the cassette player trying to find the right words, the right tune. Yes, secretly I wrote a letter for her. We had our annual school fete when children from neighbouring schools were allowed to visit. Letter in my pocket, waiting for the right moment, I was sweating profusely in the month of December. There she was, talking to her friends, pretending not to see me and I felt invisible. Ashamed of my spectacles, my thin line of moustache which promised not to grow any further and extremely scared of my broken voice, I could barely move. Just when I had accumulated sufficient courage to start walking towards her, I heard an announcement. Some other guy had dedicated a song to her at the jukebox counter! Her friends had started giggling, she was going all red and I was a wreck. I came back home, heartbroken. Maybe I wrote one more silly song for her in the solitude of my room. 

First Kiss

My first kiss took me 26 years and it’s better I don’t think about it now. It was a disaster, a bad memory! 

Tenage town

I keep visiting the grey streets of my teenage town. My first tabla at the age of 15 and the dumb questions I had in store for my teacher. The simple joys of memorising the periodic table, the countries and their capitals, knowing the names of all the members of Boyzone and staying away from the “real” world is all about my coming of age. Yes, my friends had made me aware of Fashion TV, where you would have to wait for hours to catch a glimpse of a bikini-clad model but I was too prudish and for years avoided their company. I remember picking up Bengali slang and asking my dad about their actual meaning. It was a world of total confusion. 
Within years my room stopped smelling of the teen spirit. My collection of stamps disappeared. My guava tree, my fields of green vanished from the map of my mind. Thanks to Open Tee Bioscope, we are now on the verge of starting a nostalgic trip down the memory lanes of love letters and football. 

Anupam has sung Bondhu chol for Open Tee Bioscope