👏~~~****......Congratulations......****~~~👏
yup ..yup as jemdi says ........congo to every1 who have contributed to dis wonderful FANCLUB..........
if by any chance himeshji comes to know abt dis .............i'm sure he would be VERY VERY happy 😳
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Yep ash im sure he would be very happy 😃
where are the others? angie, himani, celina, badi 😭
Guys just found this:
Himesh: Sum of his luck
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ya where r others........angei, badi, celina, himani,😭
oh god v r alone again!!!!!!!😒
i know sis & i have to go for lunch now too...
catch ya later - im sure others will come online soon 😉
himeshji resopnse when asked abt da scortching heat of da summer
"I can drink around six glasses of iced tea at a go. As a little kid, I would only be on a diet of golas during summer. Of course, my parents hated it!"
-Himesh Reshammiya, music director.
hey ...i love golas toooo, we have it almost everyday @ school....😉
Yo, Himace bhai!
It's not so easy to get it because we have the first Indian rock-star foisted so strongly upon the urban consciousness by a non-urban India
Mayank Shekhar
Hi, I am Himesh," said, well, Himesh of course, a familiar looking, clean-shaven young man, with his head down, dressed in a simple shirt, and expressly apologetic mannerisms. He had humbly walked up from his slick car to the drive-way where we were.
It's not unusual to attract attention when you light up a cigarette at a public place.
There's always someone looking for matches, or if you're at a concert-venue, as I was, you know what's coming when they hesitate, mumble, and then wonder aloud, "Would you have an extra one I can bum off?" But they don't usually introduce themselves.
Himesh, I realised, wasn't a smoker. He was a successful music composer. He religiously read the newspaper I worked for. Or so he said, which became the point of the brief chat he initiated. Given my innate inadequacies with taking forward introductions, or brief chats, we shared a few fake smiles, before a fairly immediate, "Thank you… We must keep in touch."
It'd been a nightmare for me to enter an autorickshaw at the time because of Himesh, though I didn't tell him that. You had to be a frequent flyer on the city's rickshaws to know how it felt, when the industrial revolution around was eager to collide against your delicate three-wheeler. And all you had for prayers were unbearable jhankaar beats blaring at top volume. You couldn't help but hold on to the side-bar, and watch the bhaiyya on the wheel wave his hand in the air, tense up his forehead, and go, "Kya baat hai", to Himesh's Silisilay mulaqaton mein…, Tere Naam, Dil ne diya hai…
The garish, jarring sound, and poetry, purely belonged to the country-sides, where brooding is the popular form of love. Where good girls don't meet good boys, or answer invitations like, It's the time to disco. Where good boys gaze at good girls, mark their own, refer to them respectably, "Aap" (in songs at least), build images in their heads, lip-sync romantic numbers. And they know they're in love. Alone; but in love. Away; but in love. Never spoken to her; but in love.
None of my friends appeared excited to have met Himesh. Or quite knew who he was, as a phenomenon. I wasn't surprised.
This was about two years ago from last week, when I casually mentioned to some (not the same lot from the concert) that I was to meet Himesh Reshammiya for a television interview. I hadn't seen such wide-eyed excitement for anyone. "We wanna come, let us know when," as if we were to watch a curious specimen. They'd all crack up with usual gags about hot women prancing around, as 'Himace' sulked in the corner; his irritating high octave voice; his face plastered everywhere, every television channel or radio station, any time of the given day.
Thanks to a music label that would care only if he sold maximum cassettes at highway corner-shops, by now, Himesh, the baseball cap, jacket, thick stubble and a thicker nasal twang, had all become rockstars in the true sense of the urban term — a singer with an acquired attitude, a composer with his own niche, a musician with his own mass-following. A celebrity who'd be much harder to meet than at the drive-way of a concert-venue. Who'd bunk three interview appointments in as many weeks; arrive a few hours late; remain stuck to his cell phone, and never let go off his bugging visual image.
His music and its sensibilities roughly remain the same, and they hit the same unknown chord. But for a few embellishments and videos that perhaps allow him some posh listeners. As I watched 'Himace' reiterate the same point, no matter how I'd vent my frustration, "Show me anyone who sells even one-tenth I do," I realised this was a peculiar revenge from non-urban India. There was nothing to fake his following, and its extent wasn't so easy to fathom. He may well be the first sub-altern super-star so strongly foisted upon the urban consciousness and media. Whatever you think of his music. Your personal tastes, as Himesh might say (with some modification) now are, Tera Terra Terraa Kussooooor… Huh!
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