Rahul Dravid: Putting the ‘Gentleman’ in the Gentleman’s Game

Published first and written for: BookMyShow

(https://in.bookmyshow.com/entertainment/?p=67403)

There was a time when it wasn't the coolest thing to be a Rahul Dravid worshipper for an Indian cricket fan. It's true! There was a time when you even heard stuff like “Who Dravid?”. It's true! 

It was a time not very different from now when Indian cricket began and ended with singing praises of just one man - Sachin Tendulkar. It was a time when the soon-to-be “best Indian captain ever” – Sourav Ganguly - (debatable but then I am a Bengali) was beginning to chalk out his conquest plan. It was when this unassuming batsman from Karnataka began his journey too. And very impressively so. Nonetheless, it was a tad too early for the Archies Galleries of the country to stock Rahul Dravid posters. I tried though and not before long, I had a room with a wall dedicated to The Wall (I am sorry. I just had to say this) – unofficial bad quality posters, painfully sourced official ones, newspaper cuttings, magazine covers and the works. 

When Ganguly was impressing all and sundry with his century on Test debut in England that June of 1996, I found my hero in Dravid who fell short of being the other Indian debutant to crack a ton by just five runs. It was to perhaps mark two things that stuck with Dravid almost throughout his career – the man who played second fiddle and that man who would inevitably get out in the 90s. Gradually and thankfully, the latter was forgotten. 

There was something about the way this man faced some of the most fearsome bowlers, there was something about the way he pulled an Allan Donald-bouncer to the boundary, gracefully danced down the wicket and hit Muralitharan out of the park or hit those picture-perfect cover drives. There was a grace that back then I only found and admired in the almost flawless batting of Saeed Anwar. 

Two innings of Dravid's will forever stay with me; those drove me unashamedly to tears were his 145 in 129 balls against Sri Lanka in Taunton, England (ICC World Cup 1999) and the 180 he scored in the mammoth and very heroic 376-run stand with VVS Laxman against Australia in Eden Gardens, Kolkata in the second Test of the 2000-01 Border-Gavaskar Trophy. Each time, the “hero” was not him. Ganguly with his 183 in 158 deliveries was the Man of the Match against Sri Lanka. No one will dare to forget Laxman's knock of 281 in THAT Test Match. What was that bit about second fiddle again? 

Dravid even went ahead to say how Laxman's innings made him feel inadequate, embarrassed even. Typical of him. To take nothing away from either Ganguly or Laxman but it took two to tango and if the Wall wasn't being the Wall in each innings, history would have been very different surely.  

I discovered like the rest of the world how there was more than mere batting artistry that made Rahul Dravid the legend that he is. He defined in every sense what being a 'team player' is all about. Whether being shuffled up and down the batting order, keeping wickets to accommodate an extra batsman in the side, or even captaining a troubled team, Dravid was up to every challenge his side threw at him. 

There is a class about Dravid's cricket and character, you didn't find lying loose everywhere. You won't either for a long time to come. 

Ever since the man called it a day, there has been a favorite idea of the online content folks on every birthday of Dravid's – Quotes on Rahul Dravid that add to his greatness. Of course, there will be tributes. There better be. But there is just the one by Harsha Bhogle that sums up the cricketer and the man he is - “The wolf who lived for the pack”. Oh boy, he did!

Happy birthday, Rahul Dravid. There will never be another like you.

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All things heroic like Rahul Dravid

The Varanasi Trail

*phone rings*

I am visibly annoyed at the call. I am out on a lunch date with my wife who complains I don't spend enough weekends with her and here is Riju Dasgupta - my bandmate, my band manager, the sole reason why my wife might one day decide to give me long-lasting pain, my 'weekendstealer' and worst of all, a bassist - trying to reach me while I am devouring idli sambar and zoning the wife out. If you know me, you don't do that!

But then again, Dr. Hex has news.
"Dude, got a show offer from IIT in Varanasi".
"What? Varanasi? People want to listen to our music in Varanasi? Why?"
"I don't know, man. But the offer's great. The money's good. And it's on January 24th."

January 24th? I sheepishly look at my wife who still hasn't the slightest clue I am thinking - "New city. New people. Fucking Varanasi. Hell yeah! Let's do this shit."

And then I hear myself saying, "No man! That is the week I am moving homes. Mukta will need me."

A very apparently disappointed Riju says, "Ok man! But ...."

Cut to Utopia! All issues have been sorted. That bassist always has all the solutions. An early departure from Varanasi for me has been arranged for. Mukta was more upset about me turning down the gig than anything else. A set with incredibly long Albatross songs has been put together. What everyone conveniently forgets - We are flying SpiceJet from Bombay to the Holy City.

Yes, before we wonder if the fine lads at IIT-BHU will be enthralled much by Albatross, we are faced with a bigger question - Will SpiceJet even allow us to do the damned gig?

And then again, I have my own set of worries with a flight that is 6 hours late. "Just the gig and then fucking off the next morning. Fuck! I will not be able to see a city that had me fascinated for a long time". Of course, the vocalist in a band has the least baggage to carry on a tour, physical or otherwise.

We land in Varanasi at 8:30 pm, six hours late and very, very cold. We come from Bombay, remember? We are around 30 kms away from IIT-BHU. We are to take stage at 9 pm. "Fuck soundcheck! We will play 2 songs."

We completely don't know we have Paul Walker (God bless his soul) for two cabbies who drive those horrid, narrow streets of Varanasi piercing through blinding fog. "Boss! Theek hai. Aaram se chalao. Time pe nahi pahuche to chalega" screams Dr. Hex who probably would be telling his rosary if he was a believer. This after he had proudly declared, "Bhaiya, bhagao, ok?".

We actually make it on time. The cars stop right next to the stage. We get out of them feeling like absolute bosses. Of course, the change of clothes behind the stage in full public view is a fine reality check.

Not two songs, we play our entire set! We even manage an encore act complete with a very weird and impromptu drum solo and a guitar duel. My performance would rank among my very worst but the kids have fun and I now know, that matters a lot more. To have a bunch of them jumping onstage, kneeling down and headbanging in unison as if in a strange trance is absolutely worth 4 SpiceJet trips. To say nothing of my Bret Hart act walking up the ramp high-fiving all and sundry, girls running onstage to kiss a very conscious and irritated Nishith Hegde and Dr. Hex being all excited about his wireless unit all day then forgetting to connect it properly onstage and murmuring behind his 'ball-guard' (Thank you, Nolan!), "Bhenchod! Ye use karne se pehle hi kharaab ho gaya".

Much to my dismay, all the Varanasi I get to see the chilly Jan 24th is the magnificent IIT-BHU campus. I will not complain much. The kids go out of their way to make us feel special and comfortable. I wish we were half as good as they make us seem to be. They hang out with us late into the night, smuggle in the inevitable Old Monk bottle and of course, get us the 2:30 am hostel canteen's Maggi and omelettes.

I have grand plans of visiting the Ghat early next morning. Needless to say, that doesn't happen. I remember being amused the previous night at a remark made by the cabbie - "Sir, morning mein ghat zaroor jaana. Bahut foreigner tourists milenge". The pervert obsession with fair-skinned tourists remains appalling and funny to me at the same time.

 I have to make a dash for it the next morning to catch my 11:30 am Air India flight. I will not lie but I was really hoping the flight would get cancelled, the boys would scream, "Surprise! We rescheduled your flight and you are going back with us tomorrow" because if you didn't already know, I really wanted to check the city out. Of course, the boys don't love me as much.

My trip back to the airport at 8 am happens in a local auto-rickshaw. All the cars are busy ferrying other guests, I am told. I groan but it all works out fine in the end.

Risking sounding like an "Oh-You-Know-I-Tasted-Real-India" for my social media followers, I quite enjoy the 90-minute auto-rickshaw ride. I doubt I would have been able to smell and actually, yes, taste Varanasi in an air-conditioned cab.

Pathetic, absolutely pathetic roads that are dug up at every nook and corner, nightmarish city design, dirty but that gorgeous Kashi morning, people on cycles rather than huge sedans, people hanging out with tea, cigarettes, newspapers at rundown stalls; I am forced to go back to a typical cold morning in Kolkata, something I terribly miss. Mukta would have hated it but it is just how I love things; being a small town lad and ... hold your breath ... awfully OLD SCHOOL!

Thankfully, Air India isn't as bad as people say it is. SpiceJet is trying its level best to beat them at this game. The flight takes off 15 minutes late and lands in Bombay 20 minutes before scheduled time.

The next day, the boys call me from Varanasi before they board their flight home. The buggers didn't see the city, didn't meet aghoris and smoke grass with them like they planned to. They got incredibly wasted in their rooms instead and fell asleep. One day Dr. Hex and his henchmen will know what an incredible opportunity it is to travel being in a band.

I missed out on the jalebis. But I hear, we might do a trip up north later this year. Till the next time then.


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All things Holy and Biprorshee

The author is the frontman of a Mumbai-based heavy metal band - Albatross - and he loves everywhere his band takes him. He loves his wife a tad too much too. 

Kya Behan Ki Lorry Picture Hai, Boss!

(This review was done for Flickbay and first appeared on http://www.flickbay.com/UserProfile/Biprorshee-Das/320/4)

I watched a movie today, a movie called How To Get Your Brother Out of Jail Without Any Trouble In 24 Hours While Grooving To Yo Yo Honey Singh Sitting On Human Furniture and Drinking Mangola. Ok, this is insider information. The movie was renamed Boss when the filmmakers thought the abbreviation ‘HTGYBOOJWATITFHWGTYYHSSOHFADM’ would be a mouthful. Jokes apart (I try), the only exaggeration in the ‘original’ title is the Mangola bit.

It all started some time ago when my then-girlfriend-now-wife refused to watch Rowdy Rathore with me. “Why would anybody watch an Akshay Kumar movie,” she asked. I protested meekly. “He isn’t that bad,” I said (Rowdy Rathore is a TERRIBLE movie, just for the record). I don’t quite mind Mr. Kumar. And no, I won’t refer to him as ‘Khiladi’ Kumar. I am embarrassed to do so and he must be too.

So, I don’t quite mind Mr. Kumar and when I was offered two tickets to the screening of Kumar’s latest masterpiece – Boss – I asked the wife if she wanted to join and she refused yet again. I ignored her warning and headed to the movies anyway.

I must admit, I had an opinion and not a very good one about Boss well before I even reached the theatre. Let’s see what the trailer told me –

a.      There’s Akshay Kumar with a terrible Haryanvi accent.

b.      There’s Akshay Kumar cracking God-awful jokes.

c.       There’s Akshay Kumar calling himself ‘Boss’.

d.      There’s Akshay Kumar delivering dialogues in his own voice.

e.       There’s Akshay Kumar telling me this looks exactly like a movie Prabhudeva would make (and that can’t be a good thing).

From the very beginning, every clichéd trick in the book is tried to make the audience go, “Oooohh aaahh”. From an introductory narration by a man celebrated for his voice, movies, daughter-in-law, brand endorsements, Juhu (let’s say, we call him Amitabh Bachchan) to star-cameos, South-Indian-styled (NO OFFENCE MEANT AT ALL) action and finally, even Shakti Kapoor, we have seen it all and Boss doesn’t surprise.

The storyline offers nothing new either but if you expected anything better, I’d give you a cookie. And if the plot is hackneyed, Boss is further marred by some absolutely inane, corny dialogues. Get a load of this – “Apne ko kya hai! Apne ko bas paani nikalna hai”, “Maut ko yu hi badnaam karte hai. Taqleef to zindagi deti hai”, “Gusse ko thook de. Apne dushmano ko phook de” and some more.

The comic relief comes in the form of very, very pathetic attempts at being funny – “The Boss is always right” when Boss is asked why he is standing to the right and not in front; the Boss loves to jog “on Jogging Trucks”; the clincher – Boss’s favourite truck gifted to him by his sister that he calls “Behan ki Lorry”. Did I give it all out? No, there are more to make you cringe. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT miss the ‘Rocking Chair’. Home furniture will never be the same again.

The scenes are linked together by a thread that threatens to snap any moment. The jumps are abrupt. Dialogues are often forced. Songs appear out of nowhere and make Hum Aapke Hai Kaun look so much tolerable even with that retarded dog.

The performances? Oh my God, the performances! Almost each and every actor will look back at this movie and ask ‘why’. If they don’t, they must. Be it Danny Denzongpa, Mithun Chakraborty, Shiv Pandit or even Akshay Kumar himself.

I was almost pleased to see Johnny Lever on screen again after a pretty long time till I saw how he was utterly wasted through the movie. Once again, there are the terribly written lines, 17^th century jokes to blame and there is a visibly old and tired Lever. Govind Namdeo hams so much, it breaks your heart. Aditi Rao Hydari is seen in a bikini and that is pretty much her most significant scene in the movie because she almost has no dialogues to deliver or no role to play.  Parikshit Sahni still can’t act. Perhaps his only glorious moment in Hindi cinema was asking the courtroom judge in Meri Jung, “Whaaaat is this, judgesaab?”.

The one positive for me though was Ronit Roy’s performance, which I thought was sincere. As the main antagonist ACP Aayushman Thakur, Roy oozes evil. Not the kind that would remind you of Atul Kulkarni from Dum, which I still think was a brilliant performance, but good enough.

Boss is yet another one of those movies that is riding a wave; a trend that scares you and leaves you wondering if all that was most terrible about the Hindi movies of the 80s is staging a comeback. And you only have Rohit Shetty to blame! I sincerely hope Sajid Khan has given up on making movies after Himmatwala.

After a couple of agonising hours, I left the theatre. Ah! Look, Ronit Roy. I was most tempted to go up to him and say, “Sir, I liked Bomb Blast better” and sing, “Lena hai, lena hai …” What? You haven’t seen Bomb Blast? Go, watch now!

Let me go tell my wife how she is always right! See what I did there?

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All things 'Bigg' Boss and Biprorshee

Fire Extinguished

“You saw Agneepath?” “No!” “Full of fighting, man.” That was the 90s. That was when the age was still a single digit. That was me being told why I need to watch this one movie without wasting a moment. I wasted a few before I actually did. “Fighting”? I loved.

Over the years, I saw it again and a few times more. Over the years, I also picked up a DVD. (Over the years, I also saw Scarface.) Over the years, I got my thrills hearing, “Vijay Dinanath Chauhan….poora naam”.

Years later there arrives another movie, incidentally also called Agneepath, allegedly a tribute. I am older now. Try “atthais saal, chhah mahina, aath din…ye unneesva ghanta chal raha hai…maloom (28 years 6 months 9 days.…19th hour this…dig)?”

This time around, I merrily hop to the movies. I have been told it is a must watch. I have been told it is way beyond the original. I have been told it is the lead actor’s finest performance. I have not been told my heroes are going to die a terrible death.

To cut a long story short (and I wish Karan Johar did that too), this was not what I ordered. Agneepath (2012 film) as Wikipedia loves to say -- fail, fail, fail almost everywhere.

Now where do I begin? How about the time I dropped my BlackBerry holster the minute I sat (For all you Agneepath – 2012 film lovers who will ask, ‘Why did you not walk out if you hated it from the very beginning?’)? It is an expensive holster and I had to wait till the very end for the lights to be turned on. So, thank you very much.

What is happening, boss? I know you wouldn’t want me to compare it with the original because you apparently have tried reinventing the movie altogether. I won’t. And even then, what is happening, boss?

I have to give it to the team for actually not copy pasting the original. Good move! Being a part of a heavy metal band in India, I know the flak we receive when we cover a classic song. Why did we not play an original composition? Why did we not reinvent the song if we were so keen on covering it? Same logic. So good show there.

The original was not without its flaws. I would not be in blind awe of it. But the grand manner the story was told; how could you miss that bloody point? My basic trouble with your version? Your characters and the way they were essayed.

I was bloody excited to see the way Hrithik Roshan interprets Vijay Dinanath Chauhan. I was bloody sad eventually. Of course, he should not have based it on Amitabh Bachchan. He didn’t. Some may say, successfully so, I see it as an absolute disappointment. This is not about Bachchan, this is about Chauhan!

You see, the grand daddy of all fictitious Indian angry men convinced me that he was a man on a mission. He was wronged and he was out to kick your damned ass. You know what? His character had style because he was Chauhan in the story and not Amitabh Bachchan. No you cannot pick an eye candy and try to tell me that this guy has learnt his lessons the hard way and watch out, revenge will be sweet. I would like to think there is a certain intensity that comes with this particular protagonist and a mere trembling of the fingers, a loud scream and slow motion fail to bring it out.

Years ago, I saw a movie, I liked. It was called Mission Kashmir. Incidentally, it featured the same actors at war with each other. I loved Sanjay Dutt. I could not stand Roshan. I mean, here is a guy who has very valid reasons for his anger. He wants to burn the world down, shoot the person responsible for his woes at sight but what does he do? Oh! He screams, he screams at the drop of a hat. That was Altaaf. Years later, it is the same Altaaf who becomes Vijay Chauhan.

Do you really want me to believe Roshan looked even for a bit as a leader of men, a mobster with a plan? Not for a moment did I even feel for the character. Hell! I even screamed out loud after he is stabbed multiple times, “Why doesn’t this man fucking die”! I didn’t feel the same when Bachchan was shot several times and came out alive and kicking.

Not for a moment does the 2012 Vijay Chauhan evoke any sort of sympathy. And to remember 1990 when Chauhan comes home to dine with his family or heads to Commissioner Gaitonde’s den to warn him before his family or when he goes out dining with his girlfriend at an upscale restaurant. Each time he is reminded, he is a ‘goonda’, you feel sorry for him. When this edition tries to replicate, you just yawn.

Kancha minus Cheena (minus hair)? What. The. Fuck. If you want a Voldemort, remake Harry Potter. Since when did being evil have to do with looking straight out of a graphic novel? Once again, remember the hairy Kancha? Now that was one suave evil sonofabitch! He didn’t have to go out of his way to make his intentions apparent. Once more, the character, mind you; this is not Danny Denzongpa versus Sanjay Dutt. What is with his cheesy pseudo dialogues right out of the Gita? Once more, was Dutt’s character convincing? Not to me by a mile.

Not for once I am biased about the two actors. I’ve seen enough movies to know better than point fingers at their talent and that is why my problem is with the ones responsible for such shoddy storytelling.

Fine, the unwanted characters were done away with. Thank God there is no one to compete with the corniness of Neelam or Madhavi or Avatar Gill, Sharat Saxena and the other, I forget. But what about the ones those were not? Some justice to them? No? Ok!

Commissioner Gaitonde is reduced to a sorry cop who has nothing to do, nothing at all in the movie. In fond memory of Vikram Gokhale. Why the need for Azhar Lala (Deven Bhojani)? Where does the power of Suhasini Chauhan disappear with Zarina Wahab?

Why in the name of God does everybody have to break into a song and dance at every possible excuse? Oh, that is Bollywood, is it?

A brother’s not at all happy with the arrangement that his sister is not aware of his existence and there you are, the whole slum needs to start dancing to express solidarity in grief and what is worse, the brother soon starts dancing too.

Supposedly intense is the scene when Commissioner Gaitonde approaches Chauhan with words of wisdom as the latter is on his way to end Kaancha (and my misery). What is with what that follows? Chauhan’s girlfriend is sending her man to the front? Oh! My! Fucking! God! And then Chauhan decides to put his “war” at hold….and get married.

The story fails to remain consistent. The moment you think Chauhan will be up to something his girlfriend turns up to spoil the party, his sister decides to show up demanding a picnic and what not?

“Time please, Sir. I have suddenly decided to get married and another song (terrible like the rest) has to fit in” or “Kancha! Chill for a bit. The sister is here and I need to hit the beach with balloons…and guess what…sing another song.”

Just a few hours it has been since I’ve returned from the movie hall and I can’t remember one single dialogue from the 2012 edition. Over two decades and I still remember “Hawa tej chalta hai Dinkar Rao, topi sambhalo, udd jaayega”, “Bandook bhi dikhata hai aur peechhe bhi hatta hai” and some more. Do we miss the Salim-Javeds and the Kader Khans of the industry? Yes, we do.

It doesn’t have to be forever cloudy in Mandva to tell me that it is one fucked up place ruled by the Devil Himself. Karan Johar and Karan Malhotra need not be reminded time and again that it is a movie and not DC Comics.

Goddammit, it is a revenge saga. That 7 year old wanted some “fighting”. This 28 year old wanted an intense storyline or at least something that “looked” like it. Not a bloody glossy family drama.

Not all of it was hopeless though. While Krishnan Aiyar YUM YAY was missed, Rauf Lala more than compensated. What a performance, Mr. Rishi Kapoor! Who would’ve thought? Now that is fucking evil. No dumb make-up, no over the top screen presence but you want to tear into the screen and rip Lala’s head off. I think the last time I felt something like that was watching Denzel Washington play Alonzo Harris in Training Day. That motherfucker deserved to die (Both Lala and Harris).

Priyanka Chopra as Kali, if forgiven certain corny shades is definitely preferred over Madhavi’s Mary. A little more development of the Kali character sure wouldn’t have hurt.

But that is me! I regret watching this piece of crap and I can’t say that enough. I regret my slippery BlackBerry holster worse though.

And I didn’t mention Chikni Chameli because I didn’t care enough to. Katrina Kaif does make a better option than Archana Puran Singh who is busy laughing somewhere. Singh judges comedy shows, I hear. Nice!

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All roads fiery as Biprorshee

Rode the Lightning: Confessions of a Fanboi

(Picture Courtesy: Metallica.com http://www.metallica.com/photo-gallery/oct-30-2011-bangalore-gallery.asp)

Something happened last Sunday. Something that was made of dreams. Something I am going to hold on to for dear life. Some kind of monster, we call "METALLICA!"

Here's my experience:

Also appears on indianrockmp3.com (http://indianrockmp3.com/2011/11/05/gig-review-metallica-in-india/)

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Rode the Lightning: Confessions of a Fanboi

Chances are you went to school and then to college. Chances are you were a rebel without a cause. Chances are you sought refuge in music. Chances are you were (and I really, really hope still are) into heavy metal. Chances are you spoke of (heard of) this band called ‘Metallica’. Chances are you said at least once in your lifetime, “I grew up with Metallica”. Chances…

Well, that is my life, an average ordinary Joe, just like you, him or anybody else. Pushing 30, never too old to once push that tape into the player, then slip that CD into the slot and now, as much as a certain Lars Ulrich might hate, double click on a Metallica mp3 on my computer.

Yes, my journey into the much hated by parents and the straight A peer group world of heavy metal (Well, you stereotype. So fuck you. So shall I!) began the usual way. With a band called ‘Metallica’, with an album famously known as ‘The Black Album’, with a song called…errr…ummm…ok… ‘Nothing Else Matters’.

All the I-Rocks (strictly Rang Bhavan, thank you very much) and the GIRs of the world, all the Sceptres and Brahmas, all the cover heavy days of the late 90s and the early 2000s; I knew that was the closest I could hear a ‘Master of Puppets’ or a ‘The Memory Remains’ live. So tap that 18-year old on his shoulder and tell him, “You will see the actual band who wrote these songs playing these songs in flesh and blood in your own country one day” and I would politely smile back and maybe sigh.

Even 2007 and then 2008 and then 2009, after being in the front row watching my absolute Gods, Iron Maiden (yes, I still refuse to grant the divine status to the band in question), I remember excitedly chatting up with a Maidenhead brother saying, “WHAT IF we see Metallica one day?”

What if then! Fuck yes, now!

So one evening in June 2011, I call up my kid sister and tell her, “Are you too busy this October 30? If not, your birthday gift is a Metallica concert ticket in Bangalore.” The biggest band in heavy metal history was coming to my country for the first time. Laugh, if you may but it was surreal then, it was surreal on Oct 30 and it still remains dreamlike a week later. The biggest band in heavy metal history played in my country for the first time.

October 30, 2011. Palace Grounds, Bangalore, India. I SAW METALLICA LIVE! There, I said it!

This is not a gig review. You don’t review a Metallica gig. You recall the experience.

Land up at Bangalore airport after an hour and a half long flight on October 28 and you are greeted with a text message, “Dude, Delhi gig postponed.” (And you know what happened later). Fantastic! Inevitable doubt – Will Bangalore happen now? We know better now.

Let’s move beyond the beautiful Bangalore weather, cheating auto rickshaw drivers, insane dosas, excessive beerage, magnificent Kryptos-Bevar Sea-Dying Embrace gig, shall we? It is Sunday morning. The Delhi fiasco has been discussed to death, breakfast has been excitedly had, Metallica t-shirts in your backpack have been carefully avoided, passes have been double checked, “Dude, Bangalore is happening?, Yes, Bangalore is happening” has been done. It is a fine day to be alive.

With family and friends, I arrived fashionably late at Palace Grounds. To avoid the initial eager crowd, we thought. And with the sea of people we were greeted by, we knew we weren’t wise enough. Bangalore was no longer a city of strangers. You recognised faces, you didn’t recognise them; it was immaterial. You flashed the Devil’s Horn to everybody. You screamed if you could, “METALLICAAAAA!!!!” as you waited for the gates to open.

I gave the opening bands a miss. I hope Inner Sanctum and Guillotine won’t hold that against me. I couldn’t give Biffy Clyro a miss. I hope I will hold that against me.

Braving the rain, bullying the security and walking in proud with my backpack (DNA! DNA! DNA! *shakes head*), I am there among each one of you lucky 29,000 people waiting.

A long wait between 7pm – 8pm and then finally on a huge screen, I see Tuco running through the graveyard searching for gold as I hear ‘The Ecstasy of Gold’. This is it! I am being born again. My eyes are probably even welled up.

And then bang! The opening riff of ‘Creeping Death’. Yes, now there is a tear that rolls down. I AM WATCHING METALLICA LIVE! The head is going to snap off and fall. The fist up in the air, refuses to come down. “Die, by my hand….”

It has just begun. Creeping Death ends and immediately Lars thunders and so does the sky. ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ now. Then ‘Fuel’. Then shoot-me-fucking-dead ‘Ride the Lightning’, ‘Fade to Black’, ‘Cyanide’…. What a setlist! What a fucking awesome setlist (I could live without the Death Magnetic songs though. Maybe ‘The Day That Never Comes’ would have been fabulous)!

People around me going berserk, genuine fans, fake fans, know lyrics, don’t know lyrics, no one cares. Every man for himself here.

I have always enjoyed watching concerts feeling one with the crowd. That moment came with ‘The Memory Remains’. We all sang in unison, we all sang terribly. “Na-na-na-naa na-na-na na-na-na-na-naa…” Marianne Faithfull be damned!

I heard ‘(Welcome Home) Sanitarium’. The one line in the song summed up my existence through a college life I hated – ‘Leave Me Be’. Then ‘Sad But True’, ‘All Nightmare Long’ and the beyond magnificent and classic ‘One’. I think I really, really wanted to die and freeze it all when ‘Master of Puppets’ began. My most favourite, MOST FAVOURITE guitar solo and all your ‘100 Best Guitar Solos’ lists could go to hell. Once more, we all sang with Kirk Hammett and James Hetfield and their guitars. Once more, that insane feeling of brotherhood only and only heavy metal provides!

Climaxed? Not yet. It was back to …And Justice For All when Hetfield broke into ‘Blackened’. Sweet Mother of God, the pyro! Ok chill now….but bring those lighters out. It is ‘Nothing Else Matters’ time. No, nothing fucking else matters!

And just before the first tease, the opening song on The Black Album…. ‘Enter Sandman’. By now, I can’t see anything onstage. Just heads and thousands of them, I see screaming, banging. I have to completely depend on the screen. Aunty in front of me is tired of trying to climb up her husband’s shoulder and me yelling at her to behave herself.

Then those four men onstage leave. They do. And we beg and plead for more. They return. Encore act! Tribute to Diamond Head. ‘Am I Evil?’ Yes I am!

Yes, we had a broad idea of the set list after Abu Dhabi but then came a surprise…. ‘Battery’. I am running short of interjections and exclamatory marks here. I don’t care anymore. Every Metallica song I cared about, well almost every (‘Turn the Page’, ‘Outlaw Torn’, ‘The Four Horsemen’ and ‘My Friend of Misery’ would have improved perfection), I heard live till the madness came to a close with ‘Seek and Destroy’. Sought! Destroyed! Done!

It is almost 10-30. Two-and-a-half-hour of being in heavy metal heaven has been ensured. I am tired. I am beyond happy. The band takes a bow, thanks the crowd. We thank them back. We thank you in all sincerity James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Kirk Hammett and Robert Trujillo for this evening. We thank you Cliff Burton, Ron McGovney, Dave Mustaine, Jason Newsted for helping build this monster. This monster lives!

With Ulrich promising to be back soon, we once again believe. Just how we believed Bruce Dickinson when he promised the same in 2007 and the man kept his word.

Argue that Ulrich probably doesn’t pack in the same punch with his drums (showed most on Battery). That Hetfield tries a bit too hard to bring back that raw energy to his voice. Or maybe Hammett’s shredding isn’t what it used to be. (Say nothing about Trujillo because that man is probably the best thing to happen to Metallica ever since Mustaine left, and is pure powerhouse.)

But this was much more than any of that. This was for a larger cause….to experience Metallica. And that by God, we did!

As the evening sunk in and I left, I knew what I witnessed was more than just a concert, it was more than just another day in my life. On October 30, 2011 chances are….lives changed!

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All things Metalllica. Period!