The Gift of Introduction

Ashi's blog on Mark Knopfler sent me spiraling down memory lane over the weekend. I was transported back to my teens when my room was the "music room" of the house. A time when people automatically talked in very loud voices when they came close to my room, assuming that the stereo was blasting in there. I'm a girl who worships her Beatles and will die worshipping her Beatles. And there will never be a Simon and Garfunkal song that will not make my heart sing in pure joy. I loved Dire Straits because their songs made me think. But most others I would play over and over again because they got my imagination working overtime, whether it was Billy Joel telling us about his lousy luck with the Uptown Girls or afternoons lounging around picturing a day when my prince would sing "Lady in Red" to me or nights brushing my hair imagining Eric Clapton was singing to nobody other than me, cooing to me that I looked Wonderful Tonight. So come saturday I happily zipped up all my old CDs on the hubby's I-Pod and carried it religiously around the whole weekend.

But things weren't that easy back then in the early 90s and late 80s. One had only heard of CDs and no way would such expensive hobbies be encouraged at home! But I was one of the early sporters of the "Brother in the US" tag. And shipments of cassettes covered with the neatest handwriting (a man of thoroughness - artists, albums, song names and all the basic stuff were always covered) along with printouts of the lyrics arrived at a regular basis, much to my parents chagrin (a long letter describing his thesis topic and his eating/sleeping habits would have sufficed in their opinion! ) and my utter glee. And that is how I got hooked to "Western" music. My sister was the one who helped me find my way around the world of ghazals and the Jagjits and the Latas and Mukeshs but I will leave that for another day. Today is about my brother and the world of music he opened up for me. May the music never end in your world Big Bro!!!