1650-The Number of the Beast

Iron Maiden, the legendary heavy metal band, played in Mumbai day before yesterday. It was their first gig in this city and only their second ever in India. Since they're a pretty old band (by this I mean the ages of the band members), I figured they'd wouldn't be returning too many times more and this was probably my last chance to attend a Maiden show (Maiden don't have concerts, they put on "shows").

So I bought the most expensive ticket, Rs.1650, left early from college and presented myself at MMRDA grounds in Bandra-Kurla complex at about 2:30 PM. I'd been hoping to catch a good place in line but I was to be disappointed. Hardcore fans had practically been camping out on the grounds to be first in line and stand in the first row. I managed to cut ahead in line (not something I feel particularly guilty about; everyone was doing it) and ended up with a group of hardcore fans from south Mumbai (Bombay for them) who'd been waiting since early morning. Since they were built like the Spartan troops from 300, I negleced to mention that I'd arrived only minutes earlier. One burly guy with a bushy beard bore a striking resemblance to Gerard Butler as King Leonidas. As the crowd behind us started shoving and pushing us, he even bellowed, "SPARTANS!!!!".

There was an interminable wait for the gates to the grounds to be opened. After standing in line for about and hour and a half with a friend who arrived later on, we were finally let in. Everyone was thoroughly frisked and water bottles, confiscated, ostensibly on the grounds that they could be used as projectiles. However, we were much aggrieved when the sponsors, Pepsi, handed out free samples of their new can. These were then then used as projectiles on the poor opening band (whose name I never did learn, due to all the booing and jeering). Water, meanwhile, was selling for Rs. 20 a glass. To punish the organisers for ripping us off so blatantly, I did my best to litter as extravagantly as possible, quite at odds with my normal no-littering habit.

At 4 PM, my friend and I took our positions in the crowd, having visited the loo and the water stand. I'd been warned by my Spartan friends outside that once inside it was a matter of "conserving your strength" till the main show was actually on. At 5:15 PM, the opening band I'd mentioned earlier came on to play. The hour between entering the venue and the opening band's performance was spent trying to remain on my feet against the powerful, ever-shifting tides of humanity. Every minute was a struggle: a struggle to stand, a struggle to keep one's foot out from under someone else's foot and a struggle to draw fresh air into one's lungs, air laced with the stench of cigarette smoke, marijuana and alcohol.

The newbie band failed to make much inpact on the crowd, but I rather liked their last song. It was titled Marijuana and although the subject itself didn't appeal to me, it had a good sound. Local bands don't get much airplay on radio stations or TV; as a result they aren't much known. However, being unknown is no reason for being scorned, the way they were by the crowd on that day.

Next up was Maiden bassist Steve Harris's daughter Lauren and her band. The crowd had a similar opinion of her music as that of the first band; this had been made clear to me even before entering the grounds. Lauren Harris had performed for her father's earlier Indian gig too and fans who'd attended that show knew her. However, she is much more attractive than the lead singer of the first band (he was a guy, hence not attractive to the majority of the crowd) so the crowd mostly ogled, instead of booing. There was more shoving, falling down and getting up again, and shouts of "Don't push!" throughout the gig. Indeed the cameraman in front of the stage was rather enjoying himself, watching the crowd sway with the sweep of the camera. The girls in the crowd clearly had the worst of it; they were too short to see anything if they were more than a few rows back and too weak (physically) to withstand the exertions of standing in one place in that mob. And although I didn't see it, there must've been plenty of groping going on too. The conditions were ripe for it. It really was a most distasteful scene.

After another interminable wait, the Indian band Parikrama took the stage. They were to be the last opening act, and as their set came to an end, the crowd got wilder and wilder. By the time they finished, I could not breathe. I had worked my way to the third row and I was close to passing out from lack of fresh air. It was hard to believe that a large portion of the crowd was made up of South Mumbai (Bombay!) brats who detested local trains for exactly these reasons, yet conditions were far worse here. I could stay no longer and I surrendered my hard-won position near the front row and made my way out to the soft drink stand, for some fluids and fresh air.

Pepsi was Rs. 30 a glass (another rip-off)  but I bought some anyway and slaked my thirst. After a breather and a joyous running-into with another friend (I'd lost the ones I'd come in with a long time ago), 
I made ready to go back. It was at this time that the main show finally started.


The opening of the video of Aces High played. It was footage from the Battle of Britain, fought over the skies of Britain between the Royal Air Force and Hitler's Luftwaffe. In the background, plays Winston Churchill's "We shall never surrender" speech. The band burst onto the stage in a blaze of bright lights, to a wild reception from the expectant crowd. It was quite superb to see the lead singer, Bruce Dickinson, almost 50, to be singing with such energy. The crowd went wild and I followed them. The band (for the record: Janick Gers, Adrian Smith and Dave Murray on guitar, Steve Harris on bass and Nicko McBrain, dubbed a "sartorial casulaty" for wearing shorts, by Dickinson, on drums) really knows how to put on a show. For the song The Trooper an ode to the Light Brigade that perished in a tragic charge against Russian armies in the Crimean War, Dickinson put on a British soldier's redcoat and pranced about waving a tattered and burnt Union Jack.

The show was two hours long and every single minute of it was enjoyable. The theatrical elements culminated with a giant Eddie robot striding onto the stage. It was basically guy on stilts wearing a sinister Eddie suit (Eddie, the band's
mascot, is a scary-looking guy). 

After the show, which ended at 9:45, getting back home was hell. No rickshaws outside the venue and we had to walk halfway back to Kurla. Two of my friends managed to get a hold of plectrums thrown by band members; this is a pretty good souvenir.

That's pretty much the story of my time at the Maiden gig. Sorry for the lame ending. I'm in a hurry. I'll add pictures later. Promise.