Another music season has drawn to a close and I thought I had attended the last concert on Sunday evening, till my mother told me that there is one more on February 1st by one of my favourite vocalists in a neighbourhood temple. I am way too overwhelmed by all the music to write about the concerts or the musicians. Most days I find it difficult to sleep after the adrenalin rush I experience after a concert.
A change that I noticed in me as a ‘rasika’ was that I seem to have learnt to curb my urge to identify the ragam of any song within the first 5 seconds. In fact these days I don’t feel bad even when I realize I had wrongly identified the ragam of a particular song. My tolerance towards fellow concert attendees has also improved slightly. I still get irritated when people talk during the concert or walk in late and take their own time looking for seats etc., but the degree of irritation has gone down substantially compared to the previous years.
So looking back at the season, I realize that apart from all the music, the memory of some interesting rasikas I observed during the concerts has stayed with me. I may not be able to pick them from a line-up or anything, but I may not be able to forget their antics that easily. Without much further ado, I present to you the winners of the weirdest-rasikas-of-the-music-season contest for the year 2011-2012.
a. Ponytail Aunty : I am not using the usual form of address (maami) here, because the lady involved did not seem all that old. I am pretty sure she had recently attended a course on ‘How-to-pretend-you-are-enjoying-music-in-a-concert-while-ensuring-everyone-in-the-hall-notices-it-too’ or some similarly misguided course run by other veterans of attending music concerts. It was the first concert by TM Krishna (one of my favourite singers) for the season and the venue was a community hall. Thanks to the weather God, Chennai had forgotten to be hot and humid for a short while and I had settled down to enjoy the music, when I found my chair and the ground beneath me shaking. Fearing an earthquake, I looked around for some reassurance and found that my mother and aunt on one side and my cousin and niece on the other were shaking with laughter. They were point their fingers (subtly, according to them at least) to this lady with a high pony tail, in the front row (not the ponytail- the aunty!!). The woman seemed to be out of her mind – why else would one roll her head round and round without fear of it rolling away for good from the stem (neck)?? Now that I had seen this woman, I was having difficulty looking at the stage. The scene eerily appeared to me of the head getting slowly unscrewed from the neck. Throughout the concert I was fearing that the neck would give away at some point in time and I may end up with the woman’s head on my lap – a Tarantinoeque fantasy I admit, but I was really worried that it would happen. What made the sight more amusing was that there was absolutely no relationship between ponytail aunty’s head-rolling and the rhythm of the music. Aunty had learnt the art of rolling one’s head as if in appreciation but had started a few micro-seconds late and it was obvious to anyone, who cared to notice (like me) that she was faking the whole appreciation part!! Needless to say, I remember more of the lady’s antics than the concert itself!!
b. Wet Grinder Maami : This happened during the middle of the season. In typical stalker fashion, I was sort of following my favourite singer Sanjay everywhere he performed during the season. One of these concerts was at a marriage hall. After grudgingly paying Rs.100 per ticket for seats without even armrests and trying to settle down with as little discomfort as possible to take in all the music, my attention was diverted, this time by the lady sitting next to me. Now I was initially a little annoyed with this lady. I was resenting the fact that she seemed young (or at least only as old as me), yet coolly walked in late and disturbed all of us in the row trying to get to a seat next to me. However, as the concert progressed I had forgotten all about the intrusion, and this lady nudged my elbow and pointed at a maami sitting 2-3 rows ahead. Something seemed seriously wrong. I had come for a vocal concert, but off-stage a dance performance also seemed to be in progress. This lady was not just rocking from side to side*, but was sort of spinning on her axis – well, not exactly spinning, in case you start imagining a scene straight out of exorcist, but she was making circular movements with her upright body, waist upwards, with her waist and legs as the axis of rotation. Her movement reminded me of the grinding stone of the old fashioned wet grinder, moving round and round while grinding the rice to a batter. While I was wondering what all this drama was about, the lady next to me was tch-tching in sympathy, murmuring (rather loudly) to me that the maami seemed to have some serious physical ailment that made her restless. I did my duty as a daughter and pointed out this woman to my mother who was sitting next to me and continued listening to the main concert. In between I checked to see if the maami was still sitting up or if fatigue had taken over and she had fallen down. Her performance was going as steadily as the main one, with the only difference that her performance was off the main beat!! A strange thing happened during the ‘tani avarthanam’ – which is the part of the concert where the percussionists play their instruments for a while. Since this is the part of the concert where rhythm, rather than melody takes over completely, I was worried about Maami’s health and my sanity. Suspecting the worst, I looked at the maami. But she had stopped moving and after a while she slowly stood up and left the concert, thereby allaying my suspicion that what she was suffering from was an advanced form of Parkinson’s disease and that I may have to call for an ambulance at any time.
c. Uncle Bob : This happened last week. The venue was the same as the previous one and the singer was again Sanjay (I told you I was stalking him!!). It was a free concert, so we did not complain much about the bad chairs. This rasika, who I will only call Uncle Bob was sitting 2 rows in front of me. He was not blocking my view of the stage as he was sitting to my right. But I was aware of Uncle putting his hand up all of a sudden, like an over-eager student putting up his hand to answer the teacher’s question. The hand would wave for a few minutes and then would go down. I was left puzzling what I missed in the singing, because the hand always seemed to go up at unremarkable parts of the singing. After a while, unfortunately for me, the seats to the left of Uncle were vacated and he moved to my direct field of vision. In between curiosity got the better of me and I observed Uncle Bob for a while. His friend (or someone) seemed to be sitting a few seats away from him and Uncle would suddenly want to show him how music was to be enjoyed. So while his hand shot up and did its thing, Uncle would be looking around to see if he was being noticed and admired. He probably attended the same course as Ponytail Aunty, but his takeaways from the course seemed to be different. Interestingly, when Sanjay was dishing out really wonderful music, Uncle would be distracted, looking around the hall and at people walking in and out. And suddenly as if a thunderbolt had struck him, he would be reminded of his duties as a rasika and put his hand up, totally oblivious to the fact that the entire hall had erupted in applause and ‘aahaas’ and ‘sabash’ a couple of seconds ago, while he was busy looking at the door to see who had entered. Like an actor who keeps up his lip movement after the playback singing has stopped, Uncle Bob, managed to show his faux signs of appreciation at irregular and irrelevant intervals.
As the season ends, I realize that these 3 rasikas unwittingly offered additional entertainment. Since it came for free and like every true Indian, I like anything that comes for free, I thank these nameless people for making these concerts memorable in more ways than one
* which by the way is a pretty normal audience reaction in these concerts, and obviously, by pretty normal I mean I tend to do it at times too!
A change that I noticed in me as a ‘rasika’ was that I seem to have learnt to curb my urge to identify the ragam of any song within the first 5 seconds. In fact these days I don’t feel bad even when I realize I had wrongly identified the ragam of a particular song. My tolerance towards fellow concert attendees has also improved slightly. I still get irritated when people talk during the concert or walk in late and take their own time looking for seats etc., but the degree of irritation has gone down substantially compared to the previous years.
So looking back at the season, I realize that apart from all the music, the memory of some interesting rasikas I observed during the concerts has stayed with me. I may not be able to pick them from a line-up or anything, but I may not be able to forget their antics that easily. Without much further ado, I present to you the winners of the weirdest-rasikas-of-the-music-season contest for the year 2011-2012.
a. Ponytail Aunty : I am not using the usual form of address (maami) here, because the lady involved did not seem all that old. I am pretty sure she had recently attended a course on ‘How-to-pretend-you-are-enjoying-music-in-a-concert-while-ensuring-everyone-in-the-hall-notices-it-too’ or some similarly misguided course run by other veterans of attending music concerts. It was the first concert by TM Krishna (one of my favourite singers) for the season and the venue was a community hall. Thanks to the weather God, Chennai had forgotten to be hot and humid for a short while and I had settled down to enjoy the music, when I found my chair and the ground beneath me shaking. Fearing an earthquake, I looked around for some reassurance and found that my mother and aunt on one side and my cousin and niece on the other were shaking with laughter. They were point their fingers (subtly, according to them at least) to this lady with a high pony tail, in the front row (not the ponytail- the aunty!!). The woman seemed to be out of her mind – why else would one roll her head round and round without fear of it rolling away for good from the stem (neck)?? Now that I had seen this woman, I was having difficulty looking at the stage. The scene eerily appeared to me of the head getting slowly unscrewed from the neck. Throughout the concert I was fearing that the neck would give away at some point in time and I may end up with the woman’s head on my lap – a Tarantinoeque fantasy I admit, but I was really worried that it would happen. What made the sight more amusing was that there was absolutely no relationship between ponytail aunty’s head-rolling and the rhythm of the music. Aunty had learnt the art of rolling one’s head as if in appreciation but had started a few micro-seconds late and it was obvious to anyone, who cared to notice (like me) that she was faking the whole appreciation part!! Needless to say, I remember more of the lady’s antics than the concert itself!!
b. Wet Grinder Maami : This happened during the middle of the season. In typical stalker fashion, I was sort of following my favourite singer Sanjay everywhere he performed during the season. One of these concerts was at a marriage hall. After grudgingly paying Rs.100 per ticket for seats without even armrests and trying to settle down with as little discomfort as possible to take in all the music, my attention was diverted, this time by the lady sitting next to me. Now I was initially a little annoyed with this lady. I was resenting the fact that she seemed young (or at least only as old as me), yet coolly walked in late and disturbed all of us in the row trying to get to a seat next to me. However, as the concert progressed I had forgotten all about the intrusion, and this lady nudged my elbow and pointed at a maami sitting 2-3 rows ahead. Something seemed seriously wrong. I had come for a vocal concert, but off-stage a dance performance also seemed to be in progress. This lady was not just rocking from side to side*, but was sort of spinning on her axis – well, not exactly spinning, in case you start imagining a scene straight out of exorcist, but she was making circular movements with her upright body, waist upwards, with her waist and legs as the axis of rotation. Her movement reminded me of the grinding stone of the old fashioned wet grinder, moving round and round while grinding the rice to a batter. While I was wondering what all this drama was about, the lady next to me was tch-tching in sympathy, murmuring (rather loudly) to me that the maami seemed to have some serious physical ailment that made her restless. I did my duty as a daughter and pointed out this woman to my mother who was sitting next to me and continued listening to the main concert. In between I checked to see if the maami was still sitting up or if fatigue had taken over and she had fallen down. Her performance was going as steadily as the main one, with the only difference that her performance was off the main beat!! A strange thing happened during the ‘tani avarthanam’ – which is the part of the concert where the percussionists play their instruments for a while. Since this is the part of the concert where rhythm, rather than melody takes over completely, I was worried about Maami’s health and my sanity. Suspecting the worst, I looked at the maami. But she had stopped moving and after a while she slowly stood up and left the concert, thereby allaying my suspicion that what she was suffering from was an advanced form of Parkinson’s disease and that I may have to call for an ambulance at any time.
c. Uncle Bob : This happened last week. The venue was the same as the previous one and the singer was again Sanjay (I told you I was stalking him!!). It was a free concert, so we did not complain much about the bad chairs. This rasika, who I will only call Uncle Bob was sitting 2 rows in front of me. He was not blocking my view of the stage as he was sitting to my right. But I was aware of Uncle putting his hand up all of a sudden, like an over-eager student putting up his hand to answer the teacher’s question. The hand would wave for a few minutes and then would go down. I was left puzzling what I missed in the singing, because the hand always seemed to go up at unremarkable parts of the singing. After a while, unfortunately for me, the seats to the left of Uncle were vacated and he moved to my direct field of vision. In between curiosity got the better of me and I observed Uncle Bob for a while. His friend (or someone) seemed to be sitting a few seats away from him and Uncle would suddenly want to show him how music was to be enjoyed. So while his hand shot up and did its thing, Uncle would be looking around to see if he was being noticed and admired. He probably attended the same course as Ponytail Aunty, but his takeaways from the course seemed to be different. Interestingly, when Sanjay was dishing out really wonderful music, Uncle would be distracted, looking around the hall and at people walking in and out. And suddenly as if a thunderbolt had struck him, he would be reminded of his duties as a rasika and put his hand up, totally oblivious to the fact that the entire hall had erupted in applause and ‘aahaas’ and ‘sabash’ a couple of seconds ago, while he was busy looking at the door to see who had entered. Like an actor who keeps up his lip movement after the playback singing has stopped, Uncle Bob, managed to show his faux signs of appreciation at irregular and irrelevant intervals.
As the season ends, I realize that these 3 rasikas unwittingly offered additional entertainment. Since it came for free and like every true Indian, I like anything that comes for free, I thank these nameless people for making these concerts memorable in more ways than one
* which by the way is a pretty normal audience reaction in these concerts, and obviously, by pretty normal I mean I tend to do it at times too!
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