Less than 24 hours before it was to happen, I was volunteered into “being in conversation with” (what a strange expression that is, and yet with what felicity I use it) the singer/songwriter Biddu (the name behind such song standards as “Kung Fu Fighting” and “Aap Jaisa Koi”). The guilty party knows who s/he is, and will remain nameless except to say that s/he shares her/his first name with an actor who played Lawrence of Arabia, and his/her last name with most of the moniker of a Harry Potter school house. (None of Slitheryn, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff).

But if I sound ungrateful, I am not so at all. Really. Thinking about it for a few minutes after the late night phone call, I started getting to like the idea. And then I got a copy of Biddu’s book, “Made in India”, and read over half of it in the hours leading up to the event. It is a charming book, easy to read and like. A TimeOut Mumbai essay described Biddu — admiringly, I think — as having a “penchant for silly similes”, and it’s true, and I’m admiring too. He tosses them out left and right, with the ease of a guest flinging rice at a church wedding (there, I’m doing it too). And they work, because they leave you with a smile and a nod of the head. (Click here to read the whole post)

My fourth year at Kala Ghoda. The roads were buzzing with people, the kurta-clad, jhola-bearing individuals outnumbering the others by about 5:1. Not that I was complaining.

The Kala Ghoda festival is a nine-day long mela for a large section of Mumbai’s population. This year, as most years before it, the district came alive with art installations, pavement galleries, a hundred small kiosks selling quaint knickknacks and hordes of people ambling through the main thoroughfare, pausing every now and then to cast puzzled looks at the installations, or exclaim at the quirky thing they just spotted.

The opening performance this year was by the South African Drum Café, who call themselves South Africa’s premier interactive drumming company.

What is complicated about being the opening act for any event, is that it puts you in the unenviable position of doing three things:

1. Discovering the (unavoidable) technical kinks in the setup
2. Working around them
3. Warming up an audience who for the most part, has just wandered in and has very little idea of what to expect. (Click here to read the whole post)

When I looked at the Kala Ghoda schedule on Saturday night, I read that three bands were playing the next day -The Other People, Dischordian and Full Moon Rising. The first two in the morning and Full Moon Rising in the afternoon. Since these were the only rock music-like bands performing at the festival – apart from Nandu Bhende this Sunday – I was keen to attend the performances. Too lazy to go in the morning, I went for Full Moon Rising’s performance that afternoon. When I got to the amphitheatre – on time – Daniel, who seems to be the sole steady member of the band, was already playing a love song to test the sound. It was conventional stuff and dull at that but it was just the beginning of the show and people around me – including a man who’d cut out the ‘Love’ in ‘I Love Mumbai’ and written ‘hate getting ripped off in’ instead – were tapping their feet, moving a bit so I joined in. It had been a few months since I’d heard live music; I was expectant. Daniel wasn’t dressed in black, he didn’t have an electric guitar; I was optimistic.

But while I was right about Daniel not being of the Devil’s party’s, it turned out that he was of the other party. Not religious perhaps but “repair your own mind for the sake of earthkind” and “…cause in our reach, is an open flight - into a world in which WE design - and NOW is the time…”. With lyrics like “come together right now…” (which is okay) and “we made a world war/we can make world peace” (which is not). (Click here to read the whole post)

The Kala Ghoda Art Festival 2010 kicked off this morning (yesterday morning, technically, since its past midnight as I’m writing this).

My favorite time during the entire of this annual event (Click here to read the whole post)

I’m standing outside one of the KGAF bookstores, idly browsing through random coffee-table books including several as tall as my daughter with spectacular photographs. Rs 1271 for those, which is about Rs 1270 more than I’m carrying, so I resist the urge successfully.

But then the wife who forms a major part of the couple to my right giggles and tells her husband: “Supercars, masterpieces of design and engineering!” This strikes me as an odd thing to say to your husband on a random Sunday afternoon, until I catch sight of a book under my nose with that very title. Has a very sporty looking grey Mercedes on the cover.

He picks up the book, flips through it and puts it back, saying “Na, na!”

Then she reaches over and, with a huge grin, hands him a book on the cover of which a muscular lifeguard carries an apparently unconscious woman in a sleek swimsuit cut impossibly high on the thigh. “Baywatch!” she says (the wife, not the woman in the swimsuit), because that’s the title of the book.

He doesn’t even flip through it. He says “Na, na!” and puts it back.

The man’s turned down a book on flashy cars and a book likely filled with women in swimsuits? What am I, standing next to the Mr Geek Universe titleholder himself? Maybe he invested his hard-earned rupees in the book that lies between those other two, by name “The Complete Office Handbook”?

But then to my left, a young woman drags a reluctant young man in bermudas and a baseball cap to the book display. Across her chest, in glitter, is “bebe”. Across his chest, in white, is the edifying message “I don’t mind coming to work, it’s the 8 hour wait to go home that’s a bitch”. She reaches out and hands him a three-book set wrapped in plastic. It has the fascinating title “Discover Creative Solutions to Everyday Challenges.” She mutters something at him about how he should buy it and read it.

He looks at it and nearly flings it back on the pile. “No, no”, he says.

What is this, Get Hubby To Buy Useless Books Day at KGAF ‘09?

***

To much nodding and bopping in the audience, a very noisy band plays rock. “Ru-Ba-Ru” is one of the songs, and the singer manages to lean over a partition and stick the mike into a passing lady’s face, whereupon she croons into it but we don’t hear her voice and he shrugs. Next they play one of their own compositions, called “Bas Karo“. I bump into a friend in the crowd as they are playing, and he yells in my ear “Really awful band, no?”

I wouldn’t have said that, but they are indeed noisy. Next on stage is a band called The Other People. Now I heard these other guys a couple of years ago somewhere, and then they played one of my favourites, “Mony Mony”. At the end, the singer announced that this was a Billy Idol song. This is the kind of factoid that makes music-obsessed old geezers such as myself splutter through our dentures, because “Mony Mony” was originally composed and sung by Tommy James and the Shondells in the late 1960s, and covered by Idol in the ’80s.

So after that show, I went up to the guy as he wandered through the crowd and said to him through my dentures, “Good show, but Mony Mony isn’t by Billy Idol, dammit!”

And I’ve run into the guy a few times since, like today after their gig, and he always breaks into a big grin and points to me and says, “I know you!” (It’s the dentures, they give me away).

Today, they sing “Twist and Shout”, “La Bamba” and “Walk of Life”, among others. So when I run into him later, and he says “I know you!”, I say, “Hey, I enjoyed it, but too bad you didn’t sing Mony Mony! I was waiting for it. But I liked that Billy Joel tune.”

That one was “You May Be Right.” I jumped and clapped so much my arthritis started acting up.

Saturday, 7th Feb, 12:30-2:30pm
National Gallery of Modern Art (NGMA) auditorium

For beginner and intermediate writers.

Language: English

Maximum Number of Participants: 12

Genre: Music, Writing

Conducted By: Jeet Thayil and Suman Sridhar

(Click here to read the whole post)

Ten days ago, I stood in the line for tickets at Bandra station and noticed that the guy in front of me had these lines printed calligraphy-style on his T-shirt:

Stone Dead Forever
Auttgart Sineers
Galaxy Rainers
Bengrance — Witteilingen.
Being Outstanding in a Complex Society Revolution

I know, I know. You feel envious that you weren’t there to read these words for yourself. Believe me, I felt privileged.

But on Sunday (Feb 10) at the Kala Ghoda Festival, I noticed this on a T-shirt that passed by:

Being Outstanding in a Complex Society

Now that has to rank as a seriously improbable coincidence. In years of being a T-shirt slogan watcher, I’ve never seen the same wacky slogan twice. Here it’s happened within ten days. Naturally, I wonder if this is some popular quote, sort of like “Don’t tase me, bro”.

Is it?

(Click here to read the whole post)

Okay fine, the above title may not be entirely true but adding a little credit to it – Something Relevant, the Jam Band that performed at Kala Ghoda Arts festival yesterday afternoon, mainly consists of some fine Parsi Dikaras.

Needless to say, these guys (Parsis + Non Parsis) completely rocked da house. And such was their impact that even my mum (a non-videshi music listener) sat thru most of their play time without any complaints.

In all honesty, I am not very fond of Jazz/Rock genre but give me Pop or R&B anytime and I am game. However this experience, I will admit made me realize how rigid in my music taste I had been all along.

(Click here to read the whole post)

The Avant-Garde movie screenings at Gallery Beyond ended twenty minutes early in spite of the organizers thankfully repeating the first two movies by Man Ray which I’d missed on account of being late. I rushed to Eros to catch Bow Barracks Forever; expectedly I was told that the Preview Theatre was filled to capacity. I took a ride back to Kala Ghoda thinking I might have missed the Kathak performance, but might as well drink in on the later performances.

I arrived halfway through the Odissi performance by Ms. Sujata Mohapatra. It was the first classical performance I saw being held in an open-air theatre, so I had my reservations. But Mohapatra’s excellent performance soon dispelled all of them.

Wearing the white raiment and adornments of an Odissi dancer, she might as well have personified the quality of purity. Her dance was one energetic, controlled expression of sublime artistry; her countenance and hands in perfect tandem with the moods of the song being sung.

The music too was splendid, especially the mellifluous vocals (I think it was Bengali/Oriya folk though I’m not quite sure) and the mesmerizing violin and flute whose flourishes were as brilliant as the lithe movements of the dancer’s hands.
(Click here to read the whole post)

The Tibet India Foundation has a long association with the Kala Ghoda Festival. After keeping visitors hooked last year, they came in this year with what seemed like’Tibetian Opera’.

On a nice winter’s day in Mumbai, with crowds bustling in and around the KG venue, the amphitheater was packed,

(Click here to read the whole post)

We started walking towrds the Asiatic Library at half past six, feeling smug at the thought of arriving early at the Sivamani concert, and finding great seats for ourselves. Early, did I say? And great seats too? We reached at twenty to seven (when the concert was scheduled to begin) and found the steps to Asiatic Library packed. Tightly packed, with people still squeezing themselves through the seated bodies, now stamping an unwary hand, now getting pushed away by the early birds. Grrr. Husband and I looked high and hard, and were about to go join the standees when we looked low for a change and found seats on the lowest step. Found seats is being a bit generous with fact - with our sharp scientific minds, we found that space for two large bodies could just be created by asking those already occupying the space around the desired spot to move and squeeze their elastic bodies just a bit more. Which they did quite cheerfully, bless them.

Seated comfortably, camera all set on tripod which I for once remembered to carry, we waited for the show to begin. The sound of drums being set in place, instruments tuned and strange strong voices humming into the mike. All but the actual show. What was the Mani man? And while we are waiting, will the security guys please ask that solitary man standing by the barriers to move away please so we the seated ones (who went there early, remember?) could watch the show in the peace that we deserve.

And so we waited and waited. And watched in total horror as all empty space in front us - the space separating us from the stage, essentially - kept filling up with those who had timed themselves better for that vantage position from which to watch the show. And what security guys? Those who were busy escorting the VIPs (who were they anyway?) to the white plastic chairs in front? We sat and stared at the heads in front of us and gnashed our teeth loudly. The noise of course, got drowned in the sudden roar that erupted in the crowd. The Mani man was here! Finally.

White silk kurta gleaming in the yellow streaming lights, Sivamani walked on stage to a grand welcome. Hands folded in salutation. Rooooooar. Announcement welcoming the Mani man. Rooooooar. Mention of his association with the other Mani man (Maniratnam). Loudest roooooooar of all. Then Zakir Hussain. Mild roooooar. (Who is he, man? in filmsa?)

Like all good Indian performers, he started with a ganesh vandan. By this time, I had lost all patience with the oily heads in front. Impressive camera in hand, I pushed my way shamelessly to the front, just a couple of photographs please. The nice people there let me go through. And so I duly went click click. Position vantage but not vantage enough. Push my back through the crowd into fresh air. Find another position to the side of the stage, repush way through crowd, one hand firmly clutching camera. And the other hand, clutching extremely embarrassed husband’s hands, dragging him towards the front. Excuse me, the show is about to begin seriously.

Sivamani picked up steam quickly and enthralled the audience, playing on a hundred different instruments, sometimes seemingly all at the same time. Drums of all shapes and sizes all around him, a square steel thingy that looked like a large vegetable grater (ok I never claimed to be knowledgable about these things) hanging in front of him, something else that looked like huge grapes dipped in silver solution around his neck like a rudraksha string gone grunge.

So many instruments that Sivamani looked lost in the middle of them all. Lost physically. Not with respect to his music, let me stress. Drums, veg grater, grapes - his hands flew from one to the other like some magician performing conjuring tricks in front of a dumbfounded audience.

Music that was electrifying and stimulting, sometimes soothing and caressing. Sometimes slightly strange and attention-grabbing. Like the time he rubbed a large piece of stone against the mike for that goosebumpy sound that strangely fitted well into the rest of the music. Or the time he took the mike and huffed and puffed, sounding like the long-distance steam train pulling into VT nearby - a hundred years ago.

That astounding skill is one thing. That magical engagement with the audience is one thing. But what sets Mani apart is that sense of genuine pleasure and enjoyment he gets from his music - from sharing that music with others. He smiled through the hour-long performance, sweating in the mugginess of the February evening and that silk robe and the heat of the strobe lights all around…

He stopped with a flourish exactly an hour after he began, and stood in front of his adoring audience for the appplause that refused to die. Encore. Back to the drums, this time with a clear eye on the gallery. On came bits of hits from everpopular movies like Rangeela and Rang de basanti. Half the piece on drums, and an abrupt stop with one hand raised, an impish smile on his face, eyebrows arched in a question… and the audience completes the music and words for him. By this time, I had wheedled my way to just below the stage, looking as adoringly at the musician magician, but through my camera. I even fancy he looked at me and smiled once but you never know, I do admit that he kept smiling through the hour. I do know that I left with a huge smile on my face, heart still thumping with the music that rocked through the speakers that stood very close to me, and feet still keeping time to the drum beat of the drummer who had vanished from stage into a sea of admirers.

Howzatt!

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by Peter Griffin.

These are from the Mumbai Poetry Live evening.

John Agard

John Agard

Arundhathi Subramaniam

Ranjit Hoskote

Jerry Pinto in compere mode..

..and in poet mode, with jacket.

These are from Alyque Padamsee’s Unspoken Dialogues

Gary Richardson

Vivin Mathew Easo

Alyque Padamsee

Alyque Padamsee and some of the cast

The show-stealing puppies take centre stage

And some glimpses of the venue, at Azad Maidan

Rabbi, from a safe distance

Rabbi, closer up

Puppet Theatre

The “Joker” in the process of decapitating himself

The Pretty Girl.. who has an ugly man at the, ahem, other end.

A fellow-blogger switches to v-log mode.

Barefoot street kids eating leftover food from the stalls, and more affluent kids, with sports shoes and digicams, all enthralled by the puppets

The Street and the food

The chaat stall at one of those rare moments when it wasn’t beseiged by hungry mobs

After the ball is over

Most of Bombay’s gone home to get ready for Monday morning, but he has work to do now

Empty tables

McD’s. Trashed, apparently.

As chairs are stacked around them, stragglers grab a last bite

Much antacid was sold that night

The Dance stage comes down

This panel just missed braining me

Even as the last revellers eat and shop, a truck backs in to load up the equipment.

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by addytorials

Who can say what happened? The schedule distinctly said, 8:30 - 10:00 Indian Ocean. So when I finally found my way to Azad Maidan at 7:30 and heard “Bandeh” from afar, I made a run for it. Oops. Wrong Entrance. Go all the way around. Dodge the Biryani stalls. Jump a cat. Inhale dust. Ah, there it is.

Indian Ocean Live was everything I expected and much more. But just to get it out of the way at the onset, what struck me the most was that this is the sweetest band I’ve ever seen perform - there really is no other way to put it! They are friendly, they are polite and they keep up a banter that makes you feel like you’re among chums at college.

And the - an electrifying flawless concert. It is virtually impossible to imagine how a four-man-band can create such eclectic . One needs to see it to believe it.

Amit on drums (and then recorder and gabgubi)

Ram on bass and vocals.

Susmit (left) on guitar.

Asheem on tabla and vocals.

The band.

And there I stopped. Camera in hand, I had been tapping my foot and skipping nimbly away from distressed people shouting at a few people giving in to cancer and the like (”Eh, watch out, you’ll burn the place down!”). I had swayed with the crowd, chanting words to a surprise performance of an unreleased untitled work in progress. But when Ram gave voice to Kandisa, I could take it no more. The camera went back in the bag and I joined in the frenzy, singing myself hoarse (yes, I do know the lyrics).

But the biggest surprise of the evening had to be Rabbi jamming with Indian Ocean on Ma Rewa. A black goggled dapper suited Rabbi played bluesy riffs to the song till it was decided in the middle of one such riff to mix Bullah Ki Jaana into the song. Mixed reactions swamped the crowd and produced much confused laughter and applause. But it was touching, in a way, to see masters of their different styles of the art combining forces and quite simply having a good time on stage.

The show over, Rabbi prepares his set and Amit deftly ignores the “Once more, once more” to inform the audience about the next Indian Ocean show at D.Y. Patil College (Nerul) on the 4th of March. As I walk away, Rabbi fans file in. I notice a group of boys rolling a joint.

God! Who smokes up with Rabbi’s ?

(refer to prior post by zigzackly for links to Indian Ocean and the band members)

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by Peter Griffin

Unlike the heretic in the previous post, I love Indian Ocean. There’s a depth and uniqueness to their that makes Rabbi sound downright pedestrian. And I planned my evening so I’d get there just in time for Rahul, Amit, Asheem and Susmit at 8.30 p.m., as per the schedule.

So, there I was at Horniman Circle, for Unspoken Dialogues, directed by Alyque Padamsee. The place was packed, people standing at the sides, sitting on the grass in front. By the time I got in, I could seem someone on stage who seemd to be dropping papers a lot, and dislodging his lapel mike. But I think I’ll leave the detailed review to Yazad, who was Not Pleased At All, and has promised to post later today or tomorrow morning.

Which leaves me with just one little snippet - while the post-performance Q&A was happening (and just before the discussion on stray dogs, which one of the Dialogues referred to) a friendly local bitch and her two half-grown pups made a quiet entry, stage right, and generally made themselves comfortable, hogging the limelight, to many grins from the audience. Enthu production crew type chap came by to shoo them away. And was followed into the aisles by an Angry Lady. I had just moved to that side of the audience to take a few pictures, so was in close range to hear:

Angry Lady (stage whisper): If I see you kick a dog again, I will report you to the SPCA!
Production Chap (stage whisper): But I didn’t kick the dog!
AL (stage whisper): I saw you! I will report you!
PC (stage whisper): But but but

AL (stage whisper): I will get you arrested!
PC (forgetting to stage whisper): But but
PC’s colleague, PC 2, who has seen the little drama unfold from afar, in calm, soothing voice: What’s the trouble madam?
AL: He kicked the dog! I will get him put in jail!

By this time, checking my phone, which had been off during the performances, for voicemails, found one that told me that the order of performances at Azad Maidan has changed, and Indian Ocean was well into their set. With a twinge of regret, I abandoned the finale of the most dramatic, gritty, realistic performance of the evening, hied me to a cab and got myself to the biggest dustbowl in South Bombay. Just in time to hear Indian OCean announce that for their last song, they would be joined by Rabbi.

Gah.

Ah well. One song better than none.

Then I decided to stay on to see what this Rabbi chap was all about. While the band was tuning up, I messaged a pal to whine about missing IO. She sent back a consoling message: “not to worry. IO good. there’ll be many more chances to see them. Rabbi flavour-of-the-month and you probably won’t get to see him again.”

Anyway. Rabbi. Dark glasses. Smooth suit. Nice voice. Knows how to get the crowd involved. I liked his Bulla Ki Jana Main Kaun. Found the rest of it just straight, uninspired rock that happens to have Punjabi lyrics. Nothing special about the at all. Dilip, apologies to your lovely family, but, old chap, nyaaah, not a patch on IO.

As I worked my way out, planning to head home, I bumped into former colleague and old pal who is now Very Important and Cool Dude at a certain channel. Success, said the VI&CD, has gone to Rabbi’s head. He used to just come on, dressed in [I forget the word, something to do with traditional Punj attire], and stand there and play and sing. Now, he’s got the suit, the shades, rock star posturing. at which point Rabbi obligingly illustrated my friend’s point by leaning backwards, guitar stem raised, in classic axeman fashion, as he played some apparently difficult chord.

Oh well. A Cannon pau bhaji and lassi later, I had company for the train ride home: Vivin Mathew Easo, buddy since college years, fellow theatre lover and a wonderful chap to argue with. Viv has done far, far more with his theatre bug than I have (more about that in another post), and was one of the actors performing at Horniman Circle, so, like old times, I got the behind-the-scenes stories and we dissected the perfomances. And we finalised things for tomorrow (argh, make that today, I better sleep), where he and his team are collaborating with Caferati on our evening at Kala Ghoda.

[Will add some pictures later. Tomorrow.]

Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by Dilip D’souza

7pm: Rabbi. So says the KGAF schedule for Sat Feb 11, and since I live in a household of Rabbi fanatics, this is a must-see, especially give its kid-friendly time. Still, I think I should try to confirm that this is not a priest getting up to sing songs, or maybe a group named for a furry hoppity animal and they forgot the last letter in the schedule, or even the previous Chief Minister of Bihar crooning for KGAF and they mis-spelled her name. I think I should confirm that this is indeed the Rabbi of the eponymous album.

So I call the Festival hotline. This 7pm Rabbi show, I ask, is that Rabbi Shergill? “One minute”, says a nervous womanly voice. Much whispering and shouting and general crowd sounds - this hotline is answered in the open smack in the middle of Kala Ghoda - and several minutes pass, and a guy comes to the phone and asks me “What do you want?” Patience wearing thin, I repeat my question. He practically laughs in my ear. “No no! It’s not Rabbi Shergill! It’s that fellow who sings Bulla ki jaana!”

Anyway.

We get down to Kala Ghoda by just before 6pm, by which time I’ve seen my T-shirt slogan of the day, on a young lady crossing the road. “Han Some Women”, it says.

First order of business is a pencil portrait of my son. Meanwhile, Vikrum pushes his way through the crowd to run into us, doing a passable imitation of some quick-marching jawans he watched at close quarters last week. A little later Gregory Roberts, author of Shantaram, strides past and Vikrum has a short chat with him, interrupted by autograph-seeking swooners.

I note that the stall we buy candy-floss from also has available Chaineese Paittice, Chaineese Bhel and Caremal Popcorn.

We buy a dabba - you know, one of those things that dabbawallas carry, with food inside? - for several hundred rupees. Oh yes, it also tells time. This is true.

Some time after 7pm, we bundle ourselves into a cab and zoom over to Azad Maidan. Rabbi, here we come!

Only, they’ve switched the schedule. Indian Ocean was supposed to play after Rabbi, at 8pm. Instead, they have kicked off the evening, and Rabbi will play later. This is a great pity, for two reasons. First, Rabbi will now come on at a decidedly kid-unfriendly time, so we won’t be able to stay to hear him. Second, Indian Ocean is - how can I put this kindly - awful. I mean, it’s like a wall of sound, made up of interminable guitar riffs, drum riffs, more guitar riffs, on and on.

You three IO fans out there, don’t come after me.

So we rush hastily out of Azad Maidan, into the little food alley right there. This is where you get the world’s best kala-khatta. Same place also serves, going by the menu, “lemon juice”, “pineapple juice”, “white rose juice” and “sekonjbin juice.”

No thanks, I’ll stick with kala-khatta.

And then we retire across the alley to “Nagesh’s World China Town” for some non-veg fast food. Nagesh has one of those only-in-Bombay addresses: “near Jhunka Bhakar”. I want to find the establishments that are “near idli-dosa”, or “near hamburger and fries”.

And to still-blaring notes and riffs from IO, we find Nagesh’s menu has plenty to offer.

There is a “Chicken Dargon Special” soup. Mmm-hmm!

Under “Rice so Nice”, there is both “Veg Tripple Schez Rice” and “Chicken Tripple Schez Rice.” Both “Veg Wrong Rice” and “Chicken Wrong Rice”. Under “Manchurian”, there is both “Veg Wrong-Chilly” and “Chicken Wrong-Chilly”.

(Yeah, if they give me the food chilly, it would be pretty wrong).

All through my meal, I’m watched closely by two cats, two dogs and three street kids, all asking in their own particular ways for my food. And all through my meal, Indian Ocean blasts away tunelessly. Think they might benefit from a dose of Veg Wrong Rice.

Comments

Comment by Vikrum on February 13, 2006 @ 1:28 pm

Dilip,

Thanks for the hilarious write up. It was a great night, and it was also a wrong night. They should have had some jawans marching instead of Indian Ocean. I would have been there. I would have videotaped it. And watched it over and over again.