Dhoti, kurta and rock and roll

It was December 6, the wedding day of my nephew. I had taken leave from work so I could attend the nuptial ceremony in my hometown— Imphal — in India.

After ages, I wore the traditional Manipuri dress: a white dhoti and white kurta with an off-white folded shawl around my neck and performed my first-ever ceremonial duty as an uncle. This meant I sat in the front row, with my two elder brothers, for nearly three hours punctuated by frequent bow-and-greet moments. A washroom break was considered impolite.

It was already night when the bride, accompanied by family members, relatives and friends, was accorded the traditional welcome to her new home.

While the elders were seated in an area marked for them, the bride's friends were led to the terrace where the big party had just begun. The place was already packed with the groom’s friends. My two brothers, one of whom being the groom’s father, and their friends had their own ‘celebrations’ on another floor of the three-storey building.

I, however, was on the terrace with the younger lot. My nephew had insisted that I do a little show with my guitar on his big day. I couldn’t say ‘no’.

To be honest, I had the feeling this would happen when I boarded the plane from Dubai and had been prepared for it. I had made a set list that would last around 20 minutes. It went like this:

1.      A medium-speed blues funk jam

2.      Blues classic I’d Rather Go Blind

3.      Solo on Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb

4.      Knocking On Heaven’s Door

I downloaded the backing tracks from YouTube and was ready.

Truth is, playing on an occasion like this or at gatherings of friends is a big deal for me these days as I am no longer in a band. There is something special about wielding the guitar and trying to connect with a live audience regardless of the size.

I started off with the blues funk which has become my staple. I knew I was playing a genre the crowd before me might be alien to. So I relied purely on energy and the emotive power of blues licks and solos to make the connection. Judging by their response, I think I succeeded.

I brought the tempo down in the next number and ushered the young listeners into a territory I knew like the back of my palm: slow blues. The song was I’d Rather Go Blind. I have watched several versions of the song — played by Jeff Beck, Joe Bonamassa, Eric Gales to name a few— and by now I know my way around it.

I could feel the crowd was with me as I went along. Those sitting and standing closest to me swayed with the beat, readily accepting the notes I was offering them, and we nodded together in agreement. The joy of it made me smile and they smiled back at me.

But tragedy struck as I reached the end of the song: the number one string broke. I finished the track somehow and told the crowd I had to wind up since I didn’t have a backup guitar.

They kept going “once more, once more”.

Well, I was sold and launched Comfortably Numb and ran through it with the remaining five strings. There were cheers, claps and encouragement as I played on. Some loud remarks made me laugh even as I tackled the song for the first time without the all-important number one string. When the tracked ended, I again tried to wrap up the session but they wouldn’t let me.

I stuck to my set list. But no sooner had I finished the first line of Knocking On Heaven’s Door than the crowd took it over from me. Out of nowhere someone brought a cajon, the wooden drum box, and joined in the fun. By this time I noticed it wasn’t just the friends of my nephew and his wife -- my two brothers and their invitees had joined the crowd. Also packing the place were my sisters and their children who were previously managing other duties.

By now people were throwing money at me. I kept playing. It had almost become an interactive session. Somebody stepped up and gathered the notes from the floor and shoved them into my kurta pockets — two on the sides and one in the front. It sparked a round of laughter. LOL: It was indeed funny.

The act finally ended (WHEW!) following an extended jam between me and the cajon player.

Two days later, I was back in Dubai and that’s when I got the shock of my life.

My sister and another nephew informed me that a video of my jam session shot by a guest had gone viral on Facebook. They sent me the link: it was 50 seconds of Comfortably Numb played on five strings. It had already received nearly 30K views. By the fifth day, it crossed 60K. I was amused and thrilled at the same time.

What touched me even more were the comments: someone remembered me from my Heavenly Fingers days. And a tear fell.