Sexy Bach

See boss, there's no point in being indignant about some things. Like what you're not supposed to do at western classical concerts for example. We're Indian, I agree, naturally effusive, demonstratively appreciative and all that sort of thing. But sorry, no go during Bachtime. So for your own protection and that of those around you, here is a comprehensive list of don'ts at a Western Classical concert.

Suspend all activity when the music starts. If you have your finger up your nose, leave it there. If a mosquito buzzes annoyingly around you, too bad. Try and bargain with it telepathically to leave you alone in exchange for the address of a carnatic concert in the same neighbourhood.

Don't clap. You'll get into trouble. Western classical musicians lose their mojo if there's applause between movements. Mimic a 1970s concrete water-maiden until the music stops. Look around for someone who seems knowledgeable. Rub your palms non-committally when this person applauds. If the artist acknowledges the applause, clap 3 times and smile wanly.

Athough unthinkable before, it is now considered polite and modern to whistle and hoot while applauding at a classical concert. However, be warned that it is not you that should be doing it. YOU - are supposed to continue resembling a frozen coelacanth. The polite whistles should emerge from experienced polite whistlers.

Do not say Sabhash, Aaaaan and Bhale in the middle of a complex aria. Do not waggle your head and say mchxl-mchxl when the soprano hits a high C.

Do not say silly things like "Actually all weshtran musics are in Shankarabharana raaga only." Multiple carnatic music buffs in the audience will jump up immediately and say "Yes yes". They will then proceed to bore everyone senseless with comparisons to Yedhukula Kambhoji and Kiravani and there will be no end to it.

If you're bored, do not make things worse by looking at the artist's music score to see how many pages they have left to play. Chances are that the artist will play till the last page, flip the music over and play it all over again from the top. These classical musicians I tell you.

Try not to focus on the conductor's bottom, though it is the most visible part of the concert. The music does not come from there, though the rhythm does.

Your babies are cute. Leave them AT HOME. Do not inflict a stuffy adult concert on them. They are not interested. The rest of the audience isn't interested in listening to them wail through one either.

If your cell phone rings in the middle of the concert, commit hara-kiri immediately. Yes I realize it takes two people to do it. Don't worry, I will help you.

You are not allowed to arrive or leave in the middle of a piece unless you're dying. Even if you are, you'll probably live through the piece anyway, thanks to the preservative effect of your state of suspended animation.

Do not request an old hindi number at a Bach concert. Well I suppose you could, actually. Go ahead, enjoy ma.

However, do not, at the end of the request, say, "Oh what is there, anybody can play piano ting ting ping ping." I realize Shammi Kapoor has convinced you that you can produce excellent western classical by kneading imaginary chappati dough over a Baby Grand. What you don't realize is that this technique will not work unless there is a heavily mascaraed weeping woman with a bun as big as her head, a disapproving father in a dressing gown AND a grand staircase for him to hobble down.

Linger around after the concert with a polite smile on your face. Chances are you'll be photographed and captioned: "All smiles - Syamanthakamani and Selvaganapathy" on page 3 the next day.

And finally, do remember to take the program list home. You can mug up the names of the pieces and rattle them off at the unsuspecting people you have incarcerated in your basement for this purpose.

Sandalwood, here I come (ish)

Ah yes hello, I am back. And for those who don't remember me anymore, allow me me re-introduce myself. "Hello, jeste my name is Bikerdude, malayalam vooice-oaver artistte."

Whaa? Yes. This is the new me, and this what I did on my first day of official unemployment.

Whaa? Yes. I bade adieu to my software engineer avatar a couple of weeks ago to see if I could pursue my true interests in the arts. Well atleast that's what I wrote in my resignation letter. Bwahaha. I'm not sure how much pursuing I'm going to be doing, but this was definitely an interesting start:

A few months ago, I got in touch with Suchitra Lata, an immensely talented musician/composer and virtuoso veena player, who very sweetly invited me to check out her studio in Jaynagar. They do some amazing indie jazz-fusion music, aside from mainstream stuff like jingles, voice overs and radio clips. Suchitra's brilliant Album Mobius Strip (2006) has a dreamy loungey sort of feel to it, with very crisply executed veena leads all through. A wonderfully refreshing change from the usual ersatz tracks that you hear in our page 3 lounge bars across town.

So off I went to the studio last week. After I'd gawped at the all studio equipment and was sufficiently bowled over by Suchitra's fusion tracks, she asked me if I'd like do a voice over for a photo printer ad. "Um, sure", I said, and was led into the recording room and asked to sit in front of an extremely cool looking mike. She handed me a 4 page manuscript with a series of jalebis drawn onto it. I was to do the voice-over in Goad's oawn Language.

Whaa? Yes.

"Err.. no English?" I asked nervously. "Err, no English", she said, "Unless you want to do the voice over in Tamil or Gujarati. I stared at the jalebis intently, hoping I'd suddenly be able to read the script as fluently as I could as a kid. No hope there. I finally gave up and begged to be excused for a day so I could go home home, weep for an hour and then attempt to make sense out of it.

After several hours of laborious Malayalam-to-English transliteration (and standing out in the rain to get the perfect nasal twang), I went back to the studio to do the voice-over. Gokul, the brilliant sound engineer, smiled encouragingly at me through the glass window of the recording room and cued me to begin.

"Namaskaram, ende peru Bikerdude. Njaan oru photographer aanu..." (Hello I am Bikerdude and I am a photographer....) I began, looking steadfastly away from Suchitra who had collapsed on the studio floor in uncontrollable giggles the moment I began speaking in my rah-rah malayalam accent. Gokul played my voice back over the headphones. I looked around for a sharp intrument to end everybody's agony right there. Apparently they were used to reactions like mine, and had padded the studio walls as a precautionary measure. After several re-takes and some cool cut-paste jobs by Gokul, the voice-over was ready. It was maginally less hijrotic than when I first started, but still sounded like Hermann Gundert on coconut schnapps.

"I sing and play the guitar a bit too, you know.." I told Suchitra hesitantly, after we'd done the voice over. "Oh?" she said. "Let's do a scratch recording then." It was for a kannada film track. The lyrics hadn't come in yet, she said. But not to worry, I could sing it anyway using the phrases 'love me', 'touch me', 'kiss me', and 'oooh bayyyybehh' in random order.

I sang. Gokul recorded, and played back the track over the headphones. It sounded like a cross between a foghorn and Rajamma miss. They made me sing the same track in a higher key. It sounded like a cross between the HMT factory siren and Rajamma miss.

"Uh-huh, cool, so lets see how that works out", Suchitra said diplomatically, after I was done. "And next time, try not to wobble so much while you sing, yeah?" I simpered, melted into a puddle and trickled down the studio stairs into my car .

So if you hear of mass-malayalee-suicides resulting from a printer infomercial, you'll know who was responsible. And as for me being the next kannada singing sensation, don't hold your breath. I'm not quite sure "Love, touch, kiss or hold me in no particular order baby" will make it to the top ten countdown any time soon.

Thanks tons Suchitra and Gokul for being so patient and long-suffering. You really are awesome people!!

Sandalwood = The kannada film industry ala Bollywood, Kollywood, Tollywood etc.

Aargh-apella!

Friday, the 20th could well have been the 13th.

"Hey, let's go listen to Stanford University's acapella group perform today", said a friend. "Aye thu come ya, It will be fun, and besides how bad can it be? They're only performing for 45 minutes." "Oh them?", I said, googling furiously. They were called Raagapella, I discovered. Stanford university's South Asian focussed all-male acapella group. Oho. They'd been selected as part of Stanford's eight acapella groups through a gruellingly intense audition process. Achacha. They only got 3 hours of sleep a night, because of all the practices, the article said. Mchxl mchxl. "Uyyo cammaaan I say" I hollered back into the phone at the friend, and off we went.

We reached the Alliance Française half an hour early, hoping to catch seats in what we thought would be a packed house. The group was performing as part of the Fête de la Musique, a free music evening showcasing musical talent from all over the country and beyond.

The show was running about an hour late as usual. Which was cool because it gave us time to check out the group that was playing before them: a talented but fairly pedestrian jazz-fusion group, with a cherubic dude on the western drums, a slightly apologetic looking Indian percussionist and a lost bass-guitarist. My brain switched off the moment the apologetic percussionist switched on his laptop and played an ersatz background score for them to drum over. A couple of well executed, intricate konnukol interludes and bland guitar riffs (all at an earsplittingly high decibel level) later, they left. Hopefully straight to the shower that they'd forgotten to take before coming on stage.

A hush fell over the audience. About ten men, identically clad in red zari-kurtas walked in and took their positions on stage. "Ah, there they are", sighed the friend and settled into her seat, looking forward to a fabulous hour ahead. The lead kurta fluttered down from on stage. "Hi how are you guys doin'?" (Oooerr. Ah well they've been in the US for a while, I suppose the NRI twang is forgiveable.) "We're Raaegapeylla", he said, launching into a long winded explanation of the type of music they were into. A few "raaeguhs" and "taaeluhs" into his speech, and I had zoned out. I even missed the part where he explained why girls in particular were supposed to like their music. I was taking bites out of the seat in front of me by then.

Finally, they began. Lead kurta blew into a pitch pipe, pumped his arm up and down with the skill of a Saidapet housewife at 4am, and the group began to hum a low 3-note chord. The pitch pipe hadn't helped. They were flat. Kurta after kurta fluttered down to the mike and sang a line each (flat), before taking their places back with the red mass of gyrating hips on stage, still on the same chord (flat). We looked at each other. "Probably not warmed up", we reassured each other, and waited for the next song.

A scientist type slithered down to the mike next, his longish hair in straggly wisps around a standard issue wide-eyed NRI leer. "Hope you guys are doin' just fab tonight. We're now gonna do a modal (dai!) piece for you guys in a Raega and its based on a shlogum." (Ah. Tamil-ABCD. Hmm.) "We've also tried to mix in a John Denver number" (Aiyo! Poor fellow what he did to you I say?). "But first, Im gonna do you an aalaa-banai" (Uh huh, definitely Tamil).

The visions in red went "Pum-pum-pum-PUMMM" for about 40 seconds, which I later figured was supposed to have been the sound of a tanpura (left out in the rain for 40 days and 40 nights presumably). A billy goat bleated out from somewhere. The Alliance caretaker jumped up with his stick to chase it away, but sat down suspiciously when he realized that the sound was coming from on stage. It was long haired scientist type. He had closed his eyes and was doing his aalaa-banai. It was - ooh, you guessed? Flat. He'd suddenly shudder from head to toe and go a-a-a-a-a-a-a, presumably to placate the djinn that had jumped into his pajamas before the concert. Finally, he left. The Chinese (north-east-indian?) member of the group came down to sing his line: A deep bass growl emerged from his dimunitive figure. Not half bad! Pretty darned good even. Unfortunately his elaborate churidar had slid down over his feet and made him look like a handsomish Yoda. "Song sung, I nicely have", I thought I heard him murmur before he flapped back upstage.

Long-haired scientist type came back down and went "tae kit ta tah, ta laengu takka tah." for 2 minutes, accompanied by a voice-percussionist member of the group. I had finished chewing the chair in front of me, and was gnawing pensively on my friend's obligingly offered shoulder by then. My cell phone buzzed. It was a distress message from Missy M, whom I had also invited to watch the spectacle: "Headache. Pain. Must go. Will talk. Later. Water. Room service."

I couldn't take any more either. I left quietly after the song was over, and cried into my pillow all night.

Stanford Raagapella. I have two words to say to you: "What the...?!!"
OK three: "Fbbbthhhbbpp".

Acknowledgements: Mem (for offering gnawable shoulder), Subz (for scarring us for life), Apps (for being long suffering and stoic)

Placatory disclaimer: Don't get all hot under the collar boys, you weren't so bad. Just tune up a bit and you'll be fine.

Radio Goo Goo (or Radio Ga Ga Part Too Too)

My slightly less-than-reverent post on Bangalore's chatterbreed seems to have attracted a fair amount of attention from the accused. And for those of you who quite understandably skipped reading the comment track of the post, here are the responses of some of the RJs who wrote back after reading it:

Manasvi (AIR) said:
Glad to know you love AIR. Many people call it old fashioned. But those who work there would only know the effort it takes to be a part of AIR. and the number of restrictions we have to consider before every word is spoken.

Priya Ganapathy (ex Radio City) said:
One of my friends told me to check out this blog and man, i haftu admit, u guys made my day!! Full majaa happened. I can't believe that there are quite a few who still remember the 'Core FM team of Radio City!' and so many who loved the Retro Show & the Late Show. I had an awesome time while I was there, and it feels utterly wunnerful that u were listening. For those of you who need an update on my life - I quit fulltime radio but now host events, do voice-overs and am back to writing. Travelling a lot... but if I find a radio station that's calling out my name - u can be sure to hear me on the airwaves;-) Till then, take care and thanks for ur wonderful messages! Yours in music n madness - Priya Ganapathy/Lingo Leela/Sister Stella

Rashmi and Prithvi (Radio One) said:
Can't start without saying that your post Radio Ga Ga brought a smile on all our faces on a day when Radio One works without takin a pause - Friday (25th of April i.e last week). And this of course included my station head Shyju Varkey, the breakfast jock Prithvi, Ulfat Sultan a k a Agent Rakesh, a few of our sales guys and me. These instances makes us feel good of our presence in the market and assures us of the connect we have with our Bangalorean Buddies just like anyone of us at Radio One who find an instant relationship establshing with Chamrajpet Charles of Prof Sultan. Thank you so much for the support and of course for tuning in.


After a couple of emails to and fro, I realized Rashmi and Prithvi's Radio One office was almost next door to my workplace, so off I went last Friday to meet them. Acutely aware of the high fashion state that my friday work wear was in, I decided to accessorize a little by smoothing down my frazzled hair with some good quality BWSSB water before meeting them. Thank you 30% relative humidity, in the 3 minutes that it took to walk down to the station, my hair was back to resembling the Great Indian Macaque again.

A pretty Rashmi breezed into the foyer as soon as I came in, and took me inside to meet 'everybody'. Very soon, a nattily dressed Prithvi was shaking me by the hand and leading me into the recording room. Inside, the pretty RJ pavitra (adh yen neer kudeetheero pa, nangu solp kodi (what water you drink-o-pa)) was at the console, studying all the intellectual smses that were coming in from her listeners. "Hai SXZVLW. Hehehe" flashed the most recent one, which she efficiently deleted with one graceful schloomp, while turning on the music, feeding the cat, doing her taxes and calling back an smser in another fluid motion.

Rashmi and Prithvi dragged me out of the studio before I could fall at Pavithra's feet and beg to be accepted as a disciple forever, and whisked me away to the main office. "Yaar ivrella?" (Who are all these people?) I asked looking mika-mika at everybody, feeling exactly like the legendary Boré Gowda did on his first trip to the city. Tinkly Rashmi laughter bounced off the walls of the office. "Ivraa? (These peopleaa?) Well, the guy sitting over there is RJ Anjaan, and this person here, is your friend Ulfat Sultan", she said pointing to a smart dude tapping away industriously at what I'm sure was his next hilarious clip. "Oh hi", he said, looking up momentarily. "Abb..ab.. gnh", I said, waving weakly and pretending to melt into the floor.

The station director came out soon enough, and at that point I completely lost it and gibberred away incoherently in Kannada. There was a light tap on my shoulder. It was Prithvi. "You know all those nice things you just said to the director? Yeah, so he doesnt speak Kannada." he said. "Oh hauda? Hehehe mhemhe", I simpered and turned back to the director. "Adhe budhdhi, nim radiyaa aithallraa? Bhal beshtyth nod budhdhra. Belg-belghoth jagli myaag kuntkaand kyaalthen nwaadi." (Charming programming, dear sir. I enjoy listening to it greatly as I sip my cha in the breakfast room), I continued in an inexplicable pan-karnataka halli-mix. For some reason, the English section in my pea brain had decided to pack its bags and take a vacation to Nelmangala.

Before I could cause any more embarrassment to the director or the staff, Prithvi and Rashmi dragged me out, still gibberring away furiously in Nelmangalese. They finally lured me into the elevator and out of the building with promises of a bonda at Kaycees.

Aiyo, mast maja banth ammawra - swaamyoi! Bhal thyanks kanra.

Radio Ga Ga

They're everywhere. You can't escape them. Their incessant screaming seeps through your skull and messes with your brains. They gibber at you excitedly while you're at restaurants, malls and on your way to work. Their non-stop banter bounces off your eyeballs and lodges itself irretrievably in your psyche. Their ghoulish laughter rings in your ears hours after they've gone. They shriek in amusement as they watch you grow more and more dependent on their histrionics to tide you through your day.

What is most alarming, however, is that their numbers are swelling rapidly. The handful of RJs at Bangalore's solitary FM radio station in the early 2000s has now self-replicated to form a whole tribe of hysterical, airheaded babblers, chattering across 30 stations today. Unfortunately, I have never been able to catch a live specimen so far, to ask it the questions that I've always been dying to:

Are you sure you haven't been genetically altered? What do you have for breakfast before you let fly on the world like that? Do you sound like CDs on fast forward even when you're off work?
Will you ever have spouses? who aren't deaf-mute? Or children? How are those gonna work out if your spouses have permanent headaches from your incessant chattering? Ok I don't want to know the answer to the last one.

I must admit though, that there are a few chatterers that stand out from the maddening clamour. They gibber a little less, and make just a teeny bit more sense than the rest. This is my tribute to them. You kinda sorta make-ish my day, so, ummwell thanks.

Malavika (Radio Indigo): What! You lefta? Just like that! Why?? How can you do this to me, Bikerdude, your most adoring (and regretfully silent) fan? My mornings to work were made so much more bearable by the cheeriness of your happaladha-hittu voice. Your good humour and understated wit, especially when those obnoxious schoolkids called in and asked you to "playya song f'my muddher", were so charming. I will miss you I say. Come back! Wail!

Prithvi (Radio One): Boss, you're the man. Aha what a lovely RJ you are I say. I crown you the undisputed King of Kanglish. Your crazy humour and voice impressions are awesome. OK they're also slightly girly, but hey we like that. Oh and guy, could you ask your people to redo that jingle for your show? The one that has "Gooooood morning 'aa-Byengloora'" clunkily dubbed over the earlier 'Bangalore'? Apart from that, very good boss, congrats ok? ok.

Radha Thomas (Radio Indigo) : Sigh. When your deliciously husky voice hits the airwaves every Sunday, I stop wherever I am and listen intently. To the slightly run-of-the-mill but gorgeous jazz that you play with such coolness. Mid-middle full garagase Gayathri voice also. Aha, what a. Thank you for being born ma. Enjoy ok?

Rohit Barker (Radio Indigo) : Ahem, what can I say. You were awesome when you started, until you had that lobotomy a couple of years ago. Seriously boyo, what gives with the hysterical giggles and the brain dead jokes these days? We want the old Bright Barker back. We miss you(ish). Luckily the extra brain space seems to have been substituted with fairly good taste in music. And that Saturday thing you do with the gravelly voiced DJ whatsizname is really quite lovely, so great going!

Darius (Ex Radiocity): Well you're tough to ignore, aren't you. Taking some time off the air after all those death threats from the people you humilated during your call-in shows? Ah ok. Take, take.

Chaitanya Hegde (Ex radio city, now somewhere on a satellite): Putta, I can't say I dig your music, but your voice has a lovely reassuring tone to it that we all really like. So keep talking, but keep that finger off the play button, Ok? Ok bye.

Priya Ganapati (Ex Radiocity, now Mumbai, no?): Hai so nice. Full RJ ki Rani you were. Where you went off I say? And more importantly where did you take your awesome, awesome alter egos: Sister Stella and Lingo Leela? Boss! you guys used to make my day back then, with those slonguaze lessons and gogonut oil melodies for maaaladies. Come off back no, what is there?

Chamrajpet Charles and Prof. Ulfat Sultan (Radio One): Dude, you rock. Even a die-hard cantonment type like me can't get my dinglish to flow as smoothly as you do. 'Ow y'all manije so well I dunno men buggeh. Muss'be all dose quarters and bubba curries y'all eat hevery week, neh? What-tever you say baba, when I meet you I'll take off one xerox of your foot and hang it off on my wall only. Oi teri xerox ka taanga! Much love.

Sheetal Iyer and Vasanthi (Where are you these days ma?): Aiyo, sweeties you are I say. Sweetal and Pleasanty you can change off your names to, no? Nice job OK? Oaakay.

And finally, my all time favourites:
The nameless RJs on All India Radio (AIR) FM:
Dear saars and medams,

Kindly note that I am terribly in love with all of you. I am fascinated by your polished, measured tones, resultant of decades of practice in the dharna tent with an apricot seed in either cheek. I am highly entertained by your tinkly genteel laughter whenever any of your readers from Kaval Byrasandra sends in a joke. The detailed explanations provided after each joke are greatly appreciated by goldfish embryos, rock dwellers, politicians and waiters at Mocha.

Thanks to your intelligent discussions on various fascinating subjects during the Rajkumar favourites hour, my knowledge on piles, streptococcal infections and commercial chakkotha cultivation has advanced immensely.

I realize that you have approximately 88,743 hours of flute recitals in your archives, and am only too happy to listen to them incessantly, at the risk of going slightly mad at 7 every evening. I even approve of your long stoic silences between songs, when I assume you take your well-deserved tea breaks.

Live long and prosper, AIR, I love you. OK? OK.

As for the rest of you:
I'm not saying you aren't good. I'm not saying you are, either.

Odes to Bangalore

To the tune of: Yesterday (The Beatles)
Mathikere..
Far as hell and dull as dust, but hey..
Would you rather choke on smog, or say
You're glad you live that far away?

To the tune of: You fill up my senses (John Denver)
Chud-dies, con-tact lennnnses,
Butter Gulkand, Black Forest.
Its always shop-ping time
On Malleswaram, 3rd main.
Stop at Asha's for dessert
Where milk tastes like hand lotion.
The '98 census
Showed alarming brain drain.

To the tune of: Jamaica Farewell (Harry Belafonte)
Sat-ur-day,
I wanna party away
MG Road is teeming with angry cops.
You look as hip
As a fashion clip
But at midnight your party is gonna stop.
We can't stay and play,
What is this, I say?
This rule will stay for many a day.
Just simmer down,
Stop hoppin around
And bring the party to my pad at the edge of town.


To the tune of: Country Roads (John Denver)
Migrant haven - Koramangla
Flats with fountains
By a sewage river.
Land is gold there, not so much the trees
A hundred Jacarandas
Mowed down 'fore you sneeze.
Bumpy roads, spell your tome
Not the place, to sing a song
Koramangla - money corner,
I'm staying home, won't miss you loads.

To the tune of: California Dreaming (The mamas and the papas)
Oh to Frazer town,
You shall go away.
Go take a wa...lk,
To Thom's bakery, I say.
The cakes are fresh and warm,
Made at 4 every day.
Should I send you screaming,
Or will you go to-day?

To the tune of: Take it easy (The Eagles)
Oh if youre really very bored
Just hit DVG Road
But just tell me what is on your mind.
Looking for some flowers?
The kem-pe-gowda towers?
There's V.B if you wanna dine.
What's up duuudey?
Are you a fooodie?
Lets get a nice fat benne-dose, outside U.D.
Just get here in a car or van,
Or on a horse with a wedding band
Because it's great in the far off land
Of Basvangoooodi.


Cartoon Translation: "Where will you run now?" (Pun on the word 'Odu' = run)

Move over, Mother Goose!

My family has always been big on poetry. Proof of this fact lies in the lyrical beauty of the doggerels that have been passed down over generations from father to daughter, mother to son, driver to ex-gardener... and finally down to me.

I have therefore decided to preserve the following family heirlooms in a stainless steel tiffin box filled with liquid Nitrogen. The tiffin box will then be jettisoned into outer space, as a complete representation of modern civilization on earth.

Move over, Mother Goose.

(Refer Glossary below for word meanings)

Announcements:

One ara two ara dikkara dun
Aval kaaval must be done
KaLLan KuLLan twenty one
Ah, you may bluqq.

(Tanglish + Gibberish:

A one, a two, a dikk and a dunn

Waiting watching must be done

Robber, shorty 21

Ah, you may bluqq

(gesture slicing throat with tongue out))

Son who temple salt flour needle gone

( Pun on Pillaiyaar koil Upma oosi pochu (Tamil)

=The upma in the Ganesha temple went bad)

Proposals:

Leaf lotus Only one pearl umbrella

(Pun on Yele kamala onde ondu muthu kodey (Kannada)

=Hey Kamala give us a kiss)

Travelogues:

Bambai ku jaana
Daarili obba koothidha
Ra, ra ani chepthe
Vardhille ant chonna
What shall I do?

(Pentalingual

Pig Hindi: When I went to Bombay

Kannada: A man was on the road

Pig Telugu: I told him "come, come with me"

Pig Tamil: He said, "No I won't"

English: What shall I do?)

Once I went to Vellayani *

There I saw a Kalyani
Sitting on a Mullani*
Eating Bombay Biriyani

Once I went to a Chinese Shop
There I saw a chinese lady
This what she said to me:
"Aye aye chick-a-dye
Um pum poori
Out goes you
And that is you."

I and Mary
Went for a waak
Mary fell
And tore her fraak

Appushasthri and Kuppushastry
Went to Kalahasthri
There they saw a

Kuppai thotti mesthri*
They took him to aspathri*
And put plasthri*

Philosophy:

Brandy ni thraagithe

Brahmandamga untaru

Whisky ni thraagithe

Vishwa roopam choosthaaru

Saaraayi thraagithe

Swarga lokam pothaaru.

(Telugu:

If you drink brandy

You'll be fantastic

If you drink Whisky

You'll see the real you

If you drink toddy

You'll go straight to heaven)

Mottai mottai molagu saar

Kambli mottai dei Kumar!

(Gibberish+Tamil:

Baldy baldy pepper sir,

blanket baldy hey Kumar!)

Perhaps Tamilized version of the Hindi:

Motey, motey, maalguzaar

Gamley motey de kumhar

(Fatty fatty landlord man,

Give you fat pots, the potter can.))

It adhu but aadre
What yenu??

(Kanglish:Translations inbuilt)

I naan, me naan
Thou nee, you nee
He 'van, she 'vaL
It adhu they 'vargal
(Tanglish: Translations inbuilt)

Sher-o-shayri:

Karuppu naayikki
(wah wah huzzoor, karuppu naayikki?)

Haan. Karrupu naayikki - vaal illeyyy
(mashallah! maar hi dalogey)
Karuppu. Naayikki. Vaal Illeyy...
Kaapi thaNNikki paal Illey.
(Waaaah wah wah wah)

(Tamil, in imitation of a mushaira:

The black dog has no tail

The black coffee has no milk)

Other contributions welcome. Nitrogen is expensive, and we have a whole stainless steel dabba to fill. Quick!

*Glossary:

Vellayani = a place in Kerala

mullani = foal

kuppai thotti mesthri = garbage collector

aspathri = hospital

plasthri = plaster

Hungry kya? Carols ga!

The terrible part of last week was that I had to do the million-mile schlep to E-City for a training programme.

The bad part of last week, was that the training programme had a homework assignment! I pleaded with the taciturn trainer to let old men like me off the hook, but my passionate entreaties fell on deaf ears. I was left with no option but to drum out a jargon-filled prez, dressed up with my infamous technical diagrams. Since the trainer didnt die laughing or make me stand in a corner after he saw it, I assumed he'd just eaten bisi bele bhath, or was just plain stupid. Not that I was complaining.

The good part of last week, was a chi-chi-pooh-pooh concert at the Park Hotel dahling, attended by Bangalore's insufferable who's-who. What was I doing there? Well, aside from showcasing my natural talent at being insufferable, I was also playing sound engineer for the evening's performance: A Christmas concert by my music group.

The choir had been rehearsing 3-4 times a week to get this concert together. The first half consisted of excerpts from Handel's well loved Messiah. (You know, the one where the conductor runs 440V up everybody's spines and they go "Haaaaaa-le-lujah! Haaaaa-le-lujah!" in perfect 4/4 time.) Being on a break from singing and all, I was deputed to perform the supremely arduous task of hitting the play and pause buttons between soundtracks. Blonde Swedish counter-tenor, sweet brunette German soprano, and the extremely talented Girl 1 (Mallu soprano, choir director) were in full form, as always. The choir was tight, well rehearsed and comfortable. The mood lightened up considerably in the second half, though the music remained just as tough to perform. Swedish and german carols, jazzed up versions of popular christmas songs, Girl 1 going slightly nuts on "I'll be home for Christmas", and finally, the quick paced, but light-as-air Carol of the Bells.

The wonderful part of last week however, were the free cocktails and hors d'oeuvres after the concert. Yes, I use this word specifically, as I ate like a hors till they were all oeuvre. While wine and cocktails flowed like water, the ardors of my crazy-ass week melted away happily into nothingness.

And the best part of last week was the "order whatever you want on the menu" dinner for the performers, after the concert! Haha! If the poor Park Hotel staff was expecting a bunch of air-kissing, food-picking socialites for light dinner and polite banter, weren't they in for a surprise! Especially when they had to reckon with Bikerdude, the lean (err), mean (uh-huh, oh yeah!) eating machine! Muhuhahaha.

Moral: Never offer free dinner to a hungry choir.

Carnatic contortionism

Where have all the quirky artists of yesteryear gone, I hear you ask? OMG I knew we were related! I often ask this myself!

Artist vakras (idiosyncracies) at a concert have been a dying art form for several years now. They have been almost completely obliterated by the new breed of rigid necked, poker faced, young artists of today. Whaaat is this I say?

All these self-righteous, modern music teachers are to blame for this, I tell you. I have personally seen them correcting the facial ticks and grimaces of young impressionable pupils right from their childhood. I myself have been a victim of this modern brainwashing. My beloved and late Shakunthala Teacher, a well meaning and very talented Trivandrum AIR artist, would always tell me after an inspired grimace during a difficult varnam passage: "Kondhaai, moonji-geenji elaam pannapdaadhu kaettiyo? Yellaarum un paattu kaekarthukku bathila, un moonjiyai paapaaLaakkum." (My child, don't make face-gees. People will look at your face instead of listening to your song. Ok? Ok.)

This post, however, is dedicated to those few, far between (and usually immensely talented) artists, who have managed to stick to their old school ways, and continue to grimace, gesticulate, cough, and slice their way into the hearts of their rasikas. Presented below is my humble attempt at documenting artistic vakras at a lively carnatic kacheri, in the hope that it may be used in the future to rejuvenate this wonderful lost art:

Varaaha Vaidyanathan: For the uninitiated, this is the delicate art of piggyface making. Especially prominent while executing delicate sangathis during a raga: "Thu dhu rin na nu....uuiiium", or during a long phrase in a Thyagaraja Krithi involving words like "munu ju joochuchumu".

Self Appreciater : Breaks into a hearty "aaaan" and "sabhaash" after executing a complicated gamaka. The usually timid violinist is forced to smile weakly and agree, while producing a mouse-like answer to the same phrase.

Audience-confusing thaalam putter: A master of thaalam who never needs to keep time with the music, but will suddenly slap his/her thigh 27 times in the middle of an avartana, and confuse the entire audience.

Exorcist VI: While the usually talented artist sings with abject devotion to various gods and goddesses, all the demons of the netherworld surface on his/her face. "Mah-hwaaaaaaa(scary face) Guh-Na-pa-thiyiwwwwwwum (scowl)"

Roti mandir: Usually found in the North, this artist will begin the concert by kneading some imaginary dough, pounding and pummelling it, stretching it out, and finally rolling it into imaginary chappatis. Needless to say the audience leaves disappointedly hungry after 2 hours of tempting chappati making.

Bronchitis Bhatrachar: The artist who thinks nothing of going "harrrghgthghgmph" in the middle of a subtle sangathi, instantly popping a spell-bound audience back into the real world.

Uh-uh, nope, not possible: The negative percussionist that shakes his head in hopeless despair throughout the concert. If the audience had any intension of sacrificing a bonda-bajji break during the thani, it is promptly pre-empted by an extra bout of intense head waggling during the first mohra.

Shanta Idly Grinder: Goes into raptures while singing "Maadu mekkura kanne nee poga vendaam munne". Sits on an imaginary arisi-paruppu (rice and dal) mixture and grinds away by swaying body in a clockwise motion, now and then tamping down the imaginary batter with a thrust of her closed fist.

Karate Kid IV: The Black belt master at a hindustani concert, who aims expert air-slices at imaginary bearded chinese masters. Most of these singers also have a secret ambition of substituting the percussion accompaniment with a big brass gong.

Comedy Chakrapani: Usually a violinist or a ghatamist with a humungous vibhuti, pottu and fantastic wardrobe, who drives the audience (esp the kids) insane with laughter with all manner of quirky faces, grins, eyebrow waggles, and funny screechy notes, with an "I didn't do that" expression.

Agathi Alamelammal: The consumptive looking "pretty girl" playing the tanpura. Either bored senseless with the concert or completley hypnotized by the buzz of the tanpura she is playing. Nevertheless a good nirvana-esque place to be in.

The lotus eater: An over-humble artist who will anounce all his kritis with hand in lotus bud formation held close to his mouth in a gesture of humility: "This is my wown hummmmble caamposition. Please feel free to kick and spit all over it because I am your wown hummmble servant". An instant cue for various maama-maamis to leave, or catch up with the weekly gossip.

Shruthi sodhapper: The avant-garde flautist/singer who is never satisfied with the tuning of the tanpura. Will repeatedly adjust the strings right in the middle of the song. Worse still is the electronic tanpura adjuster, who will unhesitatingly make shruti adjustments in full volume, making the entire audience tut-tut in irritation.

Mridanga Manikyam: The artist who smiles brightly at the mridangist after every phrase of a manodharma swara. By the end of the concert, the mridangist's polite return-smile gets sealed permanently onto his face.

The overcompensator: A native tamil speaker, unaccustomed to the heavy plosive consonants of other languages, especially Sanskrit. Will overcompensate by converting all consonants to their heavier versions, in the hope of pronouncing foreign words correclty: "YenDhara nee Dhana, Ghendha BhoNi, JhinDha viDhuva Jhaa Rhaa, Kshreeee Raaahaahaamaa". Usually eliciting sniggers from the audience when performing outside chennai.

Blind Fury III: An artist who has cleverly convinced the audience for years that s/he is visually challenged, by screwing eyes shut throughout the concert. The eyes will pop open occasionally during a thani, but close instantly, before the audience catches on.

Witty Waradachar: Makes quips in mid-phrase about the faulty sound system, or the concert organizer, eliciting polite laughter from the audience.

The Devaranama/Meera Bhajan destroyer: The sort that is clearly convinced of the superiority of music over poetry, and the irrelevance of the actual words being sung. Hence if Meera sang:"Maii thwo kirithara ge ranku raaaajee", Krishna would still appear, albeit scraching his nails on a blackboard. This artist is also convinced that all devarnamas are composed using the two imaginary kannada words "Hothle and Hidhlu" and will sing an entire purandara dasa kriti using them.

Nostril Nalini: Eyes permanently fixed at indeterminate spot on ceiling of hall. While Yashoda had the privilege of seeing the world in her son's mouth, the audience now has the dubious one of seeing asteroids and other formations in the artist's nostrils.

Footnote: For all those die hard fans of the artists lampooned here, freeya vidunga (leave off I say). I love 'em as much as you do.

Duruflé the organ?

6:30am today found 17 of us at the beautiful St. Marks cathedral for a rehearsal, shivering our timbers in the morning draft . A few minutes later, the young organist climbed nervously into his seat, high up above us. He's good. A little shy and perhaps not used to the exacting standards of the choir director (aka Girl 1), who chewed him to bits during the first run through, but he survived. The sombre acoustics of the cathedral seem to suit the choir's voices exceedingly well though, especially that of Blonde Counter-Tenor (baritone this time) who sounds clear as an elven bell.

Those of you that have never heard a pipe organ in a church must rectify this immediately. It is the only instrument that can fill you with awe, fear, calm, sorrow, joy and peace all in the span of a few minutes. You can easily imagine it to be a huge living breathing being, capable of bursting into a thousand booming voices that occupy every corner of your brain. The recently restored pipe organ at St Mark's (MG Road, Bangalore) with its huge flues and reeds almost a storey high each, is the only one in Bangalore that is in concert condition.

The organ accompaniment to Duruflé's requiem, a tough 20th century piece that we are performing this weekend, is melancholy, disconnected at times, and breathtakingly beautiful at others. When the organist pressed his foot tentatively down on a deep d, we all went silent for a couple of seconds, savouring the funny quiver that aimed itself exactly at the middle of our chests and set the entire requiem alight.

Practice was gruelling. The organist has his back to the conductor, and the music is tough as nails. We might have to resort to using the cathedral's fine electric organ- almost indiscernable to the untrained ear from the original, so that we can co-ordinate better. But I'm hoping against all hope that we might be able to use the living breathing goliath with some practice. To hear the wind rush in and out of its great throat as it sings to accompany us.

Modern classical music is free from the traditional mores of composition. Varying time signatures, crazy passages and bizzarely beautiful chords make it a treat to listen to, provided your mind is open to it. It is madness to perform, but completely worth the effort.

Here's what we're doing, among others:
Duruflé's Requiem - A haunting, sombre, yet tender modern requiem by Maurice Duruflé, a famous French composer.
Agnus Dei - by Samuel Barber, originally an adagio for strings, re-written for voice and organ. You might have heard the strings version in the movie Platoon.
Rejoice in the Lamb - A modern composition by Benjamin Britten, a brilliant English composer, set to lyrics written by Christopher Smart, a delightfully mad 18th century poet, who actually wrote from a lunatic asylum.

How exactly a monsoon audience on a plateau in South India is going to react to it remains to be seen :) If youd like to react too, stroll over to St marks Cathedral, MG Road Bangalore, on Saturday 22nd Sep at 6:45pm for an evening of contemporary sacred music accompanied by the beautiful organ at St Marks.

It's in a church, and it's free, so be nice :)

Mad gals in Madras

What do two sweet Malayalee sopranos, one blond Swedish counter-tenor and a jolly green Tambrahm bass do when they get together?

Open a nursing college cum online matrimonial agency with inexpensive designer furniture?

No.

Well then?

Elementary, my dear Bhaktavatsalam Seetharam Kumar Korraguntla. They take a deep collective breath and sing 15th century European music.

Hmm. That sounds like err.. fun. 15th century eh? Did Europe have oxygen bars yet? Chicken teeka masolla? Rock shows? Oh wait, they wore afros and shiny costumes, didn't they?

Yes. Life in the 15th century was one big oxygen bar. But since there were only 27 people around, rock show infrastructure was limited to medium sized dining tables around which they gathered, sporting trendy page-boy cuts and linen tunics.

To eat mutton biriyani and butter chicken boneless full?

Yes. And to sing songs and play on lutes.

Ah, dinner music, is it aano? Then sallright. What was it called? Bleat and eat?

Close. They were called Madrigals. Usually 4 voices, two high, one medium and one low, singing complicated music. Usually acapella

Who is Acapella? Is she cute? Single? Available?

All of the above. Acapella is also the word for music that is sung with no instrumental accompaniment. Which makes it harder to perform because there are no instruments to cover up wonky notes, and tougher to sustain the attention of a 2007 Adyar Audience.

Wait, you're performing in Chennai? Two sweet Mallu sopranos, one blonde Swede counter-tenor and one jolly green Tambrahm Bass?

No.

Then?

Two sweet Mallu sopranos, one blonde Swede counter-tenor and one slightly tense Tambrahm bass who has to set his tail on fire after the show and rush off to join his relatives at a jolly green wedding in Mahabalipuram yay.

Oh fun. So no instruments eh?

No instruments for the Madrigals, but lute and harpsichord accompaniments for the lighter songs about unrequited love, death and stuff.

Fool. They stopped making such things in the late Baroque period. Where you will get such instruments at such short notice in Madras. From your grandfather's anjanapotti or what?

In Madras, anything is possible. However, to be safe, we have cleverly transcribed the harpsichord and lute scores into music for piano and classical guitar, which are still in production, so there.

And it sounds the same?

No.

Oh. Because the instruments are different.

Correct. And because voices brought up on a diet of nadan kozhi curry and morkozhambu performing European music on a sultry Chennai evening 500 years after it was composed, are bound to sound different. Cooler, but different.

Can't 'ardly wait luv.

Then come over to The Unwind Center's Acoustic Music Fest at KRMM college hall (Behind Adyar Ladies Club), 3rd Cross, Gandhinagar, Chennai at 6:45pm on Sat, Sep 1, to hear us. Four voices, piano and classical guitar (played by a random jolly green tambrahm). We perform for half an hour or so, after which all manner of contemporary sorts will take over the stage. Don't be late ok?

No.

Tellin' it like it is

A consortium of authorities has recently concluded that all foreign songs are actually Indian in origin. To prove this fact irrefutably, they have presented the following compilation of contemporary foreign songs and their secret Indian origins for all the world to see. Long live India.

Daddy Yankee on the petrol wars (Gasolina):
le gusta la gasolina - Dame mas gasolina.
Is actually: The song of a multilingual potter lavishing family funds on wife Kunthala:
Kunthala, kaasu lena. Kalimann kaasu li, na?
(Kunthala, take this money. You already took money for the clay, didn't you?)

Enrique Iglesias asking you to sing and dance (Baila Mo):
Baila mo.... let the rhythm take you over, baila mo...!
Is actually: A chiding remark passed by Gajalakshmi Vaidyanathan to her husband for scolding their daughter Latha:
Vaiyyalaamo? Latha report cardai paathu vaiyyalamo?
(Can you scold her? Can you scold Latha after seeing her report card?)

Beatles on their French muse, Michelle:
Michelle ma belle, sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensamble, tres bien ensamble.
Is actually: An expression of pride and joy made by M Pachaiyappan on the financial prowess of his foreign returned son-in-law:
Meesai, maaple, sony camera vaangi vandhaan, vangi vandhaan
(My moustached son-in-law bought me a Sony digicam)

Salif Keita in his best tribal dance mix of the decade (Madan):
O laka lama le, O laka lama le,
O laka lama le dja, O laka lama le
Ori taal ma'jeye.. Ori taal ma'jeye...
Is actually: An expression of the frustrations of an irate Shivarudrappa to his artistic son Ramakrishna, with an aside to wife Jankamma on his dietary preferences for the day:
Aye Raama, baro lei! Eshtanth heLli ninge?
Ee drama geema butbuttu sariyaag odho lei
Gorikaalu maadey. Gorikaalu maadey
(Raama, how many times must I remind you to give up the theatrical arena and start studying for your internal board exams which are coming up in a few months time, conducted at the Begur municipal school under the supervision of strict officials? I would like clusterbeans for dinner.)

Cheb Mami singing his heart out in the intro to Sting's Desert Rose:
"Ya leil ya leil wah... yah leil ya leil waaaah.. ya leil wah hos sein didee, ya leil ya leil wah.."
Is actually: An anguished expression of sorrow by a grief struck Papamma bemoaning the disappearance of Samikannu, her spirited husband:
Aiyyyaaaaa aiyyyoo, pootaanda aiyyayoooo
Aiyya nethu kudchtu thaaan Bus-la yeri pootaney
Aiyya varaveyillaiye bus-la yeri pootaaney
(I languish in the absense of my alcoholic husband who left in a bus last night and never came back.)

A mesmerized Tarkan threatening to spring out from the bushes at his lady love and kiss-kiss her (Simarik)
Seni gidi findik kira..n,
Yilani deliginden cikara...n
Kaderim puskullu bela..m,
Yakalarsam... *muah muah!*
Is actually: A passing remark from Mr Munraju of Kyatsandra distt., about a series of unfortunate circumstances that befell his friend Mr Srinivas:
Seenvasa beedhiyal bidda..a..a..a.,
Biddid takshana yedda..a..a..a
Yedmel matte bidda..a...a..a,
Paapa yenaaytho. *Tsk tsk.*
(Mr Srinivas fell and got up repeatedly from the road. Wonder what the trouble is.)

Los del rio on the joys of the Macarena:
A la tuhuelpa legria macarena, Que tuhuelce paralla legria cosabuena A la tuhuelpa legria macarena Eeeh, macarena (A-Hai!!)
Is actually: Fashion advice from Hijra Gulbadan to colleague Reena.
Kal bhi main tumse yahi kah rahi thi Reena
Arre meri baat ko tum thoda seriously toh lena
Apni kameez ko tumhe khud hi hai seena
Hema kare na. (hai hai!)
(Take my advice Reena and stitch your own clothes. Hema tailor is unwilling to undertake small jobs any more)

Now that you know all this, go away and let me be me.

Bass Kar Bhagyavaan!

A colleague, worried about her deep voice, asked her friend "Mere voice mein baas zyaada hai na?" The friend, taken completely by surprise said no, but told her to use breathmints if she felt that bad about it (baas in Hindi means smell). The colleague is now scarred for life and refuses to talk to anybody without gargling 27 times and practicing "Jhumka gira re" in her bathroom all night.

To avoid such misunderstandings in the future, I will now explain what all this Bass Tenor rubbish is all about. Why am I doing this to you? Because (a) I'm jobless, (b) I'm fed up of explaining why you need a huge choir to sing "such a simple song" and (c) I just like confusing people.

Indian melodies are complex and note-intensive. Though Western melodies appear to be simpler, they actually have the same degree of musical complexity because they combine many notes together and play them all at once. The resultant sound is called Harmony. You can't achieve harmony using a single human voice obviously, and that's why a song sung by a western choir needs to be broken up into sections, with each section singing a different note at any point of time. A conductor (or conductini amma as the case may be) waves a stick about furiously and coordinates everything.

There are typically 4 sections (or parts) to a choir:

Sopranos: Squeak squeak (Leddis)
Altos : Coo coo (Leddis)
Tenors : Howl howl (Jants)
Basses : Growl growl (Jants)

Sopranos are flighty, well dressed, giggly and female. They sing in the voice range of Lata Mangeshkar and Minnie Mouse, and are invariably the slowest to learn their parts. They are also in perpetual danger of their heads exploding when they hit impossibly high notes. Most Sopranos are fresh out of school and happily pile onto the few senior sopranos in the section to carry them through the piece. A pretty section to look at but not hear, especially if you are a champagne glass.

Altos are pleasant, salt of the earth women who sing sensible notes in the lower female range. They weave the wonderful web of harmony that the Sopranos usually shriek their melodies out of. Alto parts are often cruelly complex and involve sharp and flat notes that only geniuses can execute. Most female Indian classical musicans are altos. They make very pleasant friends, especially to the Basses, who are also terribly cool people.

Tenors are the male equivalent of the supersonic sopranos. The sort that could easily out-howl a wolf on a full moon night. Twitchy eyebrowed, pouty lipped and unpunctual, they are the SP Balasubramanyams and Pavrottis of a choir. Unfortunately they are also in maximum demand, as few men will sing those torturously high notes and enjoy them. Since you can't ignore a loud howly shriek easily, tenors usually manage to get all the juicy melodic sections in the piece. Altos can never understand why tenors go red in the face and bust a gut singing notes that they can hit without batting an eyelid. Some Tenors will try unsuccessfully to sing along with the basses during their more macho moments, but they are usually shushed into silence by the conductor.

Basses (pronounced Bases btw) are the coolest people in a choir. They provide a nice growly background for all the singing. They make ghastly grimaces when they hit very low notes, and blend into a pleasant rumble for the tenors to chirp their twitchy-eyed parts off. Bass parts are simple, deep as a well, and have long, never-ending notes. Basses react to the few and far between melodic sections in their parts with an enthusiasm akin to that of schoolboys at a games period. Most composers don't utilize them to their full growly potential, except for ol' Bach and some East European composers, who really give them a run for their money. A choir without a Bass section is like Sambar without curry leaves. Besides their musical essentiality, Basses are also invariably the most eligible men in a choir.

And now for the wiggly-scrawlies - the neither here nor there varieties, that are occasionally used in a choir to compliment the 4 main parts:

Mezzo Soprano: Slightly lower than a normal soprano. Most really good women soloists fall in this voice range.

Contralto: Lower than an alto. A deep woman's voice, usually in the D.K Pattammal voice range. My favourite.

Castrato: Sung by not quite a man. In India this type of singing is done with heavy clapping and lurid dancing. The methods of creating a castrato in the west have been banned for over a century, and so castrato parts in a musical piece are now sung by counter tenors.

Counter Tenor: Usually a tenor that sings falsetto (in a little girl's voice). Quite strange to an Indian musical ear, but extensively used in Renaissance pieces. Every tenor aspires to be a counter tenor, though deep down, he really wants to be a hot looking deep voiced Bass.

Baritone: An effortless Frank Sinatra/Jesudas male singing voice, lower than a tenor, but higher than a bass. Not as popular for solo parts in western classical music as a tenor, but is often used to relax a note-intensive piece with a soothing passage.

Second Bass: As their name implies, second basses aside from their prowess in other departments, have the deepest voices in the human range. Tibetan monks probably make the best second basses, next to M.D. Ramanathan, the dude from Boney M and the sky train in the Singapore airport.

Those that guess the part that I sing in a choir correctly, will be rewarded generously with a growl of appreciation.

The diary of a mad brown concert-goer

Saturday Jun 2, 10am:

zzzz
11am:

beep beep.

"Wha...? Glug.

"Cmg 4 asmth cncrt? "

Bloody nonsense I refuse to read smses without vowels.

zzzz
12pm:

Aiyaaaaaa. Aiyo, aiyo. Ticket, ticket. What to do, how to do. Aaaa.
1pm:

It's useless men. Mad I am not to have bought. Anyway I'm sure they'll sound terrible in their old age. Humph.
3pm:

Waiiiiiil I want to go!! Everyone is going!!
5:20pm:

Rinnnnng.

"Hello?"

"Aan hello. KeLilli. Extra ticket ide, barthya?"

"OMG Yes!!"

"OK We'll meet you there at 6".

"Gasp ok" (click)
5:40pm :

Snarl, Grrr, kaf kaf (gridlocked traffic outside vasanth nagar entrance)
5:43pm:

Suiiiiinnnn (Reva parking between flower pot and gutter of irate house owner on Palace Road.)

"Saaaaar, pleaaase saaar."

"Seee.. police comes means I am not response."

"Sir they will not say anything sir."

"Very difficult I say. When you will come back?"

"Sir very soon sir." (Muhahaha.)

5:45pm:

(Stares incredulously at 1.5km queue to get in)

"Err, excuse please, is this the line to get in?"

"Yes."

"Err even for the expensive section?"

"Dooooood, yeah da."

"Err ok"
6:00pm:

"Yaar thiz line is nod like, matlab, move hi nahin kar raha".

"Yeah wonder why. Must be some reason." (Long live Bangalore complacency :) )
6:05pm:

Rinnnnng.

"Hi."

"Aye where are you? Im in the queue already."

"Oh. We're in jaynagar da."

"SHRIEK!! When are you coming?"

"We'll come no, why you worried? Ha ha you are in queue and you don't have ticket only. Haha."

"Yaii! Come soon I say you nonsense people."

"Aan ok coming." (click)
6:15pm:

beep beep

(Msg from Vikster - already inside) "Wr r u??? Its awesm in hr. Golden fountains r spraying champagne and beautiful ppl from 6 continents r fding me grapes as i snd u ths."

WAIIIIIIIIILLLLL.

6:20 pm:

Queue motionless. Watch punju bunch in front get progressively drunker, and paavam type Naga crowd behind me chatter nervously pointing at the gleaming palace walls 1 km away.
6:30pm:

Rinnnng

"Aan heLu."

"Where are you boss?"

"Jaynagar, I told you no?"

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!!! Wheeeeeeeze."

"Coming coming twennnnnty minutes thats all."

"YAAARGH." (click)
6:50pm:

Rinnng

"What?"

"AAAAAAAAAA".

"Chill, We're in Vasanth Nagar da, another 10 mins thats all. But listen, my brother has the tickets and he hasnt come yet."

"YOWWWWWWWL". (click)
7:15pm:

(Line has progressed somewhat. Friends saunter in and blend themselves into queue. Too tired to pelt them senseless with all manner of stones.)

"Have you called your brother? Where is brother? Why he is late? Where are they? Give me minute by minute update on their itinerary"

"Chill daaaaaa. They'll come no."

"What come no. Concert started 15 mins ago. Whats this."

"Lei!! Theppak ninthko silentaagi."

"Bu..bu..but..."

"Shu."

"Sob!!"
7:55pm:

(Queue has progressed to the gate. We start letting people get in ahead of us)

"Err you guys can go ahead. We're waiting for our friends." (Simper simper)

"Thanks man".

"GRAARGH where ARE they boss??? EEYAARGH."

"Coming coming. Mwah. Relax relax. You go ahead ma Naga girl. You also go pa Coimbatore boys"
8:05pm:

"Boss lets go home. This is madness. Yeah dreadlocks, go on ahead. Stamp on my head only and go. " (Sob inconsolably)
8:07pm:

(friend's brother and gang saunter up and join queue)

"Oh hi. Cool, so youre at the front uh? Cool man. Here, take ticket."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE" (grab ticket and disappear screaming through gates)
8:10pm:

(Arrive at second gates after 1 km jog) "Gasp gasp wheeeze."

(To frisker) "Boss I dont have dope, ciggies, alco, nothing. Please! Just grab my ass quick and let me through or I will do all manner of unmentionable things to you here only."
8:15pm:

(burst into concert) "Aiyo, aiyo, everything must be over."

8:15pm: "GOOOOOOOOD EVENING BANGALORE!!!!"

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!!!

Moral 1: Aerosmith waits for good people.
Moral 2: The rest of you who waited from 1:30pm to see an elderly gentleman hawk spit burp and call you names from a stage in exchange for money - are silly fellows.
Moral 3: Never miss an aerosmith convert. EVER. Even if your mother tells you to.

Moral 4: Thank you dear friends for extra ticket, and thank ME dear friends for putting towel for you in queue! Nonnnnsense.

Yay Ro Smith

Things to do before Aerosmith concert in Bangalore:

1. Curse DNA networks for obscene ticket prices.
2. Curse Aerosmith for coming to India at age 107.
3. Curse fate for being the only freak who didnt get free tickets.

4. Call all the cool people you know for free tickets.
5. Call semi-cool people for free tickets.
6. Call mortal enemies for free tickets.
7. Call gardener's wife for free tickets.
8. Call the single person you know who works for DNA 150 times, take out to drinks, press foot and watch them walk away saying "I left DNA last year, but listen, we must hang out again." with smirk on face.
9. Enter every single "Win a free ticket" concert on Radio Indigo.
10. Give up translating "Jaded" into malayalam in order to win "sing Aerosmith in any language" competition.

11. Buy Aerosmith double CD with every song composed by them and their extended families.
12. Practice making gaspy catfish faces in the mirror while singing "Crazy".
13. Spend a frantic night mugging up lyrics to look cool at concert.
14. Plan clothes that look better wet than dry (its raining, men, in Bangalore).
15. Rush to Palace Grounds in sheer desperation an hour before concert to buy tickets which in all probability will be sold out.

Glaaaaa.

ANYBODY has tickets? I will do foot massaging for 1 month.