It’s a bit strange to review a book where you know so many of the characters, share a history with many of them and can still call a few of them friends. It made him famous. Gopinath, a friend and writer for Junior Statesman or JS (the only magazine that ever covered the activities of rock’n’rollers and even put our pictures on their pages), had done a story about the life of a beggar by dressing up as one and actually living on the street to write a first-hand experience. History is now going to remember me as someone I never was. At a time when reality journalism was unheard of in India, he was unique. This despite the fact that according to JS, “Suresh Shottam is about the best guitarist in the country. And best of all, I didn’t have to go to college.Y.Bhatia correctly concludes that of all the rock’n’roll musicians and bands that tried to “make it” in the big bad world in India, there’s been only one person who has succeeded.. He told me that he could make people do whatever he wanted merely by concentrating on the activity with all his focus. I remembered having a lot of fun, being surrounded by cool-looking men, being in the spotlight, which was great. My ex-husband Suresh, lead guitar player of the Human Bondage, refuses to read the book. But since he was a family friend, my mother (who didn’t give a single naya paisa for journalistic accomplishment) ordered him to accompany me in an auto each night to The Cellar (a disco in Connaught Place where I had just begun singing with the Human Bondage) and bring me back, because she didn’t trust me on my own. I couldn’t really recall any specifics. I know the musicians who read this book will certainly enjoy reliving some of their antics. I guess that’s why the word “fan” comes from the word “fanatic”. So we’ll take our 15 minutes, thank-you-very-much. Like the one about C. In a few minutes he’d be scratching his ear, unaware that a superior human being had taken control of his mind. Not Ramaswamy. It didn’t matter.
We must have made an impact because night after night there were hundreds of people listening to us and recording it in their brains.Who cares about that I wondered. Biddu put India on the map in terms of pop or rock’n’roll while most other Indian bands either faded away quietly into corporate India or the grave, because the drugs were a-plenty. “I’m writing a book about rock’n’roll in India, back in the 60s and 70s and a bit of the 80s,” he explained. I loved reading India Psychedelic.But all that fan-following and adulation didn’t lead to fame and fortune. Sidharth, if you’re reading this, my name was Radha Ramchandra. Bhatia rekindled many memories that I’d completely forgotten.But I do have one complaint. I am sure that Bhatia’s book is going to bring back forgotten memories for a lot of people who lived through that era. Art is art and Indian rock’n’roll (and jazz) artists don’t ever get the kind of recognition their hours of practice and heart-felt performances ought to command. But there’s a case for recording and preserving Indian history, no matter how thin the slice or how irrelevant the subject matter is to the larger population. I am shocked that they even remember me. He points out that while the going may have been tough for them back in the day, one of their records, Black Scorpio, sold for a whopping $3,000 on eBay in 2011. His guitar is heavily influenced by Indian classical music. And damn it if the auto guy didn’t oblige. Biddu is also a writer, and besides his autobiography, he’s written a novel. It was heady and unreal.But if I remembered nothing much (I don’t think I gave Sidharth anything concrete to go on), the opposite is true of the people who came to listen to us perform. CY would amuse me on those rides. Most of it was a dim memory.
