“Well he’s cute.”
“I tell you money ain’t all he’s got a lot of. He just turned around. Look at da front of him.”
“Oh yeah, look girls. Look, LOOK.”
“That ain’t no banana.”
“Hawhawhawhawhawhaw.”

Not exactly the type of conversation that would evoke fond childhood memories. But that soundtrack is a big part of my twisted wonder years. I didn’t understand the words. For me, it was nothing more than familiar noise. I remember waiting impatiently for the ladies to shut up and music to begin.

You can get a Cerrone sampler at eMusic. But if you must have the 16.20-minute version of Love in C Minor, complete w/ classy cover, go to iTunes. For old times’ sake, I got the full version. Ah, memories! Innocent ones, I assure you.

I still don’t have much patience for the ladies. Cerrone’s signature drums kick in at 1:21 and your limbs begin to twitch involuntarily. At 4:30 mark, your lunch gets reacquainted w/ your back teeth. A few seconds later, it exits through front door. Strangely, the song improves after some unbearable moments of discosity (loooove me).

This was also Bollywood’s go-to soundtrack for introducing khaandaan ki izzat to handful of mud. Picture hero’s Johnnie Walkered brother flashing lecherous grin and chest hair, getting it on w/ wicked city women. Tight white bell bottoms optional.

My wonderful resume has given Mrs. S much heartburn. She still hasn’t forgiven me for Disco Visarjan.

If you saw some fools dancing to Black is Black on Tilak Bridge 30 years ago, you saw me and my friends at Ganpati Visarjan. We had the biggest speakers and the best tunes. Even live bands were no match for our mobile discotheque. Soon other Ganpati Mandals would give up and join our party. One visarjan under a groove.

I still see Boney M stickers on stray Marutis. It warms my heart to see such respect for our traditions. And we are not the only ones. Recently I was at this Irani party. After the obligatory Yalla, the DJ put on Daddy Cool and everyone jumped up. The rabid pack of Irani uncles and aunties burnt the dance floor down. The burning, I must add was of Travolta variety, not Ayatollah one.

Disco must have been the official theme music for global tapori underground. See Kung Fu Fighting at Benny’s farewell party in The City of God. Producer Biddu (longhaired brother in KFF video) has scored a few hits in Brazil. None stranger than the one below.

We all loved this real life Jamila Singer. Even my dad, who only listens to hindustani classical music, liked Disco Deewane. My favourite Nazia Hassan memory is Aap Jaisa koi blocking the sucktacular Sheesha ho ya dil ho from no. 1 spot for 14 weeks. I mean no disrespect to La Mangeshkar, but I hate 80’s LP.

There was predictable bellyaching from predictable corners. “Pakistani singer corrupting nation’s youth.” “Devil’s music.” Even ghazal great Jagjit Singh joined the bakwaas brigade and called her a bathroom singer.

Others tried to copy the successful formula. Higher up on the bizarrometer was desified Boney M by Pakistani singer Musarrat and Mahendra Kapoor. Yes, that Mahendra Kapoor.

I could go on and on. But you know the rest.

The giddy sugar rush is wearing off. I need to go and chew on something more nourishing. Disco S signing off. Peace.