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Authors: Durjoy Datta
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aggressive. The recording studio Devrat is supposed to record in has pushed his recording an hour for the previous singer, Karthika, who is taking a little bit long.
Devrat gestures at him to calm down and Sumit smiles at him. Once he’s done with the call, he tells Devrat, ‘You have to throw your weight around. Artiste tantrums are also the reason why artistes become stars. Once everyone talks about the fit you threw they will think you deserved to throw a tantrum.’
‘That weirdly makes sense to me. You’re corrupting me, Sumit,’ says Devrat and lights a cigarette. ‘Sometimes I think I was better off studying mechanics of solids and worrying about end semesters.’
‘You will be the most famous twenty-one-year-old musician in the country. That sure beats mechanics of solids,’ says Sumit. ‘And keep the smoke out of my clothes!’
Devrat checks his phone. He’s moved on from his archaic Nokia and has a new phone in his hands. He was told by Karishma that it has a lot of applications and is fun to play around with it, but he doesn’t know what to do with it. He sure wishes Arundhati likes another picture, or mails him, anything that gives him a sign that she’s not happy and she would be back with him soon enough. And that’s when he doesn’t even want her anymore. It’s just revenge now. He wants her just to show that she wants him.
He swipes across left, then right, and then locks the screen; he admits to himself that Candy Crush is pretty addictive and Temple Run is kind of good.
He checks his Facebook profile. There are people from his college congratulating him for whatever he’s doing, people he didn’t really talk to when he was with them, and Devrat is thinking that maybe they are little jealous of him, maybe there are wishing that his music thing is short-lived. Devrat, too, is scared about that. The student Devrat always keeps reminding the musician Devrat of that. The opportunity cost of trying to be a musician is high. He has already lost a couple of years, a girlfriend, and a little bit of his sanity.
He updates his profile, ‘Going to the studio to record a new song. Excited!’
Within seconds it’s liked by a few people, the first of whom is a girl called Avanti. Usually, he wouldn’t check anyone’s profile but the phone’s new and expensive and it’s uselessness is making him feel guilty about buying it. He swipes to her profile and sees the thumbnail picture of the girl who looks kind of pretty and out of Devrat’s league.
‘Hey!’ shrieks Sumit.
Devrat is startled and he closes the application, as if he was caught watching porn. ‘What!’
‘You just updated your status. That’s the way to go! Social media and all that, connecting and engaging with fans! Who’s profile were you on? She looked pretty!’ exclaims Sumit.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
They reach the recording studio after a brief stopover at a roadside stall for a quick meal. Sumit tells Devrat he would soon have to stop doing this, because after he records this song, and he shoots the video, and the video goes viral on YouTube, he would be mobbed.
‘Who’s the last person with whom this happened?’ asks Devrat nonchalantly.
After thinking for about fifteen minutes during which Devrat played the same level of Candy Crush over and over again, Sumit answers, ‘Justin Bieber!’
‘Exactly my point,’ says Devrat, fully knowing that video and the song would sink without a trace. Who cares about pop/rock songs anywhere? Most independent singers spend their lives singing hit Bollywood songs on garbha nights, or worse, record devotional songs on their tunes.
They are in the waiting room when the owner of the studio walks in and apologizes for the delay. He tells Devrat and Sumit that they can wait in the recording room if they want to. Devrat says a ‘why not’ and they walk into the heavily insulated recording room. There are two sound technicians working and they look
Devrat gestures at him to calm down and Sumit smiles at him. Once he’s done with the call, he tells Devrat, ‘You have to throw your weight around. Artiste tantrums are also the reason why artistes become stars. Once everyone talks about the fit you threw they will think you deserved to throw a tantrum.’
‘That weirdly makes sense to me. You’re corrupting me, Sumit,’ says Devrat and lights a cigarette. ‘Sometimes I think I was better off studying mechanics of solids and worrying about end semesters.’
‘You will be the most famous twenty-one-year-old musician in the country. That sure beats mechanics of solids,’ says Sumit. ‘And keep the smoke out of my clothes!’
Devrat checks his phone. He’s moved on from his archaic Nokia and has a new phone in his hands. He was told by Karishma that it has a lot of applications and is fun to play around with it, but he doesn’t know what to do with it. He sure wishes Arundhati likes another picture, or mails him, anything that gives him a sign that she’s not happy and she would be back with him soon enough. And that’s when he doesn’t even want her anymore. It’s just revenge now. He wants her just to show that she wants him.
He swipes across left, then right, and then locks the screen; he admits to himself that Candy Crush is pretty addictive and Temple Run is kind of good.
He checks his Facebook profile. There are people from his college congratulating him for whatever he’s doing, people he didn’t really talk to when he was with them, and Devrat is thinking that maybe they are little jealous of him, maybe there are wishing that his music thing is short-lived. Devrat, too, is scared about that. The student Devrat always keeps reminding the musician Devrat of that. The opportunity cost of trying to be a musician is high. He has already lost a couple of years, a girlfriend, and a little bit of his sanity.
He updates his profile, ‘Going to the studio to record a new song. Excited!’
Within seconds it’s liked by a few people, the first of whom is a girl called Avanti. Usually, he wouldn’t check anyone’s profile but the phone’s new and expensive and it’s uselessness is making him feel guilty about buying it. He swipes to her profile and sees the thumbnail picture of the girl who looks kind of pretty and out of Devrat’s league.
‘Hey!’ shrieks Sumit.
Devrat is startled and he closes the application, as if he was caught watching porn. ‘What!’
‘You just updated your status. That’s the way to go! Social media and all that, connecting and engaging with fans! Who’s profile were you on? She looked pretty!’ exclaims Sumit.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
They reach the recording studio after a brief stopover at a roadside stall for a quick meal. Sumit tells Devrat he would soon have to stop doing this, because after he records this song, and he shoots the video, and the video goes viral on YouTube, he would be mobbed.
‘Who’s the last person with whom this happened?’ asks Devrat nonchalantly.
After thinking for about fifteen minutes during which Devrat played the same level of Candy Crush over and over again, Sumit answers, ‘Justin Bieber!’
‘Exactly my point,’ says Devrat, fully knowing that video and the song would sink without a trace. Who cares about pop/rock songs anywhere? Most independent singers spend their lives singing hit Bollywood songs on garbha nights, or worse, record devotional songs on their tunes.
They are in the waiting room when the owner of the studio walks in and apologizes for the delay. He tells Devrat and Sumit that they can wait in the recording room if they want to. Devrat says a ‘why not’ and they walk into the heavily insulated recording room. There are two sound technicians working and they look
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