More than half a century ago when a young Khasi boy first heard the songs of Bob Dylan, little did he know that one day the pine-scented hills of Shillong would come alive with his music. Today, 65-year-“young” Lou Majaw is such an influential figure in his home town that legend has it that winter only sets there when he abandons his signature denim shorts for warmer attire! Recipient of the Years of Excellence Award at the 7th Jack Daniel’s Rock Awards in February this year, Majaw has come to be associated with his unique brand of high energy and musical virtuosity that’s hard to match. He has also come to be known for the music festival he organises in Shillong every year to celebrate the birthday of Dylan.
Why Dylan, I ask?
Clearly, I’ve touched his favourite topic. “When I heard Dylan for the first time, he opened the windows of my mind. He doesn’t just write songs, he writes poetry! What I love about Dylan’s songs is that everyone can relate to them. The lyrics really have meaning, they aren’t empty,” Majaw says. Celebrating Dylan’s birthday with a music festival is his way of paying respect to a great musician. At the festival, which will be held this year from May 24 to May 27, bands from all over India will play Dylan’s songs and original music inspired by Dylan’s poetry. “It’s just my way of saying thank you to him for all that he has given the world and to Lou Majaw,” he says.
* * * * *
This endearing rock pioneer has never met or interacted with Dylan. “I’ve only met Dylan through his music,” Majaw says simply, “and isn’t that the best way to meet a musician?” As we chat,
I remember that generations of beatniks were weaned on Dylan’s The Times They Are A-Changin’. It makes me wonder if Dylan is still relevant to today’s audiences. Majaw thinks so.
“I feel that Dylan will always engage music lovers who really ‘listen’ to their music,” says he. “Think of the amazing imagery in the lyrics of Mr Tambourine Man and Blowin’ In The Wind and you’ll see that these songs are universal. We just have to teach them to our kids.”
And that’s just what Majaw’s doing these days. “I’ve now started taking Dylan’s music to schools to enable young children to appreciate his poetry,” says he. “When I look at the heavy bags kids have to carry to school, I feel confident that, if nothing else, at least they’ll make good porters!” Music will broaden their horizons more than any textbook, he feels. He’s also planning a series of interactive performances in schools in the metros. “It would be nice if this could inspire at least some talented kids to think of writing and singing songs as a career — just like
I did.” Thus far, through his eponymous foundation, Majaw has been using music to reach out to children in rural areas, sensitising them on issues such as road safety and AIDS.
* * * * *
With all this, Majaw still finds time to play to packed audiences across the country. Last month, when he performed at a hip New Delhi nightclub, his gritty voice, showmanship and energy on stage were compelling. Notwithstanding his trademark whimsical attire — skimpy shorts, long grey locks, a goatee and non-matching socks — Majaw never takes the stage lightly. “When I’m on stage, wherever it may be, it becomes my sacred place, my church. I bare my soul there and share what I love most with the audience,” he says.
His freewheeling lifestyle and eccentric dress may draw critical comment from conservative quarters, especially in Shillong, but Majaw is unconcerned and remains happily non-conformist. In many ways he is the original beatnik, a rolling stone who has always performed for himself first and his audience second. Till date he never goes to a gig with a prepared song lineup. “Where’s the spontaneity in that, man?” he asks.
“I always just play what I feel like at that moment!”
And like a rolling stone, he has never married. “Sometimes I think to myself that it would be nice to at least taste that fruit once. Just to see what it’s like, you know,” he says, laughing. “But Lou Majaw hasn’t met his match yet. One day, maybe.”
Born into a not very well-to-do family, Majaw has come a long way since he started his career in the smoky nightclubs of Calcutta. His journey hasn’t been easy, but he talks of it with childlike innocence. “Music is not an easy road to walk on; there are many pitfalls along the way. But why waste time looking back?”
In three years, Majaw will complete 50 years in rock music. It’s a milestone worth celebrating, especially in a nation that usually rocks to Bollywood beats and bhangra. “I’m looking forward to celebrating it,” says he. When I ask what he plans to do, he says in his usual modest style, “Just sing some songs, read some poetry and enjoy a drink or two with friends!”
In many ways, Majaw is the eternal fan who has, at least in his own homeland, gone beyond his idol. On the streets of Shillong, one often gets the feeling that for locals, it is the eccentric Majaw who is the legend, not Dylan. Sometimes when young kids there hear Forever Young, the number that Dylan and later Joan Baez immortalised, they say, “Oh, that’s Lou’s song!” Looking at the youthful face of the ageing rocker, screwed up in fierce concentration over his guitar — I think that while Forever Young may not strictly be his own, nobody could embody it better than Majaw.
