Nov 25, 2019

The trap of second comings

They say that the second coming is never quite the same as the first- and the incandescence of the first time in any successful endeavour is a tough act to follow. Parallels particularly present themselves from the rock music industry where there is a band that brilliantly bursts into the scene and produces some magic on their first album- never to quite repeat that ever again. Infact , our own bangla band in Singapore was a bit like that. In 2011 no one expected much from a pot pourri of amateurs that were only marginally bengali or even Indian to begin with but who took the stage innocuously at 9.30 pm on Nabami Night. What followed were some high quality renditions of familiar band songs. It left many people in the audience in awe- not just entertained. Bengalis are notoriously squeamish about offering any praise in matters beyond their ken. Music was one of those subjects where they , generally speaking, could be said to profess some degree of knowledge thanks to their well- documented contribution to this firmament. Therefore one can only imagine the degree of vitriol in their criticism that might ensue in the event they were actually displeased with a performance. However we  bucked this trend magnificently. Partly because expectations were low- all of the previous such endeavours had revolved around the rather self-indulgent endeavours of a stratocaster-brandishing Ambarish Ghosh- who , contrary to his genuine passion for performance, left a bit to be desired in terms of quality. Under that backdrop we had sounded ethereal. The other part was the novelty that was visible in the band’s gender and ethnic make up- a singaporean female chinese guitarist , Wendy,  and a singaporean chinese drummer Govin(d) who’s dad was a Hare Krishna cult follower added some serious differentiation. It heralded possibilities of what could be done culturally by thinking ever so slightly outside the box. One of our two lead vocalists had relayed the story of this band and our performance to the features section of the main bangla language daily in kolkata, the editor of which was his school friend.  In a week we were on a kolkata newspaper before we knew what was happening- with far flung cousins and aunts calling my parents with felicitations. 

Alas, the following year we could not pull off the same.  In the first instance Wendy, the singaporean guitarist wanted to be paid- which no one in the puja committee was willing to do.  Secondly, friction ensued between two lead vocalists related to how many songs each singer would sing within the set. One of the singers was markedly more talented than the other but the latter was better connected in bengali society- which was essential to navigate a highly political cultural space to get us the gigs we needed- much like a manager of the band. So each brought something to the table although I had been dismissive of the importance of the latter. Arindam, the heavy hitter when it came to vocals, wanted to sing atleast 8 songs out of our usual set of 10 effectively asking Debashish to move to being a manager of the band rather than a performing member. Debashish, the lesser singer , wanted to split the honors down the middle- because, while able to do the manager duties, it is the singing on stage that made him happy. So, at the margin, the beef was only really about  three songs - but as things unfolded it seemed an irreconcilable chasm. The bassist Sanjib and I ended up rallying behind Arindam- for it was clear to us that debashish’s singing would destroy the brand promise of quality that we had so carefully managed to craft the previous year.  Not to mention there were aspects of his personality we found annoying. We tiptoed around all of this until someone had to call out the elephant in the room- and it ended up being me. It was going to be a 7 / 3 split in favor of Arindam .. or Debashish would have to leave the band.  Which he did. 

What followed was a fusillade of unpleasantness from all quarters. Debashish’s sister in law who had been visiting from kolkata when this happened, led the charge with a rant against us on facebook. People close to Debashish found out what was going on quickly, for Debashish was not one to shy away from public whingeing and also a selective rendition of facts related to the matter. His wife stopped talking to mine. We stopped getting invited to parties. People in the puja committee and their attendant obsequious retinue began to give us funny looks and I distinctly felt less welcome within the bengali stronghold- of which I was a decidedly peripheral member to begin with. In short, the sacking of debashish led to such a centripetal force directed at myself that I felt a bit like the erstwhile planet Pluto in our solar system in the last days of its membership of the milky way.

There was atleast one close friend who had told me that what I had done was unwise. I paid no heed to that at the time. We ended up playing the following year with Arindam singing all the songs- and singing them well. But somehow the audience response felt muted. The audio quality was poorer than the previous year. The time slot allotted to us was cut short  during our performance because the overall evening program had been running late, and, being Singapore, there was a hard stop at 10 pm for open air performances. It was baffling to me - where it seemed that a divine conspiracy was unfolding to make us pay for what we had done. I could feel the whiff of a lesson somewhere in all of this, subliminally suggesting itself to my inner voice ,clawing at my erstwhile self-assuredness, one barb at a time.

It so happened that I left singapore shortly after, just like Pluto. Therefore there was no real opportunity to make amends- and it didnt seem at the time that anything could be reconciled without relinquishing a collective ego of the band- not just of one individual. The lesson, though, for me was that when an endeavor leads to a good outcome we must realise that it is fragile and try to preserve it at all costs before it reaches its natural end anyway.

Because a good experience or outcome, especially when not engendered by some disproportionate effort, is a random act of nature where order has grown out of chaos. Equally there is chaos that slips into order with civic ease and our job as humans is to mediate between the two and keep the two in balance. This is not just me saying it- it is an established theosophical concept in Judaism - think Tohu and Tikkun and also a notion steeped in Far Eastern philosophy- think Yin and Yang.  We could have mediated between the two a lot better and had we done so we would not have let Debashish leave the band.

Last week, days before what seemed to be an unravelling of the second coming of our brilliant goa reunion of schoolmates in 2017, I put this lesson into action- and I must say it paid off spectacularly.

It all began in mid 2017 when a few of us that had been somewhat close at school and were in the vicinity of India wanted to organise a reunion in Goa. That was anything but unique- loads of people organise reunions in Goa- it is one of the emerging cliches of the better-heeled Indians from Generation X and Y.  It was a closed invitation to 20-odd people of which 13 accepted. I think it was  doha- based Nishith and mumbai- based Roopa who led the charge with the organising. We were 5 or 6 in dubai from our graduating class- quite a significant number-of which 4 of us agreed to make the trip in the end. There was a party of 3 from mumbai, 1 from bangalore, 2 from Gurgaon, 1 from Pune, 1 from Manila ( though he was a roving lunatic- passed through timezones like underwear) and bringing up the Middle East vanguard was Nish from Doha and the fantastic four from Dubai. 13 was my lucky number so that was all good. I knew everyone in the group except for Madhukar from Mumbai so that was all right as well. Most of the folks I was not much in touch with although I did meet some in a school reunion in Jamshedpur in 2011. Prior to the reunions there had been some rumblings around the guest list- especially when it was revealed that many did not make the cut. The people who had not made it to the 20 were mostly not close to the selected 20- but there were obviously individuals within the invitees who were close to some others in their personal capacity- either because they lived in the same city or shared some other connective tissue. Equally, 7 of the 20 likely did not accept for a spectrum of reasons ranging from being keen but financially or otherwise constrained to being positively apathetic- not deeming this meeting as worth their time.

Either way, it was unknown territory for the 13 of us. As we later admitted, most of us were skeptical about how this would all turn out. It is a self selecting group but would we be pleased to re-aquaint or aquaint ourselves ? Would we feel good in each other’s company? Would we leave the venue with a spring in our step having absorbed positivity from each other- especially since this was almost like a reality show for 2 or 3 days- and if there is any reality in reality shows, and that is one big if,  it suggests that there are always problems that arise fairly quickly.

However, what happened was not something any of us would have anticipated. We started drinking and one-by-one letting loose. Each reaction then elicited further openness until it was an orgy of good -hearted, honest improvisations that blossomed out for 3 days like an anar or tubri ( a pyramid-shaped indian firecracker that is a Diwali mainstay) on steroids. You could call it drunken revelry but that would be a characterisation that would be  unsophisticated at best and false at worst. Interspersed within these improvisations were banter, innuendo, double -entendres, wordplay, natural sketch comedy all underpinned by unbridled laughter.  Each of us had a good time but more importantly, discovered the vestiges of a genuine relationship that would benefit the spirit- which seems all too elusive even for the least cynical amongst us.  The conditions for this to happen were met because of several happy accidents- but for me the most important of these was the one wherein the 13 of us largely happened not take ourselves too seriously.  But given the favourable conditions,  why things played out as they did is relatively inexplicable or rather is difficult to do without losing oneself (and everyone else) in a painful vortex of verbosity.  The thumbnail word that is often used to describe such a phenomenon is “Chemistry”- in this context if I were to use an analogy from optics, a series of micro-constructive interferences- each generating the next and spreading rapidly to create a blanket of warm fluffy feelings- like trust, love and goodwill.