And that article made me a writer..... I became a correspondant for the youth magazine Junior Statesman (which jug Suraiya has written about in a newly published book,) It was a period of writing about artists, music, just about anything..... Desmond Doig was an editor parexcellance... he would meet us in the Mumbai Statesman office and every idea would be laughingly welcomed, grown, watered and each writer felt the flame of excitement which gave work that needed zing. I used to take the photographs too and this article got me a letter from Desmond, welcoming me to the small grop of photojournalists in India............. that made my day, month, year ....
The malavli youth festival
It was the cold night breeze, the mountains all around, the green living trees, the feel of the earth and grass beneath cement weary feet. Like Dylan sings, ‘because the wind is high it blows mai mind.’ And the wind was blowing even higher, even cooler, cleaner and stronger at the Sneha Yatra at Malavli. The three-day youth festival that everyone had been waiting for (JS, Oct. 21).
Anyone who came looking for a Woodstock, a rock-beat whack-out and a pseudo imitation of the West were most disappointed. It was simple the first time in India that youth –mainly from Bombay, Poona, Delhi, Goa, Calcutta, Madras, Bangalore, Nagpur, Surat, Hyderabad, came together for the three-day youth festival at Sneha Yatra-Malavli_80 miles into the Ghats from Bombay. They came mainly for the atmosphere, three days to be just what you feel like with thousands others like yourself. To be among 2,000 people of your own age is quite an experience.
It was holiday time, so everybody-working people and students-could make it. It was the time for festivals-Diwali of lights, New Year of happiness, Bhai Tikka for brothers, and Ramzan Eid to start eating regularly again. Ramzan Eid-specially famous for the moon that night, an iota of a silver lining in a semi-circle curve. Everyone knew-it was just in the air-that it was a time to feel together.
Surprisingly, there were many girls-about 1,000 out of a total of 4,000 that came at some time or the other to Malavli. There was Anita, in bell bottoms who came blazing in behind a zooped up motorbike; there was a teacher of social work with three students: who had come to sleep on a blanket under the zillion stars.
The guys present were of all shapes and kinds-straight, squares, intellectuals, pseudo, movie makers, writers, advertising men (unavoidable), engineers, school dropouts, music bugs, radicals-everyone just had to “like make the sd3ne, man.”
Foreigners were present in a large dose than usual-for once, it was them adding colour and spice to a purely local happening.
Yes, there was music, music of all kinds, to immerse yourself, to forget oneself, to feel together.
First the unforgettable cold. The days were warm, what with the sun out. At 5.30 the sun started its daily trip out over the mountains, blazing red. With the skies becoming deep blue,
(and) the first wishing star appearing, one started to feel the nip. Out came the sweaters, the blankets and music was on the air. Twos and threes huddled under blankets to keep themselves warm.
There were the beat-rock-acid groups: Country Funk Revival, Atomic Forest, Twilight Zone Brief Encounter, people. More people, Savages (all from Bombay). Windfall. Inventions of Mothers, Odyssey (from Poona). Human Bondage from Delhi (without lead Suresh who was sick). Mara from Bangalore, and High Noon way up from C a l c u t t a. Impromptu groups also sprang up.
As promised, there were other types of music. Soloists, mainly in the folk style were Ronnie Mistry (who will be on Polydor soon). Sharon Prabhakar (how deep and beautiful she sounded outdoors). Ajit Singh, Remo Fernandez (“Bye Bye Mr. American Pie” was great). Siddharth from P o n d I c h e r r y and Ganga Waters.
And there was the classical Indian music.
It was for the first time since the Delhi JS Musical happening in 1971 that classical musicians played in an atmosphere like this. I’m sure the audience had been into classical music at some time or the other, but it was the time it was being presented to them as part of “the scene.”
Sure, there were two or three rowdy groups that shouted and made things embarrassing and annoying. But for most of the people it was the most enjoyable part of the show.
Ustad Ahmjad Ali Khan (sarod) with Latif Ahmen on the tablas were the undisputed hits. Latif played a table solo, and then Ahmhad began Malkauns with no “alap.” When he put down his sarod to walk off-stage, there were waves of screams “we want Ahmhad.”
Sighs of relief as he got into a Bengali folk song-its galloping rhythm had everyone clapping in one of the most beautiful, lyrical tunes there is. And Raga Bhairavi added the final touch.
Others in the classical scene were: Mohammad Rashid Khan and Mohammad Sayeed Khan who sang lyrics of Tansen. Vocals were specially difficult to understand, but they were truly fab. The beauty of the ghazal was lost to most.
Panna Mehta played ragas on the guitar, Kumari Mangala (a student of Vilayat Khan) played the sitar, and there was Shri Shekhar (sarod) and Ashok Bellare (santoor) with Uday Raikar accompanying on the tablas.
The highlight came when the person next to me could stand it no longer. The jualbandhi (duet) was getting faster and faster. He just had to get up, and start dancing. It was just great.
All musicians, for the love of music and youth, played free. There were discussions during the day-led by Prof. Raman from Tata Institute of Fundamental Research, Perm Shankar Jha (assistant editor of Times), Kabir Bedi and Vasant Deshmukh, (a noted Marathi writer).
The apathy that exists among us today was a central theme in all discussions. This was not planned, it just happened. The show was the idea of a French man, Father Delury- “it just had to be, because we don’t care to do something for ourselves.”
“Why not?” Asked Jha. Kabir was questioning the students, “why don’t you as individuals get involved in the lives that you do something to change the wrongs that affect your own individual lives?”
The reasons were the usual ones-security, we won’t get jobs, no effect we’ll be branded. Most vocal, most angry, most anxious to do something were those who had not been affluent in their lives. The wrongs of the system hit them especially hard and they were talking. Editors of the Bombay University paper, The Movement, suggested that students send letters to them to gather strength around a particular issue, so they can question the authorities.
It is nothing more than a scratch, but it is a start in a direction. Because only when we begin to get a sense of identity, a sense of belonging to something that is here and now, a sense of what one is capable of-only then will we begin to face a social responsibility.
Here we were brought together by the music, by the atmosphere of feeling together. It was just a beginning in the search for an identity.
December 16th
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