Who?
I am the guy your orthodox relatives disapprove of. The guy with the long curly hair and two-day stubble, clad in a black T-shirt with a violent illustration on it. The guy who listens to Metallica, Megadeth, Maiden and Motorhead. The guy who goes “fuck dude, did you get a load of that riff?”. The guy who’s ever too easily written off as pretentious. Whose air guitar and air drums skills are construed as “wannabe” behaviour. The guy who is most comfortable stringing together a coherent sentence in English.
I am the guy sitting at the table, headphones pressed into his ears, listening intently to the Floydian sound waves tenderly caressing his eardrums. The clean shaven guy in the vertical striped shirt and khaki trousers. The guy whose laptop screen toggles between the spreadsheet and the music player, and whose his head toggles between analysing numbers and deciphering basslines. The guy whom some might call academic. The guy who’s not sure of himself, and who will not in his heart of hearts accept a label he doesn’t feel he’s earned. The guy who tries a bit-half assedly to live up to the tags he wants to be associated with, and plans to succeed some day.
I am the guy seated bang in the middle of the fourth row at the carnatic music kacheri, on a plastic chair. The guy listening with rapt attention as the sounds of the vocals, the tambura, the violin and the mridangam mix into a rich melange. The guy who reacts to an emotionally charged moment in the recital with silent tears welling up in his eyes. The guy who doesn’t understand a word of the lyrics, but believes he understands the music.
The guy without a distinct, well formed identity. The guy whose silhouette is a faintly decipherable outline morphing itself into new shapes in a manner quite unlike clockwork, dancing in sync with a changing tune. His tune.
What's the need for a blog to have a title? 