Hard this semester’s going to be,

I will be squeezed for time if I know me;

GRE, CAT, Placements and more,

I must definitely go to Bang-a-lore!

Day -18:

If you read that as Day 18, you are as wrong as the next person who reads it as Day 18. It’s minus 18 and if you are wondering why, I would advise you to read on. ‘Maga,’ said my freshly placed cousin ‘Bangalore is nice, but weekends get a bit painful if you aren’t busy with work.’ He plowed on ‘Work is pain, da. You will earn lots of cash and you won’t even know what to do with it. You will have to slog for more than 10 hours eve…’ That was me trailing off. Let this line replay in your mind as it did in mine: You will earn lots of cash and you won’t even know what to do with it. He has been my guide, philosopher and all that for a long time now, so I decided to give back something to the pool of information (and wealth, now!). I decided to try and teach him a few things about money, the most basic tenet being: Money is as good as time. You will but have to spend it. Ukridge would have been proud of me.

Let’s skip a few days where nothing really happened, other than a few people trying to dissuade me from going to Bangalore because of the recent blasts. I remained focused.

Day 1:

Taking the advice of my newly officed cousin, I took quite a heavy windcheater along to fight, and I quote, “the bitter cold of Bangalore.” If that wasn’t enough, my call that I had graced the station acted as an alarum for the heavily-paid-one. After a good cup of coffee along with another cousin (the fat-walleted-one’s sister, who also arrived by a different train) and a little tête-à-tête with her, he arrived. After a flurry of hellos, how-was-the-journey and a ridiculously asked was-the-train-right-on-time type of questions, we shuffled out to the Majestic Bus Stand and within no time, were in a bus with plush interiors, AC, GPRS, the whole works. A smooth ride later, we were in, I quote again, “his bachelor pad.”

After a preliminary tour of the apartment and a firmly turned down invitation to eat whatever he was going to cook, Sowmya espied an article saying Pt. Shiv Kumar Sharma was giving a Santoor concert at Chowdiah Auditorium. We couldn’t afford to give the great man a miss, so the day’s plans were laid out. After a good lunch (outside) and a fitting siesta, Sowmya and me made a beeline to the auditorium, where GS was to meet us.

Bangalore’s rains are chilly to some extent and it is this we braved to go to the concert. The auto driver was exceptionally skilled in his profession. Had my Physics teacher, Dr. N Vallisnath been there, he would have taught me the correct usage of the Vernier Calipers by placing it between the auto and any other vehicle in front of us. Half an hour later, we reached the auditorium and placed ourselves in the hands of the Hindustani singer, Devaki Pandit, who was to sing before Pt. Shiv Kumar Sharma performed.

Aptly named Barkha Ritu, the concert was stupendous. The Ragas flowed effortlessly and effectively. Her voiced enraptured us and led us into believing that we were no longer in this world, but in one where there would be no virtues like pain and misery. To say that the audience was mesmerized in her mellifluous voice would be an understatement. The accompanists were both there and not, us not knowing when they were and when they weren’t. Time stood still, and yet it flew. She was given a standing ovation as she was led off the stage to make way for the Santoor great.

One needs no introduction to one of the doyens of Hindustani music, Pt. Shiv Kumar Sharma. His sense of humor and humility was revealed, when he folded his hands and said ‘In these rains, as an artiste, it was difficult to come here from the hotel. I can see how much you should have endured to come listen to me. I thank you for that.’ And then he introduced us to Raag Megh Malhar, which, if history is to be believed, brought rains crashing down upon the Earth when the great Tansen sang it. Pt. Sharma explained how he was going to go about the concert, starting off with Raag Megh Malhar in Jhap Taal.

The very first notes the instrument produced sent a wave of warmth down my body as I relaxed and let it all flux into me. The skilled movements of his hands would have put a surgeon to shame. Had a hummingbird come across him playing the Santoor, it would have forgotten to flap its wings after seeing the fast movements his long, nimble fingers made. It wasn’t a concert of a musician trying to persuade his instrument to play, it was a symphony of the Santoor challenging him to exalted levels and cajoling him to play more. It wasn’t a war of who was greater; it was conciliation of sorts, each bestowing praises upon the other.

After Raag Megh Malhar, to which he received tumultuous applause, he introduced us to Raag Desh, which he was going to play in Drupad Taal and Teen Taal. Each note struck was a different feeling. When at the start he said ‘Raag Megh Malhar and Desh necessarily needn’t bring rains, they are Ragas to be played compatible for the monsoon season’ he was wrong. At the end of the concert, admiration and praises showered upon him from a multitude of people. Our hearts lighter and heads swooning from the music still playing in our ears, we walked out of the hall in peace into the rains that bore testimony to the beautiful renditions sung and played in the evening.

More to come.