My hard drive -the one with all my music and saved IM conversations and photos and stuff- has crashed. I’m not in grief, though; it’s happened so many times before that I’ve grown accustomed to it. I now know that I will be able to build by music collection back, and similarly the videos. Losing the photos is slightly more annoying, but I’m sure I can get those back too. No, I have taken this in my stride.
Almost.
Now that my cache of more than two thousand mp3s is inaccessible, the music I can listen to is limited to ninety songs that I took from Ishaan the night before the disk crashed. And- here’s the rub- nine of those ninety songs are ones that have been picturised on Shammi Kapoor. What this means is that with WinAmp on shuffle mode, every tenth song I listen to will be a Shammi Kapoor song.
That’s the theoretical ideal case. In reality, WinAmp’s shuffle is pseudorandom, not random. So it has a fondness for one particular song, which I am sure most of you will be familiar with. It goes like this:
(Percussion intro)
(Guitar Intro)
(Trumpet Intro)
(Mouth Organ Intro)Kis!
Kis kis!
Kisko! Kisko!Kisko Pyaar Karoon?
Kaise Pyaar Karoon?
Kisko Pyaar Karoon?
Kaise Pyaar Karoon?Tu Bhi Hai! Yeh Bhi Hai! Woh Bhi Hai!
Haaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiii!
Let me get things straight. I’m not ranting here. I don’t dislike the song. I’m not sick of it. I love it. If WinAmp wants me to listen to Kisko Pyaar Karoon three times an hour, that’s fine with me. I whoop and holler and sing along. In my more daring moments, I get up and do the twist.
But that isn’t all. I am now so infected with the spirit of the Swinging Sixties that when I go out to get a haircut some time in the next two weeks, I will ask the barber to give me a Shammi Kapoor puff.
Opinions on the Shammi-cut’s suitability for me are sharply divided. Ma is horrified at the idea. Manasvini says it’ll suit me. Manav was opposed to the idea until I brought up the topic of his earlier invitation to Damini, after which point he was only too eager to agree to anything I said.
There is something to be said for the puff. It epitomises joie de vivre. It will bring out my exuberance, which has been latent lately. As a style statement, it’s cheaper and more easily available than flawlessly ironed trousers, a tightly rolled umbrella, a top hat, and spats. It might even attract members of the opposite sex.
On the other hand, the puff also has its disadvantages. It’s difficult to maintain. To pull it off, you require a certain measure of boyish good looks, and mine have been vanishing due to the combined depredations of professional education, an overzealous orthodontist, and the constant company of sardars. The puff is more dated than digital wristwatches, and there is always the terrible possibility that the only members of the opposite sex it will attract will be hockey players named Meena, Reena, Tina, or Leena.
To puff or not to puff, then, is a decision not to be taken lightly. You comments and advice would be welcome.