Eight Arms To Hold You

The Present, 5am, 29 May 2026, Delhi

Today morning, I remembered how important The Beatles were for me; also how old I'd grown. 

Paul McCartney released 'The Boys of Dungeon Lane' this morning. In fact, the album was out at midnight, but I didn't want to listen to it in that groggy state. I didn't want to listen with my groggy morning ears either. 

After the disappointments of Egypt Station (2018) McCartney III (2020) I was hoping, really hoping.

I had heard the first single from the album, "Days we Left Behind" many times this month. It was reflective and tender. Quietly beautiful. But there is a huge difference between the emotion-scape of a 3 minute song and an entire album. It's the difference between a newspaper article and a novel.

So, at 6am, somewhat coffee-ed, somewhat less excited (nothing feels worse than shattered expectations) I put my Bose earbuds on, and revved my attention to mindfulness cruise control. 

But.....I kept slipping in reverse. Far down the roads of my past. Far away from the present.

Kolkata 1979

That's when I first heard The Beatles, as an 8 year old and they made me nauseous! Even by the limited music exposure I had then (Simon and Garfunkel, The Bee Gees, The Police) The Beatles were the worst. I had their album 1962-66 and I only listened to LP 1 Side 1. "Love Me Do," "Please Please Me," "I Want to Hold Your Hand," 'Eight Days a Week" they made me gag. Soppy, claustrophobic, oversweet crap. I'm glad at the age of 8 I could have an allergic reaction to that kind of poppy-soppy stuff.

Mumbai, 1988

9 years later, I was 17. Everything had changed. Cities (Kolkata gave way to Mumbai) Hormones (Puberty), Self-Consciousness (Puberty again) and a desperate need to get high (Alcohol was soon to enter my life) and The Beatles (from cute mop-tops singing cuter songs to long-haired psychedelic hippies singing stuff that blew my mind).

The first group I would get high to in the best of all possible trips - were (not Pink Floyd) but The Beatles.

That was it !

"Because" on Abbey Road. 

One shot of vodka. The buzzing high - climbing creeper-like.

And John-Paul-George singing together - my High meeting their Harmony. The result - a kind of musical sat-chit-ananda I find hard to describe. 

There were so many songs of theirs which were my "I'm Tripping" tracks. 

"Because," "Tomorrow Never Knows," "Dear Prudence," "Strawberry Fields Forever." So many. I had discovered The Beatles.

Kolkata 1993

I was alcoholic. I was undergoing therapy. I was unemployed. I was 22. I had attempted suicide. I had survived. I was happy. I had discovered reading.

I was reading voraciously from September 1992 till July 1994, when I got my first job.

In those two years of recovery and therapy - I read from morning to night. Two years of insane reading. One of the things I read was the literary journal Granta. And in a 1993 edition they featured a short piece by Hanif Kureishi called 'Eight Arms to Hold You.'

Guess who's arms they were? That's right. John, Paul, George and Ringo. I didn't know then that that was the original title for the album Help - I just thought Kureishi had come up with the most brilliant title to sum up what The Beatles were for me. 

They held me. Their albums held me. I cried.

They were the musical backbone to my broken teenage life. They were the one consistent thing for me. Revolver, Sgt Peppers, The White Album, Abbey Road, Let it Be. It sounds terribly shallow. Getting sustenance from the albums of some pop band. 

"Is that all the depth you had accumulated till your early twenties? Weren't there more important things happening in the world? Is that all your pathetic young life was about at age 21 - Booze and The Beatles?"

Well....yes. 

Until another magical B appeared in 1992. BOOKS!

Now my life was Booze, Beatles and Books. 

Books added the depth that cut out the "pathetic shallowness" barb that my inner critic threw at me every morning, mid-morning, late-morning, evening, semi-evening, late-evening....you get the picture. 

Books added enormous depth. And Eight Arms To Hold You, gave me a sociological perspective to what The Beatles did for young people in post-war Britain, post-imperial Britian, Britain in the 60s. 

I didn't live in Britain. Nor did I live in the 60s. But guess what they gave me - sustenance, creativity, sparkle, magic, spirituality, bliss, quiet, otherworldliness - despite my being in another time, another place.

Mumbai 2005

I was in Mumbai now. One quiet year. Very quiet year. A sober year. No alcohol. No marriage either. I was soon to be divorced. I transferred from Kolkata to Mumbai. I worked in my radio station afternoon to night. Caught a late night empty local train home and read and listened to music till dawn and then slept. 

That's when another McCartney album happened. He had already surprised me with Flaming Pie in 1997. This was not the soppy-poppy crap he churned out in the 70s, 80s and a lot of the 90s. This was art-rock. This was harking back to what he had left behind. 

And in 2005 I heard Chaos and Creation in the Backyard. Wow! The man was back. His music was different. His lyrics were real. He was real. 

There is a long way

Between chaos and creation

If you don't say

Which one of these you're gonna choose

It's a long way

And if every contradiction seems the same

It's a game that you're bound to lose

And from that sage-advice came warm hope and acceptance.

Come home brother all is forgiven

We all cried when you were driven away

Come home brother everything is better

Everything is better when you come home to stay

Wow! Eight Arms to Hold You all over again. I cried again too. 

Delhi, 2007.

I am in the third metro of my life. Delhi. I think I'll keep it at this. Chennai isn't gonna happen. And, McCartney releases Memory Almost Full.

High Expectations. First Listen. Total Rubbish. Disgusting. Calm down. Next day. Second listen. Entire album. Wow! This is good! 

That's ADHD shorthand for my 'listens' to what has become one of my favourite albums.

Memory Almost Full seemed to be an Abbey Road Part 2 to me. The second part of the album had his memories merging into each other. An entire memory medley, ending with a track suitably titled "The End of The End." 

And just like "Her Majesty" pops up after Abbey Road says it's "The End" with a soaring harmonic goodbye - here too a little screamy semi-track called "Nod Your Head" pops up, closing Memory Almost Full.

McCartney was reviving Beatles brilliance decades after flushing it down the toilet in his solo career. My ears were opened. 

Back to The Present, 6am, 29 May 2026, Delhi 

I lost my closest music buddy a fortnight ago. We discovered music together through the 90s, 00s, 10s and 20s. Till two weeks ago that is. 

I felt a sharp, searing pain. 

This is the first thing we would have been sharing with each other. Who do I have to talk to about music now? Who else holds music like a spiritual backbone and not an entertainment muscle to flex on and off? A true chord-progression-skeleton on which the flesh and blood of our lives hang? Who else do I know, for whom a new album is at the centre not periphery of their day? 

Who else thinks of music as philosophy, not casual conversation? Who else listens in musical meditation to entire albums the way I do? Many people. Of course. 

But I knew only one. And he's gone. 

The Present 7am, Friday, 29th May, 2026

It began. The album. 

I say "It" because The Beatles are like that for me. Another entity, another phenomenon, another state of consciousness.

And it's good. It's really good. It's Paul. It's memories. It's adventure. It's melody. It's whimsy. It's a lot. Most importantly (this being Paul) it doesn't embarass.

I'm not getting into the details. I will do. A little later. Today is a day for Absorb.

And I am absorbing the album. 

And...what can I say? It's good.

I don't need to say more, because for me The Beatles are synonymous with what Indian Mystics call Sat-Chit-Ananda.

Look. It's entirely plausible. At the end of the day you can experience the bliss of universal oneness by gazing at a leaf, a stone, a droplet of water at the edge of a tap. So, why not a McCartney album? Anything can get you there right? The Beatles are just my path.

And I experienced it. In brief half-seconds. That's as much time as I can sustain mystic bliss.

But, truly, at 7am today:

There was no past, present or future. The 8 year old, 18 year old and 54 year old were merged together. And whoever is reading this - there was no you and me either.

The Beatles, you and me. We were all one. 

We were the makers of the song, we were the listeners of the song, and you know what? We were the song itself. 

UNECESSARY VICTIMS - How Addicts Get Exploited.

I don’t really understand why I had social anxiety as a teenager. Nor did I understand why I couldn’t drink like other guys did.

At the age of 50, a psychiatrist - after some tests and an exhaustive interview- diagnosed me with Adult ADHD, Atypical Depression and being on the Obsessive-Compulsive Spectrum (knocking back half a bottle after work and smoking 40 cigarettes for a large part of my life does qualify me). 

I’m on medication that has reduced my unhealthy craving for so many damned things (right now it has helped me quit my addiction to nicotine gum - since I am sober and don’t smoke anymore that was my one remaining addiction) - it has also helped me focus better and not go down endless rabbit holes.

I talk to fellow alcoholics regularly. They are one group of friends I have alongside other groups of friends. I was sober from 2005 to 2011 without God or any group of fellow alcoholics, but it got lonely, and I felt left out of many parties and get-togethers. This time medication, a few ex-alcoholic friends and some good mental and physical habits are working wonders. I feel so much better in this – my second spell of sobriety which has already lasted a while.

Despite being an alcoholic who never thought he was one till the age of 34 I managed to keep a job and did not get into brawls, was not horribly manipulative or a compulsive liar, I did not have shady financial dealings, was never corrupt, was not a physically abusive spouse or a cruel parent, was not into office gossip or office politics and never back-stabbed colleagues. Never. 

I was not a person of high character, but neither was I a person of low character. An interview with my colleagues, classmates, family members, daughters, ex-spouses (yes, I’m divorced twice) will testify to that. While I do feel alcoholism and its resultant behaviour contributed to my divorces, I am also happy to say in my sober years, my ex-wife remains my closest friend. I doubt if someone with terrible character defects would manage to pull that off.

I suffered from certain chemical imbalances in my brain which were inherited. Pretty much how I have inherited a pre-disposition to diabetes and cancer. The result of these imbalances pre-disposed me to anxiety, depression and alcoholism. 

Unfortunately, I was a functional alcoholic and not only kept my job but flourished in it from the age of 22 to 45. The reason I say unfortunate is I kept suffering and living with a particular condition for many years which I need not have. 

My only tool was talk therapy which worked wonders for me – I doubt if I could have got a job or kept a job without it. But it was certainly not enough. There were genuine brain chemistry issues which a talk therapist was not qualified to fix. 

The cure for these lies partly in medication, partly in avoiding certain substances and partly in developing healthy habits. It’s the same as diabetics, cancer patients and heart patients are advised.

As I said earlier I had a pre-disposition to cancer. Three years ago I got the big C and have so far had two surgeries to remove tumours and chemotherapy. But the way I felt about my illness of cancer and my other illness of substance use disorder couldn’t be more different.

I did not need to submit to a Higher Power to make my life manageable or confess my sins and bad character in order to recover from cancer. Like any disease there are certain things one must be extremely careful about. With cancer it was smoking, with substance use disorder it is alcohol or drugs. Just like it is very difficult for a person who has cancer to give up smoking and it often requires several attempts – it is the same with substance use disorder. There is no higher power involved.

Exercise and diet are good for everyone – they are essential for heart patients. 

Having less sugar is good for everyone but it is essential for diabetics. 

In the same way giving up all substances, avoiding stressors, taking medication if required and developing healthy mental and physical habits are essential for addicts.

Parents and partners asking an alcoholic in horror why she got drunk the previous evening and behaved the way she did is akin to asking an epileptic why he suddenly had a seizure in front of everyone. At least he could have had it in his room and not in front of others. In addition, he really should be conscious of the shame he’s causing the family’s reputation by having these seizures. Once an alcoholic starts drinking a chemical reaction starts which makes his drinking almost completely out of control. It has absolutely nothing to do with his character.

There are addicts with shady characters like there are in any group of people. 

No. Substance Use Disorder needs to be decoupled from the idea that it is because of a poor character which only God and other addicts can cure. If that were the case, then how was I sober for six whole years with no God and no group? How is Javed Akhtar, the legendary lyricist and poet sober for 31 years with neither? 

In the same way that heart patients don’t need character development with fellow heart patients - all under the close supervision of God - neither do addicts. Statins, diet, exercise and being stress-free will prevent heart attacks – not endless confession and God.

Don’t get me wrong. Character development and healthy mental and physical habits are good for every single human being belonging to every single nationality and every single religion. Not just addicts.

The moment we think that substance use disorder is due to our character defects, parents, partners and patients – in their justified fear – will open themselves to exploitation and shaming by any guru, faith healer, shaman or cult. A friend’s circle of fellow sufferers may help with sobriety, in the same way that a group of diabetics helping and motivating each other would help them (a quick phone call to a friend in case one is very tempted to gulp down cake at a party is useful). 

I am writing this because I was part of a group run by a so-called doctor who charged us a bomb, kept us in his centre for over a year, manipulated us into feeling that our cure was due to our belief in him, encouraged us to feel grateful to him on a daily basis . At the same time he made oodles of money out of patients, falsified figures relating to his centres recovery rate. He told us to form close friendships with other patients at his centre because it was essential for our recovery while having a non-consensual, abusive and manipulative relationship with the daughter of a man who he said was one of his oldest and closest friends.

A guru or endless confession of one’s sins in a group is not what helps addicts. Bonding with other addicts, not feeling isolated in their illness along with medication, stress reduction methods and therapy (if required) is more than enough.

I am writing this to tell myself and others who suffer from the same illness that I do:

It’s not our fault! 

We do not need to join cults out of fear.

We do not need to call ourselves bad people every day.

We do not need to tell ourselves that all our thinking before giving up substances was terrible.

We do not need to tell ourselves that only a belief in a Guru or a Group will heal us.

We do not need to believe in God.

We do not need to let the fear of our illness be exploited.

I repeat:

We do not need Gurus, Groups or God to be healthy and happy.

Be water my friend (for Maria)

Be water my friend
And then the feeling of Sunlight
Twilight
Midnight
Moonlight

Be water my friend
And then the moonlight
Shivers
Quivers
Bewilders

Be water my friend
And then arise notions of solidity
Identity
Mortality
Totality

Be water my friend
Oh my!
Everything crumbles
Rumbles
Tumbles
Fumbles.

And I think of you
And the ones you care for
And the ones you dare for
And the ones you fear for
And the ones you despair for
And the ones you love for

And the water in your soul
Pours of out like gentle balm
More and more and more
Then some more.

Be water my friend
You have now made a river
Of yourself

And now you and you
You and them
Them and them
Are all just water.

Be water my friend
Your wish has come true
Everyone sails with you
You who now do not exist
Still has a part
That says:
‘’Oh Maria!’’

How does she feel in the water?
Does she swim?
Float?
Drown?

And if she drowns
Then is there anyone left to say
‘’Oh Maria’’?
When Maria has gone.

And where are the clients?
No coacher
Or coached
No healer
Or believer

They’re all water
Flowing uncertaintly
Nowhere to go
But just endless flow
Everyone becomes
One
Or none.

Be water my friend
And now you are not there
And when there is no You and I
There will be no more
Words to write.

And when words disappear
What can I write?
Except:

Be water my friend.

There is a time for everything.
A time to live
A time to die
But when time stands still
And the hands on the clock
That make the present the past
Stop!

Then there is only darkness.
Not "presence."
Not being in the moment
Not being "mindful"
Just darkness

Like eyes closed
Or the groping for a torch
When the lights have gone
Or the dull thud
In a dark heart.

Darkness is home
Shelter
It has neither light
Nor vision
It is blindness
And stumbling.

And you with the light
Why do you stand there
Shining your light at me?
Do you not see
That I am blind
That in the dark
I cannot fathom the light
Not even the shadow

Only people passing by
Their moving silhouettes on the wall
Like a movie that is never still
And you can't hold on
To a single scene
Before it has gone.

But my eyes are stapled tight
It isn't agony
Just pain
Which is the same
As coming out
Of a womb
And crawling back in again

"I stand at the door and knock
If any man hear my voice
And open the door
I will come in to him
And eat with him
And him with me"
Said, the Son of God.

I can't find the door.
I did once
It only led to another door.

The End of the Beginning

A torn and tattered time table is what I take back with me tonight

I take students torn away from me tonight

I take the incomplete syllabuses.

Of my students

And want to complete those lessons tonight.

I take my love for them tonight

I take conversations

Meanderings

Questions

Debates

And smiles

For those magical journeys

Through time and space

That got us here.

Our human journey.

Our link with all before us.

And the link we’ll leave behind us

For those to come.

That’s what I teach.

History.

And now our relationship?

Is it history too?

As I touch my steering wheel

And watch myself steering away from them

This drive is the loneliest one

Even though it is full of so many people

Some who will go to the next class

Some who will leave the next class

Some who will drift into their next station

Away from school

Another marker in their journey

In another country

To another future

But time stands still

And they carry the same spirit with them

Wherever they go

And I know

At the deepest core of my heart

That their spirits are beautiful

And that makes me smile

As I drive home tonight

Making love - conditions attached

I would make love to you

While Beethoven's Emperor

Was playing

Vigorous

Passionate

Or gentle 

With Mozart's Elvira Madigan

Or long

And soulful

With Miles

Kind of Blue

And if you want the

Inveterate thump

Of EDM

Or the music that's 

Happening

Then I can humbly say

Fuck off!

Dukkha or tears of smoke

DUKKHA

Do I cry?

Or hold it in?

Hold it in

That's being myself

I last cried in childhood

And then...

Tears became smoke

They don't come

The glands don't work

They turn into red eyed

Smoke

But tears I feel

Vaguely

Uncomfortably

Not knowing why they're there

Dukkha, suffering the Buddha spoke about

Hit the sweet spot of

My hearts bat

My hearts beat

Yes Dukkha

That which....

No promotion

Non stop socialising

Drinking

Smoking

Aimless chattering

Gassing

Planning

Eating

Stressing

Can remove

That quiet Dukkha

The first noble truth

For others - tears reveal it

For me - just smoke.