Chasing happiness through exotic destinations or exclusive single malts may or may not be elusive. But for me, all it takes is a few bars of an old song from childhood or youth – and I’m smiling like a teenager who’s just been told his exam has been postponed.
I’ve seen technology evolve from valve radios to voice assistants who think they know my music taste. But no playlist algorithm has ever quite matched the emotional precision of the radio announcer on Vividh Bharati. One minute I’d be half-asleep on a Sunday afternoon, and the next – Lata, Kishore, Mukesh, Rafi, Hemant or Talat would start singing, and the rhythm of my breath would change. On Wednesday evenings ( or were they Tuesdays ?) it was Binaca Geet Mala on Radio Ceylon. Homework could wait.
Lush with violins, and the kind of romantic lyrics that may have felt too dramatic if they were not so achingly sincere. I may have been too young to fully grasp “Woh shaam kuch ajeeb thi”, but somehow, I felt it.
And then there was the phenomenon of The Ventures, spinning on my eldest uncle’s HMV vinyl player in my grand parents’ home in Cuttack – like rock ’n roll sports from faraway lands. Their twangy guitar transported me to an exotic world where life was cool and breezy – even if I was sweating in a banyan, hoping the ceiling fan would spin faster.
The real revolution came when we got our own vinyl record player. A used one, gifted to my father by a boyhood friend of his, who himself had received it as a gift from a relative who lived abroad. A proper machine with all parts intact – including a plastic dust cover. I was around sixteen, my siblings much younger. We had moved from Cuttack to a new town called Rourkela. I was making by new friends. Experiencing new feelings.
It was my mother and I who took the greatest delight in the unexpected bonanza . But purchasing vinyl records did not fit into her household budget. So we were only ever able to buy about half a dozen vinyls over time. But what magic they held !
Into the new machine, which I operated as if it was spacecraft, went the vinyl spells of ABBA and Boney M, alongside Mukesh and Lata Live at the Albert Hall. Of course, there was also the trusty little cassette player with a few prized tapes – including Jagjit Singh and Chitra Singh, whose ghazals floated over my bed like silken sighs.
Dancing Queen, Neena, Rivers of Babylon, Chiquitita, Ma Baker, Honey Honey – they seeped into my soul. My mother couldn’t relate to these foreign beats, but she indulged me in this regard, despite a somewhat strict household regimen in most other matters.
I even managed to get hold of the Saturday Night Fever album and tried to imitate Travolta’s moves – when no one was watching.
Before the responsibilities of a job and family took over my life completely I had the time to fall in love with others. Like the Beatles, Bob Dylan, Carpenters, Cliff Richards, Neil Diamond, Billy Joel, the Sinatras, Mehdi Hassan, Ghulam Ali, Subbulakshmi, Yesudas, Bhimsen Joshi, Kumar Gandharva, Kishori Amonkar , Farida Khanum, Eagles, Modern Talking, Simon & Garfunkel, Santana, Bob Marley, George Michael and many others.. And Jazz. And Vivaldi. And Pink Floyd of course !! Most have a back story ) including SPICMACAY and other evenings ) – some of which have faded from memory…
I was digressing…
My affair with the vinyl player lasted for about two years until we moved back from Rourkela to Cuttack – before I could dive into the musical world of Led Zeppelin or Uriah Heep in the company of a friends who was devoted to Radio Australia…
In the course of this meandering, I almost forgot to mention the legendary Akshaya Mohanty ( or Khoka Bhai) – the soul of popular Odia music for an entire generation. His mellifluous voice, laced with warmth and – and sometimes a gentle mischief, captured the imagination of young Odias everywhere. Whether it was love, longing, or laughter, he had a song for every mood – each one a story in itself. His music drifted through every bazaar and by-lane of Odisha, becoming part of the everyday soundtrack of life.
And then there is that singular, unforgettable gem – Hrudaya Re Ei Sunyata Ku – sung by Shekhar Ghosh. A one-off wonder, yes, but what a wonder it is. Every Odia with even a passing familiarity with sur and taal knows it by heart, not just as a song, but as a deep, haunting echo of solitude and yearning.
But let me not digress again…
Today, music streams, shuffles, syncs. But the songs that stir my spirits the most are the ones that remind me who I was. And every time I hear one of them – at a café, a wedding Sangeet, or by sheer YouTube accident – something in me lights up.
That’s the magic of music. It doesn’t just bring back memories – it brings back me.
I don’t know what was the ultimate fate of the old RCA vinyl player or the few vinyls we had ( or even that large Murphy radio ) but I have acquired a new turn table recently.
And now I hope to be able to listen and connect again.
With heaven.
Or with the subterranean..
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https://youtu.be/mKc3gy-SHmE?feature=shared
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An ordinary life 