I think time has taught me that the destination we ultimately arrive at matters, but so does the person we become while getting there.
Life gives us choices, my friend. We can manipulate the circumstances, tell ourselves whatever makes us comfortable, and build convincing stories around the choices we make. Or we can choose a different kind of peace, knowing that whatever the circumstances, we gave it our best, stayed true to what we believed, and did what our conscience allowed us to do.
Because eventually, the applause will die down, the stories will fade away, and we will be left alone with ourselves. And perhaps the greatest achievement is being able to look back and say, “Hey, I may not have got everything right, but I know I was true to myself.”
When I look back at my years with Black Slade, Euphoria, and then starting afresh with Eka, I realise how many people, friendships, collaborations and experiences have shaped the person and the musician that I am today.
And borrowing a line from Starship, “We built this city on rock and roll.” What nostalgia! Those Times FM gigs.
There’s a little story from those days that perhaps nobody remembers. The idea of having bands perform on the truck actually came from my dear friend Anthony Braganza. I remember walking to the office with Anthony, and he was talking about our Goan carnival, the bands, the atmosphere, and the idea of taking music into the streets.
It became a huge hit. Anthony never got the credit for it, but that taught me something: however childish, crazy, or even stupid your idea may sound, bring it on, man. Bring it on. Sometimes crazy ideas become the ones everybody remembers.
And that reminds me of Eka too.
When we started our journey, we were invited to perform for the prestigious Earth Care Awards, an event where politicians and top dignitaries were present. We brainstormed. My bandmates were writing songs. We had Plan A, Plan B and Plan C.
Mine was Plan C, because I said, “Let me think outside the box.”
Instead of another song, I wrote a poem: “Ye Jo Hai Dharti Hamari.” And while our songs were accepted, the poem became the central theme of the awards night. We went on to do it for three years in a row.
So I learned that sometimes you have to bring something nobody expects. Everyone can write a song, but writing something that captures the spirit of the entire evening? Oh, that’s different, man.
Time also taught me about standing by our own values.
When I was younger, I was offered an advertisement where I would be shown smoking near a temple. And I’ll tell you something. At that time, I was actually a smoker and probably almost an atheist. But I said no. I didn’t want to hurt religious sentiments. I didn’t want some youngster watching me to think smoking was cool.
Then there was an opportunity for both me and Anthony to feature in a whiskey advertisement. Again, I said no. Friendships mattered more than money, and I am glad Anthony didn’t say a single word in objection.
And today, I can look back and tell my conscience: we tried to make this world a better place.
When you are young, you chase the next song, the next gig, the next big stage, the next applause. But decades later, you realise the real treasures are the people you met along the way.
And starting again with Eka taught me that beginning again isn’t going backwards. You carry the whole journey with you. You carry every song. You carry every mistake, every friendship, every stage. And you begin the next chapter with a little more wisdom.
Because songs end, performances finish, applause fades. What you are left with is a place in someone’s heart.
And that continues long after the music stops.
And perhaps that is what time has taught me that no teacher could.
