
SITTING behind his desk at ICICI’s plush office in Mumbai’s postmodern Bandra Kurla Complex, K Mohan looks like any other banker. Close friends would tell you he plays the mridangam well. Not surprising, if you consider that Mohan hails from a Tamilian Brahmin family. His mom is a professional violinist, sister a vocalist, and his dad retired early to set up Rasika Priya, an organisation which holds concerts for charity.
But though this 29-year-old still makes it for the annual recitals to Chennai, classical music is not his only forte. Come Friday evenings, and Mohan sets the trendies at Bandra hot spot Tres Botas rocking to his percussion act.
As the night rolls on, one wonders why Mohan doubles as a banker when music is so obviously his big strength. ‘‘There’s no way I can lose one for the other,’’ he says. ‘‘It’s a great balance, banking is for my mind and music for the heart.’’
Mohan’s precisely-executed switches from his 6 am mridangam practice to his life as a banker and jamming with pals after hours, might place him in an extraordinary light. But he’s no exception.
If you’re a regular at Mumbai’s Not Just Jazz By The Bay, on the corner plot of Veer Nariman Road overlooking Mumbai’s breezy Marine Drive, you’ve surely spotted those striped shirts with loosened ties, grabbing the mike to croon their favourite college singles. But the Karaoke nights are not just about sophomoric fantasies. This is the watering hole for bands like One Night Stand too. One Night Stand? Yup, that’s what it was going to be for this five-member band, when they jammed here for the first time 10 months ago. And though they play Led Zep like a dream and get you up with their Lynard Skynard covers, that’s not their only achievement.
Drummer Rahul Malhotra, 31, is the guy behind the Tide and Surf Excel price slashes. Music for this country marketing manager of Procter & Gamble and his band started as a college fling. They founded rock group Parikrama in 1989 at Delhi’s St Stephen’s College. When Malhotra moved to Japan after an MBA, he severed ties with Parikrama, but not with music. He soon found place with a band in Japan as well.
Back in Mumbai last year, it was a rekindling of an old friendship with college buddy Kartik Chintamani, 32, now an executive producer at music channel MTV, that got them jamming again. Regular sessions at Chintamani’s house in Bandra followed, with Malhotra drumming on a milk saucepan and Chintamani singing their favourite numbers and strumming his acoustic guitar. It was time to form another band.
‘‘Word of mouth is what got us in touch with Shagun Harit, 30, a business development manager with Mastek (an IIM, Ahmedabad graduate and a Mensa champion too) for playing rhythm, Ferzad Veriyava, 29, a copywriter with Ambience Publicis Advertising playing lead on the guitar and NS Padmanabhan, 32, (or Poopsie), a software engineer with Creative Global Services on the bass,’’ says Chintamani, introducing the rest of the band.
Passion for music is what got Mohan and One Night Stand to the stage despite crazy work schedules and accelerating responsibilities. But there are also a cluster of musicians who have been forced to drift into various professions to make a living.
‘‘Getting full-time into music often forces a musician to compromise on quality or delve into various genres of music which might be commercially viable but not aesthetically pleasing to the musician,’’ feels Subeer Malik, 33, member-cum-manager of Parikrama, who joined his family business dealing in spare motor parts the same year he helped form the band. ‘‘It has also taught me the art of time management,’’ he claims, as he continues juggling his numerous businesses with ease—managing music bands like Silk Route, Mrigya and Tantriks, running a CD and tape duplication plant and Parikrama Pyrotechnics, a fireworks company.
It’s a tightrope walk. 2blu recalls many incidents of working all day, performing till dawn, catching a few hours of sleep and rushing back to work.
‘‘There have also been times when I have failed to keep up commitments,’’ he confesses remembering Vayu’s Guwahati trip when he was delayed by two days and came back to a livid boss.
That’s not all. Messages keep beeping during performances reminding them of early morning meetings, and the wives keep complaining, as if work hours weren’t enough. But they continue to live out their dream—striking business deals and enthralling audiences—all with a fine expertise that no B-school could have taught them.
(With inputs from in New Delhi and in Pune)


