Interpreter of Maladies
Monday, April 14, 2008
Music MagicIt was Wednesday when browsing through the newspapers, a miniscule column caught my attention - about the BhaktiUtsav. I faintly remembered references to some such event last year, but could not relate. Went to the web and found that it was the festival of devotional music which attracts crooners from all over India and Pakistan - to praise the allmighty in their traditional style of music.
I saved up on the week then- to go to the fest on this Sunday.
I was apprehensive - maybe it would not be good - there were no big ads in the city - even the newspaper thing was more of the size of an obituary than an event. Nehru Park, where the event was to take place seemed all desolate too. No sign of a horde of cars, no banners - nothing. The gatekeeper informed us in an empathetic baritone, "Program ke liye aaye hain? Peeche se jaaiye". I frowned at "Programme", was I seriously about to jeopardize my really precious weekend for the mockery of some music fest.
So from "peeche se", I went and found this curtain of earthen lamps shadowing a display of marigold flower chains. Seems exotic, I thought. There was an imposing but simple stage and right ahead of the stage, there was place to sit on the ground. There were chairs too, for those who would dare not touch the ground below their feet. I sat and allowed myself to intake the ambience. The tall tree and under its fulsome branches, that harmony of light and sound. They started at dot 6.30 which was quite surprising from Delhi standards. But this was no Punjabi brouhaaa - in a balanced and melifluous voice, the presenter announced the agenda of the day and briefly what all was to pass.
It started with a Sanskrit Bhajan to Jagannath by Maheshwar Rao. I was busy interpreting the Bhajan for the first 5 minutes to an animated audience on the side. But then the staidness of the Bhajan forced me to close my eyes and sway with the mood. By the time the closing lines came, I was already transposed to another world. A couple of couplets later, Hariharan came to the stage. I realized the small park had become marginally more crowded - he was the star of the evening. But this was no star Hariharan (although there were moments when he did fall into the ambience of being filmy), this was the real Hariharan - soft, mushy and touching.
There were so many others which I can talk about - listening to Ramcharitmanas with so much heart in place, listening to why all my demons are only inside me- but let me leave the hints here. Scattered, so that next year, I go back again - no matter what is playing on my mind then - I will still find sanctuary and solace again.
