"Local" Indians

By Allan
Prior to leaving for India, I spent many hours obsessing about downloading and uploading a variety of my favorite music to my iPhone and external hard drive. These gadgets, along with my Netbook and iTunes meant that I could have all the music I would want for eight months. Fitting these small pieces of technology into my backpack was not difficult, but what I really wanted to bring with me was a drum. In lieu of having my own drum, I really hoped that I’d meet some Indian musicians who would show me the ways of India music, especially tablas.

While pondering the idea of spending the night in an abandoned stone shelter, Philipp (our German friend), spoke of a craving for pizza. Gwen (the Frenchman) and I couldn’t argue, so we found ourselves at Jimmy’s Italian Restaurant after our ‘lost-in-the-Himalayan-mountains-for-8-hours’-hike. After my chicken sausage pizza (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t actually chicken), I noticed that some Indians were dutifully carrying in large black boxes (speaker cabinets!), and putting them on the stage near our table. Wondering what kind of band it was, I asked one of the guys what they were going to play. I was disappointed by his answer--American rock. I come all the way to India to be immersed in another culture and I end up eating tasteless pizza at an Italian restaurant while listening to hacked covers of American pop songs.

The band consisted of a bass, electric guitar, acoustic guitar, and drum machine. As soon as I saw the ancient, wrapped-in-plastic drum pad, I figured my ears were about to suffer. The previous night had been spent at a Tibetan movie premier with a Tibetan band as the opening act. I was excited to hear Tibetan music (you would think that they would play Tibetan music at a Tibetan movie premier), but instead found myself listening to heavy metal (at least they sang in Tibetan, I guess). They didn’t lack talent, but seeing Tibetans dressed like hipsters in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and rocking out on power chords was a little confusing, perhaps even disturbing. Either way, the experience caused some reservation about seeing another local band.

My technological curiosity won out, of course, and it didn’t take me long to start asking the band questions about their equipment. If you have ever known anyone in a band you know how they can blabber on for hours about their equipment. The fact is that most musicians are ‘gear heads’, and an Indian musician is no exception. After some discussion of the drum machine, I mentioned that I play a little. Immediately, Vishal explained that the drummer couldn’t make it and that I had to play! I explained that I didn’t know how to play the drum machine and that I wouldn’t know the songs anyway. His disappointment did not persuade me to potentially embarrass myself with the drum machine. He graciously conceded, “okay, no problem, no problem.” Though I might have preferred non-Western music, I must admit that the first set was a pretty good mixture of Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Metallica, and other classic rock bands.

At set break Vishal came to our table. He had noticed Nicole singing (very spiritedly) along to many of their songs and wanted her to come up and sing one. After a small discussion it was decided that she would take the lead on ‘Hey Jude,’ provided they had all the lyrics written down for her. Of course, Vishal said it was “No problem, no problem!” (Anyone who has been to India knows that when an Indian says “no problem” it usually means “don’t worry, it’ll work out.” If you plan on traveling to India just take note that usually there IS a problem, but it ALWAYS works out.) Finally, Nicole is summoned to the stage, which she does happily with a smile, her signature tye-die scarf, and a load of confidence. The band starts to play as Nicole positions herself center stage with the mic. A look of confusion emerges as the band starts to play ‘Wonder Wall’ by Oasis, and not the previously agreed upon ‘Hey Jude.” Remember “no problem!?” Luckily the audience gave Nicole some help with the lyrics but still, if I had been on stage I would have been red as a fire truck. Not my Nicole. She danced and giggled throughout the song, received the applause of the audience very gracefully, and was ready to sing another song when it was over. Turning to the band (I faintly heard her through the microphone) she requested ‘Hey Jude,’ and this time it was “no problem.” And with the start of this song, Nicole was instantly thrust into local celebrity-dom. (You know you are a local celebrity when more than one person stops you on the street to thank you for the excellent show the night before.)


Not long after, Vishal made it clear that it was my turn. (What an act to follow, by the way!) My polite refusal was obviously lost in translation, and before I knew it, I was on stage. “Just one song, you know Nirvana?” Vishal smiled. It turned out not to actually be Nirvana but it was still a great time. The audience was into it, but I was still a little nervous. What happened to Nirvana?


Post set, I agreed to come to Vishal’s studio the next day to play a little more. He wanted help tuning his new drumset. He picked me up with his motorcycle and we began weaving through cars, dodging people and cows, while cruising down a steep, unpaved and very potholed road. We were, of course, without helmets. I’ve survived Delhi, seen a dead body being carried down a trail that I was going up, and have navigated a good amount of Indian bureaucracy, but at this moment--while riding on the back of an Indian motorcycle--I questioned my mortality. I didn’t so much mind the constant honking, weaving, diesel fumes, or other crazy drivers, but the complete lack of traffic rules is somewhat concerning. There is no such thing as stopping at intersections, and if a bus is headed your way, you’d better speed the hell up.

The large two room studio was nicer than expected and stocked with gear. Before we began our music, I was served the customary cup of chai. After 1 hour the drums were tuned. Vishal played a couple of sloppy beats and then I played. Over the next 4 hours I taught Vishal basic drum rudiment exercises, simple rock and funk beats, and independence exercises. One of the other band members prepared a delicious mutton and curry dish for lunch. After playing a few songs with the entire band, it was time for my ride back home.

Hanging out with the ‘locals’ made me realize that the very concept of ‘locals‘ exists more as an idealized notion held by ‘nonlocals‘ than as an actual entity. Most Indians are equipped with mobile phones, praise Barack Obama after learning you are from the USA, watch TV shows from around the world, and have at least a basic ability to speak English (and many speak very well). I was hoping for traditional India, but got something more in tune with India Americana. The irony of India is that there is always something to be learned, but it is never the lesson you expect. India is “no problem, no problem” as long as you are open.