Saga of a concert hopper

Yet another music season is on its way out and the silk saris are going back into wardrobes after washing/dry cleaning/ airing.

Canteen chairs will slowly be stacked one over the other and the Music Dance Drama section of the Hindu will be slowly shedding its extra poundage.

Musicians will be taking stock of their performances and the female members of the audience slowly reconciling themselves to home cooked meals.

And before the second chapter of the music season, albeit a watered down one, i.e, the Thyagaraja Aradhana starts, it would be well to think back over some of the constants that have been part of the season for years down the line.

Screechy mikes and thani exodus apart, one of the features that have become an inseparable part of the festivities is a phenomenon called ‘concert hopping’.

 Wikipedia or the Encyclopedia Brittanica would perhaps define it thus: State of constant movement in concert auditoria caused by migration of audience from one music recital to the other.

Concert hoppers are neither hoppers not concert attendees. They are generally there as part of the surroundings, like the chairs or the banners, mainly because they are never there, and yet always present! Like a vague perfume that permeates the air-conditioned halls at the evening concert at the Music Academy where the cream of society and the best in French perfumes converge, the Sabha hopper may not be an entity himself. It is as though there is one human being constituted by the sum total of walkers in and walkers out that constitutes this ‘superman’.

It goes like this: afternoon concert A begins with a sum total of 6 members, maybe more if the singer comes from a large Chennai based family.

The two ‘unattached’ rasikas (those who are not bound to their seats by ties of blood) will manifest the following predictable behavior  if they are seasoned Chennai Isai Vizha Rasikas.

They will listen to the first song. Politely applaud. The next, if it is a rare ragam will trigger off a flurry of book opening. Then comes the alapana. This is generally a signal for him to settle deep into his seat and catch up on the missed eight hours of last night, thanks to his nagging wife.

If he is considerate, he will not snore too loudly. Otherwise, the remaining audience of 5, is in for an uppapakavadyam as rhythmic gurgles and whistles emanate, in true mikeless spirit.

Generally the siesta concludes with the alapana if the fond parents of the young artiste have the energy to contribute generously to the applause and compensate for quantity by ample quality.

The kriti that follows the violinist’s solo is generally the deciding factor. If it is a ‘Banturithi’, or a ‘Anandamrithakarshini’, the awakened rasika generally sits through, nodding his head appreciatively.  A ‘Thyagaraja Yoga Vaibhavam’ is generally a surefire anti-rasika cream that ensures that the first stage of concert hopping starts.

The rasika slowly makes the motions of departure: stirring in the seat, fumbling for rexine pouch,   testing the knees gingerly, and slowly lifting oneself from the chair, generally maintaining the thala with one hand as if to say: You are singing well, but you know…”

From where he slowly makes his way to the next sabha. For the next two songs. And then to the next, and the next. Until the stock of sabhas in the vicinity gives, or his tired frame decides that enough is enough or he remembers the vegetables he had promised to get for his wife on his way home.

And the cycle goes on. When he returns home, most probably the conversation with his wife will go on thus:

“So how was the concert today?”

Rasika (shaking his head vigourously as if to draw from the recesses of his memory): “Err.. very nice, I mean the one at ABC sabha was good, the one at DEF mediocre and XY vidwan was extremely bad at GHI sabha. I think the Shankarabaranam was ok, but the song that followed… I don’t remember…”

Wife (helpfully) : Manasu Swadhina? Swararaga sudha? Endhuku Peddala? Akshaya Linga?

Sabha Hopping husband: “ Just a minute… oh no, it was … Pakkala Nilabadi.

And before his astonished wife can ask whether the artiste was doing a T.M.Krishna act by prefacing the chaste Karaharapriya masterpiece with a Shankarabharanam, the poor man concludes:

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t there. I went elsewhere. I was sabha hopping, you know. And here are the beans and tomatoes you asked for.”