The Eleven Heavy Metal Laws Of Organizing Rock Concerts

"Naah, that ain't working, That's the way you do it...
Get your money for nothing
And your chicks for free..."

By the end of eight gruelling hours backstage, you realize that Knopfler obviously wasn't referring to rock stars who have to perform in Delhi in the middle of May. Especially when instead of 'money for nothing', they're getting nothing for the money they're raising for Gujarat.

At 3:30 in the afternoon, Junoon are doing their sound check in the 42 degree heat surrounded by eight hundred odd cops. Not the best of performance conditions... and they're, well, thirsty. Backstage, we chase after discarded mineral water bottles (the ones the cops haven't walked away with-policing an empty stadium is thirsty work.) to mix electrolytes in, and to give to the band up on stage. Ah, the glamour of working backstage... It consists of running after discarded bottles, chasing samosas for band members, manhandling 20-litre jars of water over the dispensing taps (and telling the cops to please go easy, the performers need some water too...) and running around finding chairs in the middle of a 20,000-seat stadium because there aren't enough chairs in the dressing rooms! by 4:00 pm we're running out of the 20-litre water bottles and the cops won't allow us to get any more in. This is approximately the time when you realize that rock concerts, apart from being bloody hard work, not to mention thirsty, also work according to a peculiarly bloodyminded thrash metal logic that makes Murphy's Law seem like a Mozart symphony.

By the time the concert actually starts, you are in no mood to actually listen to the concert. Especially since the problems of keeping four bands, eight hundred policemen and sundry camera crews from getting dehydrated have been compounded by the arrival of thirty-odd highly energetic dancers from The Danceworx Performing Arts Company, whose high-sweat moves are guaranteed to make you thirsty just looking at them...

But then the music begins. And everything seems like magic. The crowd sways with Silk Route, and literally (okay, not quite!) melts into the effervescent "Dooba Dooba". Miles come on next and get the crowd moving, but what really shakes up a storm is their rendition of Bon Jovi's "It's My Life". And then the crowd goes into frenzied patriotic mode when Palash goes "Vande Mataram", and are unstoppable with "Rok Sako To Rok Lo". And can anyone stop Junoon as they rock on, from "Dosti" to "Sayonee", "Pyar Bina" to "Andaz", "Khudi" to "Bulleya".

And not just on-stage, the backstage camaraderie between these bands from India, Pakistan and Bangladesh is heartwarming. They make you forget the borders as they chat and hug and jam together, as if they grew up as neighbours and not separated by thousands of miles and three different types of passports. Suddenly, glory be to God, cold drinks appear. As do samosas. And as the music washes over you, all is right with the world, and you even smile at the cops. And when, at the magic midnight hour, all three bands perform together and you sneak away to the front to take a look-it all becomes worth it.

One leaves with the feeling of having contributed to magic. And also a bit to humanity.