| ashu |
Posted
on 08-Jan-04 09:20 AM
An interview with a Nepali Pop Kalakar
(originally published in The Kathmandu Post, circa 1996)
[Two points: This is a piece of satire. Nepali pop music scene has gone from OK to good and better and better in the last seven years.]
What made you sing?
Shower.
Shower?
Well, you see, I used to sing in the shower. My brother who's now the drummer of our band used to knock on the door. Soon, we both realized that with his banging on the door and my singing in the shower, we had great music floating out of our toilet window.
Is that how you cut your first album?
Well, sort of. A sahu from Bandipur happened to walk by our house one morning, and he heard our music. Entranced, he came in, offered to get a cassette out. Our album's now selling faster than New Road's pani-puris.
Fascinating! In the beginning, did you struggle a lot to make a name for yourself?
Well, getting out of the shower was a drag. I mean, I'd get cold very quickly, and develop goose bumps all over. Other than that, I faced no problem. Of course, our Nepali government must set aside money for us pop kalakars to buy our amps and
lamps. We are this nation's treasure, you know.
What kind of songs do you normally sing?
Mostly the deurali-stuff, you know. The ones about leaving Kanchi or Nakkali back in the village or in mela somewhere, and basically wondering what she's doing now . . . we also
sing about sahar ki ladkis, the ones who catwalk on the pavement of New Road . . . dressed in micro-mini skirts and Blockheel shoes . . . and who are out to destroy our poorano, pabitra Nepali culture.
Have you ever been to a village or to a mela?
Oh, naw. But I've been to village-like places such as Nagarkot and Dhulikhel. Those are villages, right?
Do you have a Kanchi or a Nakkali yourself?
Oh, naw. My girlfriend's Ashley. She did her fashion-designing course from Mumbai! But her family has this servant girl called Kanchi.
Is she the Kanchi you sing about?
Oh, nawww!! The Kanchi we sing about is, well, metaphorical. In fact, any wide-eyed, inncocent-looking Nepali didi-bahini wearing gunyo-cholo . . . from Charikot to Bayarban could be our inspirational Kanchi. Singing about deurali, bhanjyang and Kanchi, you see, is the surest way to show conservative old folks that pop geets do have authentic Nepali-pan.
Wow! Hadn't thought of that. Is pop here to stay in Nepal?
Absolutely, man!! Pop geet is now as middle-class a fare in hamro jiban as drinking San Miguel beer is or as cooking with gas is. Through pop geet, we can express our deepest emotions.
Like what?
Well, suppose, Ashley leaves me, then what would I do?
I would draw a long face, and sing through my pain, and my anguish would resonate with thousands of my fans out there, and they would go out and buy my albums.
Now, that's the power of Nepali pop unplugged.
Interesting. Why do you sport a pony-tail and have multiple earrings all over?
Hold it, buddy. That's none of your business. Besides, you'd want your pop kalakar to stand out, wouldn't you? And who are you to comment on what I wear?
Sorry. Anyway, tell me, how do you view yourself and your pop geet ko industry in Nepal?
Pop singers like myself are Nepal's national treasures. We are the only genuine kalakars around. Others are hilly-billies from Dolal Ghat who can't go beyond pakhe lok-geets. India's Annu is our Malik, the great one who inspires us all to choro international hit-tunes
and package them locally in ways to make our fans' hearts aflutter with desire . . .
Whew! That's quite a healthy self-image that you have there.
Anyway, guess what, our time's up. Thank you for coming to our radio studio, and giving us some of your amulya time.
Any time, dude! Peace to you, and rock on!!
(Written and published in The Kathmandu Post, circa 1996. This is a piece of satire for your amusement.)
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