The unmusical sounds of the Season

The Man from Madras Musings, who, during December turns to music, is amazed at the unmusical tendencies of the average concert-goer. Leaving aside the ubiquitous cell-phone on which MMM had penned a full jeremiad only recently, let us look at the other items in the concert-goer’s paraphernalia which mar and jar. Firstly, there is the noisy plastic cover which crackles and pops. This can carry just about anything, from the betel-leaf and tobacco (are we allowed to mention that word in print? Anyway that is the Chief’s worry), to a Season’s Guide or a Raga/Song Guide or a water bottle (also plastic) or a full-fledged dinner pack. Of these the dinner pack is perhaps the least offensive for it involves opening the plastic cover complete with crackle-pop-crackle-pop noises, unpacking the dinner, eating it and then putting it away, once again to the accompaniment of the crackles and pops. But the other items demand repeated action. So the whole concert is filled with crackles and pops right through. As for the plastic water bottle, it is an instrument of sound by itself. It has its own octaves and ­cadences and emits high-pitched sounds more associated with the digestive tract, both when opened and closed. Consequently, during most of the concert, you hear nothing but these crackles and pops in addition to the crackles and pops of the sound system, which, in keeping with Carnatic Music’s ancient ­history, is also suitably ­ancient except in the best sabha-s. High decibel level is usually considered the cure for all ills.

A word about the dinner pack which, in MMM’s opinion, is as far removed as possible from the six-pack which is all the rage today. And if you are prone to the travails of indigestion, as MMM often is (most digestive remedies thrive on MMM’s patronage), these are an assault on the olfactory senses as well. MMM, who usually survives on the occasional biscuit and water, has to resist impulses to rise and batter the eater who is battening on rasam, curry, curd rice and pickle (not to forget the noisy pappadam) right before his very eyes, even as MMM is trying to concentrate on the antics of the singer and his accompanists.

The sound of seats

Next in the general orches-tration system come the seats. These have different sounds and can be classified as follows:

The Mother-in-law’s tongue: These are as sharp, these seats which have nails protruding at all inconceivable spots and which usually give your rich raiment a friendly tear. If they prick deep, they can also draw blood and bring tears as well. The sounds here are sharp, occasionally accompanied by howls.

The Manic Depressive: This variety comprises the long-suffering ones, which have borne the burden of many heavy posteriors. These settle with groans and moans, even as you settle into them. A drop of oil would ease their problems, but MMM supposes that your average Sabha secretary has much more to moan and groan about than mere seats.

Jaws: These resent your sitting on them and are waiting for an opportunity for you to rise, whereupon the seat and the backrest snap together like the jaws of a crocodile, often catching a part of your posterior with them. Then you add to the sounds.

The Dear Departed: This seat treats you like the Great Maker and as soon as you arrive and descend on it, it gives up the ghost, sinking into the ground with accompanying sounds. Your weight may have something to do with it, but lack of regular maintenance could also be a reason and, if so, please see what is written under Manic Depressive about the duties of the Sabha Secretary.

Poseidon Adventure: This one lurches from side to side as you shift in it, with accompanying noises. If you suffer from sea sickness, this may not be for you, and your best option is to grip the handles (if available) and mutter prayers all the while. After all, Carnatic Music is religious as well.

The Love Seat: This one has a loose cushion, usually made of rexine. It sticks closer to you than a brother and when you leave, it leaves with you and only strong muscular force can separate you from it. Often there are cries of anguish. But just think of Romeo and Juliet.

The Hyena: The most harmless of the lot. But when you sink in it, it will let loose a hyena-like laugh owing to the hinges having been starved of oil for so many years. The secret is to simply jump in and not take your own time.

The Throne: Usually found in the older sabhas, this seat is so big that you have second thoughts about having left your car in the street outside. You also begin to feel lonely after some time, especially if the lights are dim and the concert is thinly attended. But watch out, these seats are rich in bed bugs.

The One Seat Orchestra: This is usually found in sabha-s that operate out of schools, marriage halls and other such totally unsuitable venues. These specialise in metal chairs which can be dragged about and when that happens a plethora of noises emanates. You can hear bugles, drums and, at times, even the con­cer­tina, all badly played. But nobody appears to mind, least of all the musicians who accept performances at such venues.

More serious matters

In case you (and the Chief) are wondering why The Man from Madras Musings is simply leading a life of song, song and more song, then you are jolly well mistaken. MMM continues to watch over the well-being of the city that we all love. And as another year comes to an end, here is MMM’s round-up. We have lost Government House, but Madras Terrace House is the new kid on the block and promises to thrive. The National Gallery is closed, but Connemara Public Library is beautifully restored. There is more talk than ever on cleaning up the rivers and MMM supposes that that is a good thing. As for roads, they are as chaotic as ever, but if the Chennai Connect initiative takes off, things will improve. Restoration has been announced for Ripon Buildings, Chepauk Palace and the High Court. The Madras Literary Society is continuing to be restored actively. The Tank of the Kapaleeswarar Temple is full.

– MMM