So, February has arrived again. It happens every year, but for me, this is the most exciting month of all. And it's not only because I get the same salary for working a fewer number of days. February, dear folks, has the most ETA. Not Expected Time of Arrival, but Events To Await. For music lovers, the month is bliss, and most begin planning their calendars the previous March.
It starts on Friday with the annual tribute concert Homage to Abbaji , commemorating the death anniversary of Utsad Allarakha Khan, at Shanmukhananda Hall. The music, I am told, will be a mix of Hindustani classical, Carnatic and fusion. Ghazal Bahaar and the Jagjit Singh birthday concerts attract ghazal lovers. The Symphony Orchestra of India’s (SOI) spring season is for Western classical buffs. Then there is the famous Mahindra Blues Festival. And on February 28, Zakir Hussain does a show at Prithvi Theatre to celebrate the birthday of its founder, the late Jennifer Kendal. World music, they call it.
No wonder music buffs await this month, even if some sell their furniture to buy front-row tickets. As for me, I don't know the actual difference between Hindustani, ghazals, Western classical and the blues. But I still pretend. I am the man about town, the ultimate mover and faker. And that’s why I attend these shows religiously. Simply to be seen, to post my experience and selfies on Facebook and WhatsApp. To get an ego trip from the number of likes and emojis I get.
Music? That’s incidental. And it’s not that I know absolutely nothing. Over the years, I have picked up the dress code, concert etiquette, terminology and the art of artificial appreciation. For instance, I know that the best thing to wear at an Indian classical concert is a pair of spotless kurta-pyjamas, made of cotton that looks like silk. The problem is I look for my set just the evening before, only to realise it stopped fitting me in 1987. Instead, I land up in a black Metallica tee with a skeleton’s image, which makes half the people run away.
Musically, I am prepared though. I know when to say ‘ waah ’ during Parveen Sultana’s vocal recital and ‘ dhaa ’ when Zakir bhai is on fire. And I clap the same way I have been doing for the past ten years when Niladri Kumar unleashes the same sitar-rock phrase he has played endlessly. As for the international artistes, long live Google.
For the ghazal shows, I wear a printed flowery shirt. Some musicians think I am a rich businessman who can host their mehfil s. I make sure I have practised my bass voice and sing along. The fact is, I know only three lines of the song. If someone sings Jagjit’s ‘ Baat Niklegi ’, I immediately shout out the poet’s name. Kafeel Aazer. Everybody is stunned. Even the singer doesn’t know that. And then I only sing the words ‘ Door talak jaayegi ’, ‘ Har ik baat ka taana ’ and ‘ Mere baare mein ’. Who cares about the rest?
For Western classical shows, I wear the same black trousers and white shirt I don for corporate presentations, weddings, and meetings with mum-in-law. Before each event, I undergo a crash course on how not to clap or cough between movements. And once seated, I look around, and loudly announce, “Bach’s impeccable counterpoint and Mozart’s enormous sense of harmonic equanimity are the very foundation on which the glorious history of pre-secular and post-contemporary music has been constructed brick by brick, wall by wall.” I get a standing ovation even before the orchestra arrives.
The blues shows are my favourite. Armed with my Donald Trump accent and Fender air guitar, I rattle off Buddy Guy’s set list the last time he played here. People will think I am a genius, but the fact is he’s played the same set on all his five Mumbai visits. My friend Rahul DaCunha insists that I join him this time. Which is great, but I shudder to think of the breaking news on TV: “Adman, theatre personality, humour columnist, photographer, traveller, rock fan, blues bhakt spotted with fake, useless, wannabe social climber.” Sorry Rahul, I am innocent.
At Prithvi, I don't even think of going inside. All I want is a selfie with Shashi Kapoor, so I can Photoshop my hairstyle to resemble his and plaster it all over social media.
Now you see why February is so special. I love it each time. There’s one hitch though. My wife is always upset this month. And each year, I remember the reason only in March. Uff, I totally forget about Valentine’s Day.
Narendra Kusnur is a freelance music writer.
