BROTHERHOOD OF EMPTY WALLETS

Before cellphones and the internet, a legendary rock band in Kerala had a city in thrall with their rock 'n' roll renditions

- JOE PETER

Cochin, 1993. I was pedalling along a dark, deserted Shanmugham Road, with the nightly power cut adding to the sense of desolation. My bicycle chain was squeaky enough to spook a solitary man who, on his way back from a local cinema, was relieving himself on the wall of the police commissioner’s office.

In the distance, beyond a bridge, I could see Marine Drive lit up by lamps. The shining promenade made me feel like I was in a rock concert— stage lights streaming into the dark concert hall. I pedalled till I reached a footpath lined with Ambassador cars on Marine Drive. No dark concert hall here, nor any rockers.

There was a behemoth of a building, though—Hotel Sealord. A few cabbies were huddled together outside, smoking a joint and waiting for a drunk patron or five, preferably white, to saunter out and hire a ride.

I stationed myself on the footpath near the hotel and listened. Eric Clapton’s ‘Tears in Heaven’ wafted out of the Princess restaurant on the first floor. As the song slowly faded, a hand fell on my shoulder. It was a long-haired cabbie, with a weather-beaten face and a beedi between his lips. He wanted to know why, for the past few days, a 16-year-old was waiting outside Hotel Sealord at 9pm.

“Chettah, I’m standing here so I can hear the band,” I said.

His wrinkly face broke into a pleasant smile. People sitting on the pavement, and leaning against lampposts and cars, turned to me. They were complete strangers, but with a nod of their head, they acknowledged me as someone of their kind. The kind that could not afford to pay the cover charge of 075 (fully redeemable) at the restaurant to listen to the one and only legendary band of our times, 13AD.

This was the ‘empty wallet’ brotherhood, and I was part of it.