Shriram Iyer's Blog

SIYER the Cricket Commentator!

January has proven to one of those amazing months that refuses to fade away from my memory anytime soon!

My obsession with music is quite obvious to those who know me. But those who know me well will also tell you about my passion for the game of cricket. No surprises there really! I am an Indian and cricket runs in my DNA (Oh yes, a stereotype alright, but I do conform to it!)

Late last year Cricket Australia approached Saffron Groove to perform at the MCG and SCG for two of India’s One Day Internationa matches versus Australia. And as amazing an experience as that was, this blog post is not about that!

My awesome other-half once again brought something to my attention – Indian Link was running a competition for Hindi commentators for the T20 series! I put my application in and forgot about it. Next thing I knew was that I was selected as part of their commentary team!

January 26 – India’s republic day and Australia Day. Also the day of the first T20 game between the sides. I caught the early morning flight to Adelaide and spotted some Cricket Australia officials in the flight. But in the seat ahead of me was a familiar face – Mel Jones, cricket commentator and former Australian Cricketer. She was very easy to talk to and was kind enough to offer me some ‘intel’ on the women’s game later that afternoon that we as commentators were covering as well.

We reached the Adelaide Oval by mid-morning. We walked into the accreditation office where we were handed ‘media’ passes. We were then led into the media centre – a long line of commentary rooms (one reserved for Channel Nine and one for Star Sports India).

The commentary room offered breathtaking views of the ground and it took me a while to settle into what was going to be a great day. I checked the headsets and my research material on the laptop and then had a light lunch. And then it was game on!

The team of three commentators worked in pairs and rotated after every five overs. During my first break, I strolled out of our room and bumped into Michael Slater who was very friendly and said, “It’s nice to see you guys doing the commentary.” Yes, word had spread that there was something new about the commentary this time – Cricket Australia’s partnership with Indian Link meant there would be Hindi commentary for the first time in Australia.

Three hours later I had made my commentary debut and had the privilege of covering an exciting T20 match where the Indian women’s team emerged victorious. In the break between the two T20 games, we sauntered around the beautiful Adelaide Oval and then returned to the media room, now teeming with famous commentators! We caught up with Matthew Hayden who was cheerful and easy going. We then found Michael Slater again who was happy to pose for a photograph. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Harsha Bhogle who held a suit in his hand and seemed to be in a great rush! But credit to the man who displayed great courtesy and waited for the photograph to be taken. Now, that is classy!

As commentators for Cricket Australia, we were invited to the buffet dinner before the game and we took out seats surrounded by Ian Healy, Mark Nicholas, Michael Slater and many other familiar faces. Michael Slater also had a chat with us about why he thinks Virat Kohli is so potent! His commentary makes it obvious, but it was fascinating to hear his first-hand views on batting.

Dinner over. Now it was time for the big event. We went back to the media center and took our seats to cover the India v Australia T20. Those who have seen cricket matches with me will know how excited I tend to get. And that day my excitement levels reached a new high and I found it impossible to take a seat even as I commenced my commentary with the rest of our brilliant team (Sanjeev Dubey, Mukesh Madaan and Pawan Luthra accompanied by Michael, our tech support). The camaraderie amongst the commentators was exemplary as we enjoyed every moment of the game as well as the priceless opportunity to talk about it on air.

In the break, I was able to meet VVS Laxman as part of the Star commentary team who were in the adjoining room to us. Also commentating were bowling greats Damien Fleming and Jason Gillespie who were game for a cool selfie after the game finished. Again, the random stroll in my break times resulted in catching up with Mark Waugh and Michael Hussey, fresh from his win in the BBL.

As it turned out, India posted 190 and defended it after a spirited start from the Australian team. That in itself was exhilarating, but what followed was even better. A quick moment with Ravi Shastri, the team director who came out of the Adelaide oval beaming with joy!

That night the commentary team settled into the Stamford Plaza and had a good night’s rest before catching our flights back. My flight was the latest the next day and I happened to catch a ride to the airport, courtesy Mr Bhogle and Very Very Special Laxman who were on the same flight and shared their love for music along with some insights into their busy schedule on tour!

As if all that wasn’t enough for a star-struck me, the whole Australian team was also traveling on the same flight to Melbourne! Finally, back in Melbourne, I bid adieu to messers Bhogle and Laxman and got picked up by my wife who was waiting with bated breath to know every little detail! The Adelaide stint was followed up with another one at Melbourne where the awesomeness was repeated all over again. This was without doubt an experience that ranks right up there with some of my most special memories and boy, I can’t wait to do this all over again! Big thanks to Cricket Australia and Indian Link for this wonderful opportunity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Making Divine ‘Cool’ – New Age Spiritual Album by ‘Siyer’: Lend a Hand?

Hello! Hope you are keeping well.

I recently attended a very well-organised Hindu Youth Conference, put together wonderfully by VHP Australia. One common theme stood out – every Hindu organisation felt the need for greater participation from the ‘Youth’.

In my humble opinion, we are simply not doing enough to be attractive to the youth. Or as they would say, “It’s just not cool enough.”


I for one am enamoured by the strength of music to lift anyone to greater spiritual heights. Even for those who don’t believe in a higher power, music can unite the youth. And unity is the need of the hour.


When I first contemplated developing a ‘new age’ presentation of a spiritual song I was very clear that I wanted to push the envelope – only then would it appeal to the Youth. And I am delighted to share that my first two singles have been greatly appreciated by those who wouldn’t generally listen to ‘bhajans’. It’s all about branding it and packaging it differently to the next generation.


If you haven’t heard it, here are the first two singles from my new age spiritual fusion album ‘ Highway To Nirvaana’ (working title).


MOOSHIK – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ce-fKIjcyc

 
SAMARPAN – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5kw4VBQcQxk

 
The idea is to develop a full album consisting of ’11 Songs’, all aimed to present devotional music with a huge modern twist. To make divinity cool is the aim of the project. A bold and daring step by all measures. But I am not one to shy away from the untried. Above all, I do this with nothing but love for the supreme.


I am asking for your help to develop this project. I am using a crowd-funded model to bring this project to life. For the first two songs, large-hearted people donated any amount of their choice. Those who donated $101 were named ‘Executive Producers’ on the album – many thanks to Nalin Sharada, Yogen Lakshman, Bhuvana Iyer, Abhijit Kadam, Mita Hede, Roopa Vijay and Deepthi Iyer.





The same principal applies to the entire album. My bank details are below. If you wish to be a part of this, you can donate ANY amount you wish. Just write ‘New Age’ in the message / reference. I am hoping to get some more ‘Executive Producers’ for the entire album!:)


I see this as a collective project and potentially a gift that we are giving to the generations that follow us. Please join me as I try to achieve the challenging yet possible dream of making divinity cool for the youth.


BSB: 033017.

A/C no: 291255.

I request you to please forward this email to like-minded individuals / organisations who might also be keen to be a part of this project.

Ilaa’s Song – The Untold Story Behind The 17th Century Bhakti Movement

A few weeks ago, Bestselling Indian novelist Amish Tripathi had floated a ‘finish the story’ competition on TOI. It had to be less than 2500 words and had to be set in 17th century Paithan, centering around women empowerment. Now I was not eligible to participate since I am not an Indian citizen, but I gave it a shot just for my amusement and well, some short-story writing practice :)  – (bold part is written by Amish)

My premise: A very famous and revered 17th century saint was known to have 14 cymbal players in his team. What if one of them was a ……?

***

Ilaa’s Song

Close to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in their area. It was the harvest season, and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks, carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they carried for the cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time! Work was at its peak!

But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn’t working. Instead, she was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.

“I am sick of this!” she grunted loudly. She gave a quick look on either side, ensuring there was no one within earshot. Relieved that she was alone, she stared at the sunlight as it sparkled off the surface of the Godavari. She dipped her hand into the river and immediately felt the sheer power of the current against her hand. No! Jumping into the river and ending her life sounded like the easy way out, but it would be a painful death.

She closed her eyes. A vision of her beloved brought a smile on her face. Before she knew it, she had broken into a song that seemed to simply flow from within her. The words and the lilting tune were being formed as she sang and the pure emotion in her voice lifted the song towards the heavens. Is that what true happiness felt like?

The previous year when the sales of cotton had been the best ever, it was meant to yield the happiest of times. Yet, it didn’t. She had learnt then that no matter how much gold and goods they stacked up, it didn’t translate into contentment. Instead, it made her family greedier, her father grumpier and she, sadder. The only peace that came to her was when she sang his name.

A tight slap across her shoulder brought an abrupt end to her song. She didn’t even need to turn around to see who had hit her. She would know those calloused palms anywhere.

“Father I…” she mumbled, trying frantically to come up with an excuse. But she had exhausted them all. Right from the believable to the ridiculous, she had tried them all over the years. And the usually sharp-tongued Ilaa, to whom words were no stranger, was for once caught short of speech.

“Father I-what!” the old man, with an unshaven face and a white turban on his head bellowed. “Here you are doing what I prohibited you to do, while I work like a donkey all day!”

Ilaa didn’t like to cry. It made her feel weak. But now her tears fought through any resistance she could offer. “It was just for a few minutes. I just wanted to sing for-”

This time it was a powerful blow across her face that brought her to her knees, forcing her to stop her sentence mid-way. “Sing! Is that why I brought you up!” He waved a threatening finger towards her, “Your sisters, all younger than you are already married, while you sit at home, living off me. And what is it that you want to do with your useless existence? SING?!”

Ilaa had had this conversation many times before. She felt a tooth come loose and a stream of blood form within her mouth. Her father had indeed hit her hard this time! Right from the first time she had started singing, her father had told her that women were not allowed to pursue music as a career. They were also not allowed to sing for the deities. Only the men, that too only the Brahmin men could do that. Courtesans? Oh yes, please, women were welcomed into that profession with open arms. Literally. Many fathers had eagerly allowed their daughters and even actively enabled it in some instances. Kings, and the rich of Paithan and surrounding provinces paid well in gold.

Ilaa had on previous occasions pointed out that Saraswati, the ancient goddess of knowledge that they worshipped, herself held a musical instrument in her hand. But her father had dismissed such arguments branding her a ‘rebel’.

laa meekly followed her father towards their field, wiping her blood stained mouth with the edge of her pallu. Her father had many vices – he drank the locally brewed liquor like there was no tomorrow. He beat his wife and kids mercilessly, not because he didn’t like them, but because he did not know what else to do with the various frustrations in his life. For all his shortcomings, he protected his daughters from the courtesan trade fiercely. His strategy was to marry them off as early as possible. While he had achieved it with the rest of his daughters, Ilaa was the stubborn one, refusing to get married.

Entering her field, Ilaa picked the cotton from the plants while replaying in her mind what her father had told her all those years ago. Her interest in music, especially singing, was dangerous, because it would put her in the spotlight. Yes, she only sang for the one she loved the most, but the Brahmins who took it as their right alone to display such godly devotion would not hesitate in forcing her into the business of pleasure. And this was her father’s worst nightmare. So for years, he kept her musical talent a secret, locked away from the rest of the world, while trying his best to pursue his daughter to give it up. At fifteen, she was past her ‘eligible’ age when it came to the marriage market and despite her father’s varied threats and pleas, she remained steadfast in her resolution to not marry.

She felt a hand tap her shoulder. “Ilaa, its me Madhav.” She turned around, trying to hide her face, lest he see the dried blood around her mouth. She covered her face with her pallu. “What is it Madhav?” Her voice carried a tinge of irritation.

“The Maharaja is about make his procession through the central streets of Paithan later tomorrow afternoon! Don’t you want to watch our great King in flesh and blood?” Madhav and Ilaa had been friends since the time they were born. A year older than her, Madhav had also managed to stay unmarried. Though his reason had been different – it was well known that Madhav was in love with Ilaa and was waiting for her to consent to their marriage. Unfortunately, Ilaa did not reciprocate his feelings and while she was fond of him, she had been clear that she did not feel the same way for him.

Ilaa stared hard at Madhav. “The Maharaja? You mean…?”

Madhav smiled at her. “Yes Ilaa. Shivaji Maharaja himself with his entire army is making his way through Paithan on his way to Sinhagadh.” Ilaa didn’t need a second invitation. She dropped the sickle from her hands and ran behind Madhav as they jumped onto a waiting bullock cart. Ilaa’s father’s attempts at a protest went unheard, as Ilaa’s bullock cart was quick to leave Sauviragram behind in a puff of dust.

Over the next day their cart entered Paithan and both Ilaa and Madhav joined the huge crowd in the commercial centre of Paithan. They were just in time to hear the royal bugles sound, as a teenage Shivaji Maharaja marched on a regal horse, waving to the citizens of his land.

Ilaa and Madhav, despite being late were lucky to find a high vantage point where they got an unobstructed view of the great King of their land! Ilaa gasped as the young man they all unanimously admired passed them amidst a spray of flowers and cheers. “Oh Madhav! I want to be loved, like he is. I want every house in our land to know my name, like they know his!” She said, dreamily.

Madhav studied Ilaa, the girl he loved. “Have you been practising playing the cymbals like I told you?”

She gave him a sharp, unforgiving look for bringing her back to the real world. “Cymbals? Do you want to know what my father did when he discovered the cymbals you gifted me?”

Madhav shook his head, considering various options, all of which her father was capable of, until Ilaa answered it for him. “He threw it into the Godavari!”

Madhav’s face wore a grim look. “I have been asked by Jagnade to join him as a cymbal player. He said there are two slots available.”

“But they always give these jobs to the men only! Who cares about girls like me?”

“Ilaa,” he said touching her hand for the first time, “I know you want to be known as a composer and a singer. The kind of songs you write, what people call abhangs, are very popular these days. But you need to take it step by step.”

“So what do you suggest I do?”

“Join our team. I will talk to Jagnade. He is a very practical man.”

“Who are we playing cymbals for?”

“For Tukaram Ji.”

Ilaa heaved a deep sigh. “He himself is being castigated by all the Brahmins. Being a man, even he can’t break through all the barriers. Who will accept me, a woman, as a musician?”

“Yes, but he is doing it the right way. And if you want to be a household name, you need to be part of his team. Become one of his cymbal players.”

Ilaa bit her nails. “Will they ever take a girl on their team? Will Tukaram Ji agree?”

“He and you desire the same thing. To use music to reach Vittala!”

Ilaa considered Madhav’s suggestion carefully. “Where will we meet Jagnade?”

“Here in Paithan. Both he and Tukaram Ji are in Paithan, as we speak.”

Ilaa gave him a mischievous smile as what Madhav had done dawned upon her. “You brought me to Paithan, not to see Shivaji Maharaja, but to meet Jagnade and Tukaram Ji!”

“Well, Shivaji Maharaja too. How many can claim to have seen him in their lifetime?” Madhav managed uncomfortably, at having been caught out.

Madhav took Ilaa to the temporary residence of Tukaram Ji. Jagnade welcomed them at the footsteps of the house. “So this is the girl you are talking about?” Jagnade studied Ilaa from head to toe. It was obvious to Ilaa that he was not impressed. Instead, he looked concerned and in obvious doubt over whatever claims Madhav had made on her behalf. “OK,” he said, seeming to collect his thoughts, “let us go and meet Tukaram Ji.”

On her way Ilaa thought about Jagnade. There had been strong rumours floating around that both him and Tukaram Ji were taking the state by storm through their demonstrations of bhakti through music. The Brahmins had strongly opposed it, condemning Tukaram Ji and his coterie of musicians and followers openly. But it was their young ruler, Shivaji Maharaja, who despite the pressure from the Brahmins was vocal in his praise of Tukaram Ji and Jagnade. The man she had just met and the man she was about to meet were not ordinary by any measure.

Tukaram Ji, about twenty years older than Ilaa, exuded a captivating aura of wisdom and calm, as he addressed Ilaa. “Ilaa, Madhav speaks very highly of you.”

That day Ilaa performed on the cymbals and sang her compositions while Tukaram and his entire team listened on in rapt admiration. But Shankar Nath, one of the musicians had grave concerns. “Tukaram Ji, I will adhere by anything you say. But will our people accept us, if we have a woman in our midst?”

“You speak of her like she is an unwanted rodent!” Tukaram Ji’s voice rose in anger. “Like you, me and the rest of us, she wants to reach Vittala through our songs. Vittala does not differentiate between men and women. So then, why should we?” He turned towards an anxiety stricken Ilaa. “Fear not, you are one of us. You will henceforth be known as one of Tukaram’s fourteen cymbal players.”

But Shankar Nath was still not convinced. “I agree Tukaram Ji. But the Brahmins are already on our case. They question our caste and our right to exhibit devotion. Crediting Ilaa, as talented as she is, with composing and singing abhangs, will only make things harder for us.”

Tukaram Ji was about to respond, when Jagnade jumped in. “I do see Shankar Nath’s point. We can’t alienate the masses; without their support we may not be able to stop the Brahmins from having their way.”

Tukaram Ji took a deep sigh before clearing his throat to make an announcement. “Alright! Until the time is right, we will hide Ilaa’s identity as a composer. I hope that’s alright with you Ilaa?”

Warding off the reluctance, Ilaa shook her head in agreement. Anything was better than being stuck on a cotton farm.

That night, Ilaa came to the realisation that she had effectively run away from home. In coming with Madhav, she had actually turned her back on her family and rebelled. In the matter of a single day, her life had taken a sharp turn. She went to sleep with a fervent prayer on her lips.

**

Over the next few weeks Ilaa became an integral part of Tukaram Ji’s group of fourteen cymbal players. She also doubled up as composer and created many abhangs with Tukaram Ji. With pressure from the Brahmins mounting, Tukaram Ji continued to play it safe and with great reluctance gave credit for one of the abhangs to Madhav, when in truth it was Ilaa who had composed it.

In private, Tukaram Ji and his men begged Ilaa for forgiveness and applauded her for the strength of devotion and melody in her compositions.

Almost a year after they first began spreading their music, having set base in the town of Pandharpur, Madhav informed Ilaa that they would be travelling to Paithan and Sauviragram. Ilaa was tense at first, but Tukaram Ji assured her by asking her if she truly believed in what she was doing.

After walking through the streets of Paithan and performing to the crowds, they finally made their way to Sauviragram. A huge crowd had gathered and fell silent the moment Tukaram Ji began to address the people of Sauviragram. “The abhang we will now sing is written by one of you. Your very own Ilaa.”

 A surprised and grateful Ilaa recovered, wishing Tukaram Ji had given some warning, and cleared her throat. Before she could begin singing, she saw her father in the crowd.

The tear-strewn face of his looked a few years younger than when she had left him. Convinced that she had seen an approving smile make its way slowly across his face, Ilaa began her song.

**

REGISTER FOR LUCKY DRAW – BOLLYWOOD THROUGH THE AGES

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Birthday Gift For Krishna, ‘The Butter Thief’!

Hi All,

Let me get right into it. Here’s what I have in mind: For a long time, I have been wanting to record a spiritual song. I wanted to do it in a way that connects with the youth, but still retains the divinity of the song. So the plan is to do a song for Krishna before his upcoming birthday on Sep 5. BUT I am going to put all the shame aside and ASK for your help in getting this song recorded.  If you are keen to HELP me bring this one song to life and give a collective birthday gift to Krishna, then please open your hearts and your wallets and donate to the bank account below:

BSB: 033017

A/C no: 291255

In the ref, please type ‘Krishna’ and email me on shriram2.iyer2@gmail.com advising me of the donation.

YOU CAN DONATE ANY AMOUNT YOU WISH. BUT IF YOU DONATE $101.00 YOU WILL BE CREDITED AS AN EXECUTIVE PRODUCER ON THE SONG!

What’s the song? Well, that’s a surprise. I am sure you trust me enough to make a sound decision on that :) But you should know this – the song will be professionally recorded, produced and mixed and I will do all I can to make Krishna approve it. BUT, time is short. I want to release this on September 5!

In advance, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Looking forward to working with you all!!

Lots of love,

Shriram Iyer.

Birthday Gift For Krishna!

Hi All,

 

Let me get right into it. Here’s what I have in mind: For a long time, I have been wanting to record a spiritual song. I wanted to do it in a way that connects with the youth, but still retains the divinity of the song. So the plan is to do a song for Krishna before his upcoming birthday on Sep 5. BUT I am going to put all the shame aside and ASK for your help in getting this song recorded.  If you are keen to HELP me bring this one song to life and give a collective birthday gift to Krishna, then please open your hearts and your wallets and donate to the bank account below:

BSB: 033017

A/C no: 291255

In the ref, please type ‘Krishna’ and email me on shriram2.iyer2@gmail.com advising me of the donation.

YOU CAN DONATE ANY AMOUNT YOU WISH. BUT IF YOU DONATE $101.00 YOU WILL BE CREDITED AS AN EXECUTIVE PRODUCER ON THE SONG!

What’s the song? Well, that’s a surprise. I am sure you trust me enough to make a sound decision on that :) But you should know this – the song will be professionally recorded, produced and mixed and I will do all I can to make Krishna approve it. BUT, time is short. I want to release this on September 5!

In advance, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Looking forward to working with you all!!

 

Lots of love,

 

Shriram Iyer.

 

 

 

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About Mrs Rajagopalan

  Letter from Mrs Rajagopalan

To Mr Chetan Sukhani,

Why am I writing a letter to the killer of my husband? Why must I reach out to the murderer of my child? I think you know why.

I met Sunder, the love of my life for the first time on the day we got married. An arranged marriage. He was a stranger, and yet within a few hours he became my other half.

I had always wanted to be a dancer, but my parents would have none of it. This was after they put me through ten years of training, staged an arangetram and even convinced me to have a website. After all that they expected me to marry a stranger and spend the rest of my life being a housewife! Yes, the great paradox of parenting.

But this is not about them. As it turned out, that stranger happened to understand what my heart really beat for, in a way my parents never could.  He let me chase dance with a passion that no one else would. He let me unleash my yearning and pour my energies into that art form.

I still remember when he came home tired from work one day. “How was your day?” he asked. It was not the first time that he had asked me  before I could ask him the same question. I was just a boring housewife and he was the one with the interesting stories to tell. But that was him. Always putting me ahead of him.

“Nothing. The usual,” I said, cutting the vegetables up.

“Did you dance?” he would ask with a gleam in his eye.

“A little.”

“How much is a little?” he prodded.

“About four hours!” I said, sheepishly

His impressed eyes were to die for. “That is a little.” He said mocking me. “You know Radha, I have been thinking, why don’t you start a dance school?”

“But where?”

“Here at home.”

And just like that he had once again picked up on what I wanted. So began Radha’s school of dance with our neighbour as my first student.

The years went by and we had all the happiness in the world. After four years we finally decided it was time for us to try to start a family. For the first six months, we didn’t worry about anything. And then the doubts started emerging. The questions started forming. And we didn’t have  the answers. To ourselves and our probing family members, hope was dwindling away.

The shocking revelation at the doctors only confirmed the worst. “Mrs Rajagopalan, your ovaries are not capable of producing an egg,” said the doctor.

For the doctor it was just a simple medical fact. For us it was a world of dreams dissolving in a second. But again, when  I had started developing a sense of negativity towards myself, and cursed my luck, he displayed a rare sense of calm and lack of judgement. He didn’t have a stern word for me, but instead comforted me in every way.

“Radha,” he said one night, “ it’s OK if we don’t have kids. Think about how much money we would save.”

“As if you care about saving money” I retorted. “So Sunder, are you really not keen to have kids?”

“I am. But at the end of the day it’s not in our hands. I am happy just with the two of us. Until we get old.”

“But I want a kid Sunder.”

“Well if you really want one, then we can consider adoption.”

And just like that, the seed of adoption was sowed in my mind. But the process was harder than we first thought. We had to save up much more than we had planned. Sunder worked day and night over the next six years and we were finally ready.

The adoption house sent us a photo of a little boy. He was only three years old. I loved his wide smile the second I saw it. With my ailing mother-in-law at home, only Sunder could go to the adoption place in Calcutta.

He reached and called me after doing the paperwork at the adoption centre. I spoke to our adopted son on the phone – we had named him Keshava. After a few hours, Sunder called me again from the airport saying that he had checked-in and that little Keshava was very excited about the airport.

I hung up and began preparing all the wonderful dishes I knew. I wanted my son to eat like a prince and I waited to welcome Sunder, the King of my world.

They never came home Mr Sukhani. I never saw them again.

And I hold you responsible.

I have lived with the past for the last ten years. When I received that phone call from Melbourne, my world collapsed yet again. I sent all my students and teachers home and immediately went back to my house and thought about what that gentleman had said.

He had requested me to think beyond the anger and the pain. To think about justice. For many years I believed that Sunder and little Keshava were taken away by fate. By accident. Now I know they were taken away by you. You would have had your reasons, I know, but frankly I don’t care. I want justice.

And if justice is to be served, then I request you to do the right thing. And that’s why I write to the man who destroyed my kingdom, begging him to do the right thing.

Thank you,

Radha Rajagoplan

I, The Prisoner

“Sorry birdie, you are not allowed to fly. Here, let’s clip those wings of yours.” Imagine a bird’s reaction to something like that. An ostrich might not care much, but what about the others?

Or if you told a lion, that he is not allowed to roar. Or imagine forcing the wind to not blow. Or telling a river to not flow. Or scolding a new-born for crying when it’s hungry. ‘Finger-wagging’ and all. What about, caging an elephant in a cell that just about allows him to move an inch either side?

My point is, who in this world likes to be a captive? Who in this world enjoys doing something against their free will? Who becomes a prisoner by choice? I certainly have not met anybody like that to date.

Gather all the dense clouds in the world. Pile them in layers and try and prevent the sun from shining through. You might get short-lived success, but in the end, the sun will succeed in doing what it’s meant to do. Shine.

I recall an incident many years ago. I would have been 16, I think. I was in the ‘unreserved’ compartment of a train on a four-hour journey from Vapi to Vadodara, my hometown. With no company, I did what even then I loved doing most. I sang for four hours straight until I reached home. At first in the din in the compartment, with babies screaming, mothers gossiping, livestock blaring (oh yeah!), farmers haggling and ten people sharing a seat, I was safe to sing to myself without anyone complaining. But by the end of the journey I had at least four to five listeners sharing my passion for Mohd Rafi and Kishore Da. When I got off the train at Vadodara, I felt liberated. A free man who had been given permission to let his soul soar into the skies of music.

A rare permission indeed. For even then I would hear this statement quite often. “Please don’t sing on the road, because that is embarrassing!” Sometimes I would duly shut up, but the urge to sing, the need to express myself with freedom would be overpowering.

Luckily, there were others who shared my crazy, unrestrained passion to sing. I remember sitting on two-wheelers with my friends and singing with abandon all along the streets of Vadodara, with not a care in the world. Priceless moments, whose value simply cannot be measured in any currency.

In India, there was a phase when we would have a half-hour scheduled power cut every day in the night. Neighbouring families would get together and together we would all sing film songs until the lights came back and life would take over once again.

Many years later, in the corporate world, how was I meant to control myself for 10 hours? Over the years, I have done a remarkable job of not breaking into song during presentations and the bazillion meetings I have been in. But find me an empty elevator and even if there are only a few floors to go there is always enough time to sing just the one line! My timing was immaculate – I had mastered the art of stopping my song just before the doors of the lift would open.

Mr. Life with all his peculiarities can be quite a prison guard, tying you down to your responsibilities and shackling you to the various demands of our careers, relationships etc. But when those moments come to express yourself, grab it with both hands.

Now, I have written a lot, and haven’t sung a line all day so far. Time to find a quiet corner and get those vocal chords going, I say! :)

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