Been a while since my last post! Hope you lot enjoyed it, and maybe looked over your shoulders in a dark room. Anyway, this post is a sort of tribute to my guitar teacher in Bangalore, Mr. Lewis, who's first name, I am ashamed to say, I've forgotten. But the memories of his classes are still fresh, and I hope that this little article does him justice. Moving on with the post...
It was while we were in Bangalore that I was gripped by the sudden urge to become a guitar player. I'd seen a classmate of mine, Karan Something (there were 5 Karans in my class) play a Pink Floyd song. Being one of his most earnest haters and a Floyd fan, I couldn't just let these two coexist. After seriously considering chopping the guy's fingers off, I requested my mum to find a guitar class for me. She found a highly-recommended music class close by in Benson Town, and it was there that I met one of the greatest people I have ever known.
Lewis sir turned out to be a brilliant teacher. He was also a great friend, and someone who know pretty well what I was capable of achieving. Like my Dad, he settled for nothing less than perfection. He also was pretty well-known for his sense of humour, and had a nickname for every one of his 500 or so students. Understandably, mine was Fat Boy (anyone who knows me won't find this surprising). On one particularly memorable afternoon after a really good jam session, he joined in with our bassist's plot to assassinate him with a pineapple (yes, that girl was weird).
But each and every one of us knew what pissed him off big time. I learned the hard way that if you don't practice, you're screwed. I remember his look of cold disappointment, and how he marched down with me to have a "chat" with my mum, during which he stressed on how brilliant I could be at the guitar, provided I practice. I made it a point to stay in practice from then on, but that didn't stop him from taking me off his line-up for 2 months. He was an incredibly nice man too, and most students with troubled families or personal lives came to him for advice, which he never hesitated to provide.
Lewis sir also made it a point to make friends with his students' parents. In my case, he became a great friend to my Grandfather, who usually came by to pick me up so he could admire the instruments on display in their shop downstairs. I would reach home at least 45 minutes after the lessons were over, as he and my Grandad had a habit of discussing politics for 20 minutes at minimum, and then go on about cricket, during which Lewis sir would never fail to reminisce about Rahul Dravid, who had been a classmate of his. He greatly admired my Grandfather's sincerity and honesty, and wouldn't hesitate to tell him so almost every time they met.
I was sad to leave his classes when it was time for us to move. He asked me to keep in touch, and for a while I did. But sometime during my first year in Pune, when I had stopped playing for lack of a teacher, his oft-repeated phrase was my incentive to pick up the old six string. "If you love making music, you don't need me to take you further than the basics." The basics he managed to teach me helped a lot, and the need to make music, learn more, and of course, the desire to prove myself worthy of an electric guitar were reason enough to learn more on my own, and stay in touch with the guitar.
My Grandad's been to Bangalore thrice since we moved, and visited him each time. I guess it's time to pick up that phone again, and remind him of the continuing existence of the still Fat Boy.
It was while we were in Bangalore that I was gripped by the sudden urge to become a guitar player. I'd seen a classmate of mine, Karan Something (there were 5 Karans in my class) play a Pink Floyd song. Being one of his most earnest haters and a Floyd fan, I couldn't just let these two coexist. After seriously considering chopping the guy's fingers off, I requested my mum to find a guitar class for me. She found a highly-recommended music class close by in Benson Town, and it was there that I met one of the greatest people I have ever known.
Lewis sir turned out to be a brilliant teacher. He was also a great friend, and someone who know pretty well what I was capable of achieving. Like my Dad, he settled for nothing less than perfection. He also was pretty well-known for his sense of humour, and had a nickname for every one of his 500 or so students. Understandably, mine was Fat Boy (anyone who knows me won't find this surprising). On one particularly memorable afternoon after a really good jam session, he joined in with our bassist's plot to assassinate him with a pineapple (yes, that girl was weird).
But each and every one of us knew what pissed him off big time. I learned the hard way that if you don't practice, you're screwed. I remember his look of cold disappointment, and how he marched down with me to have a "chat" with my mum, during which he stressed on how brilliant I could be at the guitar, provided I practice. I made it a point to stay in practice from then on, but that didn't stop him from taking me off his line-up for 2 months. He was an incredibly nice man too, and most students with troubled families or personal lives came to him for advice, which he never hesitated to provide.
Lewis sir also made it a point to make friends with his students' parents. In my case, he became a great friend to my Grandfather, who usually came by to pick me up so he could admire the instruments on display in their shop downstairs. I would reach home at least 45 minutes after the lessons were over, as he and my Grandad had a habit of discussing politics for 20 minutes at minimum, and then go on about cricket, during which Lewis sir would never fail to reminisce about Rahul Dravid, who had been a classmate of his. He greatly admired my Grandfather's sincerity and honesty, and wouldn't hesitate to tell him so almost every time they met.
I was sad to leave his classes when it was time for us to move. He asked me to keep in touch, and for a while I did. But sometime during my first year in Pune, when I had stopped playing for lack of a teacher, his oft-repeated phrase was my incentive to pick up the old six string. "If you love making music, you don't need me to take you further than the basics." The basics he managed to teach me helped a lot, and the need to make music, learn more, and of course, the desire to prove myself worthy of an electric guitar were reason enough to learn more on my own, and stay in touch with the guitar.
My Grandad's been to Bangalore thrice since we moved, and visited him each time. I guess it's time to pick up that phone again, and remind him of the continuing existence of the still Fat Boy.
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