Now that the Margazhi music season is behind us, and the sabha-hopping, canteen-hopping rasikas and foodies are revelling in their experiences, its also time to pen some of the peeves of the season.
Let me list some of them, they are in no particular order.
Parking Facilities:
Many of the iconic sabhas are located in the congested areas of the city, some in narrow by-lanes, and reaching them in the evenings, especially if the artist is a top-rated one, is a nightmare.
Can we have some kind of a public transport pick-up facility near the Sabha, or an arrangement with some schools for using their ground for parking, at least for some of the evenings when crowds are expected?
Canteens and Loos:
Addressing the lesser needs of the rasikas – The canteens are touted as a food festival – with caterers churning out creative new dishes along with traditional fare. Yes they provide convenience to the visiting public and are certainly worth a try – till you go to the hand-wash area of some of the canteens, it makes you wish you hadn’t eaten – delectable taste notwithstanding.
Loos – Can we have a janitor posted at least on days of large footfalls? Of course the visiting public is to be blamed here for not following basic hygiene etiquette.
Sabha Seats:
Auditoriums that have been renovated in the last decade or two have focused on good acoustics, but ergonomics has definitely not been taken into account as far as the seat design is concerned.
The seat width is not for a ‘healthy adult’ (read obese) – one is forced to keep the arms and elbows folded within the armrest or adjust with the neighbour.
Some sabha seats are at a folded acute angle when empty, and sitting on them means firmly pressing – your legs on the seat, your back against the back rest, and your feet to the ground. Any relaxation of either of these will cause the seat to revert into its acute angle. I notice that some people are seated at the front edge of the seat because they cannot keep the pressure, while others are sprawled and sink their entire being into the seat at an awkward angle.
The gap between rows is so narrow that late entrants have to struggle squeezing their derrieres past the seated rasikas and grabbing the back rest of the seat in front as they navigate, pulling a few strands of hair of the people in front as they go.
The balcony seats at one place is at such a steep gradient that you might get vertigo when looking down from above – its almost as if the powers that be are saying; ‘Serves them right – the lesser paying public!”
Music for the Connoisseurs only?
Why is it the that many artists do not mention the raga and composer of the song they’re rendering, even after the rendition? Agreed, a knowledgable audience, but there may be some learners out there – like my son – who prods me in the knee to check if his guess of the raga is right. Also sometimes the artists sing dual pallavis in allied ragas, much to the delight of the gathering, but what about the aspiring music rasikas who may want to know if they have identified correctly?
Lengthy Speeches:
This often happens on the inaugural day or on the validation function day. The chief guest, the host, the chairperson and other eminent dignitaries who grace the dias are all stars in their own fields – but brevity and speaking extempore as the occasion demands does not seem to be their forte. You will often have almost all the dignitaries singing the same adulations of the chief guest, listing the same awards and citations they have received, or at other times the history of the great institution hosting the event, or still worse reading out the programme that follows the next ten days, which anyway is at hand with the audience who have picked up the flyer at the entrance and are fanning themselves with it, waiting for the event to move on.
Why-pay-anything Rasikas?
Not all peeves are from the organising side, some are from the rasikas too.
There are some sabhas which host events in the suburbs. They provide a platform to promising artists, while also bringing music closer to the homes of people who cannot travel upto the city centre. The tickets here are priced very nominally. Inspite of that I see some rasikas peering through the doorway and discussing with the doorman: ‘The hall is empty, why should I pay?’ Or buying a Rs.100 ticket and asking why they cannot sit on a Rs. 500 ticketed seat if it’s empty? Some even go in for the freebie seat and sit loftily in the front row because they found the seat empty!
I feel really ashamed and quickly show my ticket at the door lest I am mistaken to be part of the ilk.
Now enough of my rantings!
I will end saying one thing:
Marghazhis will come and Marghazhis will go and the Chennai Music Season will go on forever!