Farewell Amy

Last month I had started writing a post on female British musicians I loved because suddenly I realised they were all I was listening to. Anyway, the list included Adele (whose album I was sinking my teeth into at the time), Laura Marling, Lissie and of course Amy Winehouse. I had planned it all out. I knew I'd begin with Adele and end with Amy (both of them were my favourites). I had managed to write a little about the others but when I came to Amy I was at a loss for words. How to write about someone who speaks for herself especially in such a ballsy no holds barred kind of way. And how to address that power in her music without falling back on 'raw' 'gritty'  as descriptors. I felt ineffective writing about her then and now with her death I feel even more incapable of providing her with a fitting tribute. I can only be emotional and over the place at this point.

I was at a relative's place on July 23rd. My uncle was watching the England-India test match at Lords and as he was flipping through channels a headline leaped out at me "Amy Winehouse Found Dead" I immediately felt this chill go through me (and I also yelled "What??) and tears welled up in shock- it was like hearing about someone I knew and loved. 

Ever since that day, messages have been pouring in from all over, twitter exploded with  messages of condolence, mourning and shock. Other comments have been so derogatory and demeaning I wanted to hurl something. Even worse are the many people who seem to have a reaction of complacence-'she was doomed to die early,' 'are we really surprised' was one of the questions(well yes, death is always surprising); that she doesn't deserve mourning for all her "bad behaviour"(this was the worst) 

I was upset  but all this is part of the wide scope that a tragedy like this represents. It also speaks to what she represented for so many people. Brilliant. Troubled. One of a kind. (and tragically) Junkie. Her personal life was often fodder for mockery, tabloids were rife with stories about her and the British tabloids were particularly ruthless (so happy they are getting their comeuppance now) and now in her passing they mourn her. They call her a gifted musician whose personal demons overcame her as if they had no part to play in her issues. 

We seem to assume that with social networking on the rise and the invasive nature of tabloid journalism the element of mystery in our stars have gone. That we can know them. They are like us but we get to laugh and jeer at them for being just like us. This is only alienating. We don't know these people. And with someone like Amy it has only contributed to her downfall. We never understood her demons because we didn't want to. We wanted her to either be a figure of mockery- a symbol for all that can go wrong with a person, to use her as a cautionary tale for others and lament about the pitfalls of the business. As every detail of her life played out in front of us we got to pass on judgement on her without really knowing her. We got to pretend we knew her. 

Now she is gone and we never will. For Amy was in her music. Damaged, in pain, uncompromising and proudly so, she is now lost to us. Music has lost her.

There are better obituaries, better tributes out there but as I am winding this down I realise that this was never meant to be one. Like I had told a friend when I heard the news, I am shaken and angry. I am incapable of reflecting on her death, the shameless condemnation of her disease, her music- on what it all meant.

For now, I will simply defer to her music and let Amy speak for herself.

R.I.P Amy Jade Winehouse

   

Update: Lissie is apparently American. Sorry for the mix up.

On (possibly) leaving

I will be leaving Bangalore soon. And I'm not sure how to feel about it. As soon as I stepped into this city I hated it. It didn't help that I was going through a particularly bad phase at the time. So when I saw the dirty streets, the pot holes everywhere, the terrible traffic it was all too easy to project my terrible state onto the city. I painted the city in the most dreadful colours and my family still teases me about my habit of throwing my hands up in the air screaming"I hate this city" everytime the power in the city failed us (which was very often).

Now, as I am applying to study in Delhi (yes back there again) and mind you, the chances of me getting through the exam and into the course are not very high-even so, I'm feeling strange about leaving Bangalore. I still don't love this city. I hate the million malls that have erupted like mushrooms all over the city. I hate the fact that I had to walk past a ditch entertaining pigs, garbage, shit and god knows how many diseases, everyday on my way to the bus stop. I hate the fact that you go to a restaurant and spend oodles of money on food that isn't even that good.

I hate that I hate it.

I realise these things could apply to any city in India. But they do bother me more in Bangalore. My memory (from childhood) courts a different Bangalore, one with flowers blooming in trees, the wind sharp against your face and this lush greenness everywhere you looked. It was a limited view(I used to come on vacation) I know and a highly romanticised one. Who knows if the Bangalore that I thought I saw then was really there? But I thought it was real and that's what counts I guess. In a similar way I know a lot of people living here cannot picture themselves living anywhere else so maybe they are seeing a different city. A city that invokes strong ties despite the things I mentioned above. Things to complain about but with affection. I know what it's like to love a city like that.

Now, with the possibility of leaving looming large before me I have to consider that while this city holds no precious memories for me there's been a lot of inspiration here. There's been a lot of poetry written here and for that I can only be grateful. I think it takes a while to understand what a place does to you-that you have to leave it to know the things that have settled in your bones and skin. Right now, this indefinable feeling of loss and also relief makes me think it is like saying goodbye to a dysfunctional relationship.

You're glad it happened but also grateful that it's over.