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Opera Rivals

Discussion in 'Snippets of Life (Non-Fiction)' started by ojaantrik, Oct 4, 2013.

  1. ojaantrik

    ojaantrik IL Hall of Fame

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    "Na-Seeta-Ram", like the rest of humanity, should have been adorned by a name around the time he arrived in this "breathing world". There was no way for me to find it out though, for by the time we made his acquaintance, he was a lonely old beggar roaming the streets of Calcutta and I was either in high school or early college. It never occurred to me in fact that he was human enough to possess a name of his own and I assumed the responsibility, in jest I am afraid rather than being moved by the need to differentiate him from a stray animal, of awarding him a name of my choice. Soon enough, many of my acquaintances found indisputable logic in the nomenclature, and he came to be generally known as "Na-Seeta-Ram". I doubt though that he ever discovered the title that his public had endowed him with.

    "Na-Seeta-Ram", or simply NSR, as I have already said, was a beggar by profession. Compared to the old man we came across in Two Penny Opera though, I tend to believe that he had fewer mortal possessions, going at least by the costume he wore, or, to be more precise, did not wear. He used to arrive bear bodied as far as I recall. A sheet of worn out cloth was all that covered him waist downwards, but stopping well short of his knees. Moreover, in contradistinction to our Two Penny man, he was a tall. He was bald too with a vengeance, his scalp reflecting sunbeams with a gay abandon, but I don't think he considered it necessary to camouflage this fact.

    Like Two Penny, he too used an old can for his begging bowl, but what this can had originally been manufactured to hold was not entirely clear. In his early days, he simply begged in a cracked high pitched voice as he moved from door to door. Till one day he decided to add value to his presence by singing. His abilities in this connection were questionable of course, since there was exactly one song he had picked up and this too he sang totally out of tune in his sharp soprano. The song in question was "Raghupati Raghava Raja Ram//Pateeta Pavana Seeta Ram". Unfortunately enough, he appeared to be somewhat asthmatic too and was always short of breath while regaling us with his cacophony. As a rule, he would invariably be out of breath before he reached the words "Pateeta Pavana", with the result that he rendered the second line of the song as "Pateeta Pavaa", a long gap and then "Na-Seeta-Ram". Accent on "Na". Perhaps he deserved more sympathy than the jeers he engendered in me, but I was somewhat young at the time. Youth can be cruel I suppose, and the label I endowed him with, NSR, needs therefore no further elucidation.

    NSR was tolerable before he turned a musician, though he was generally ignored. His collection of alms as a non-singer was probably not adequate enough to keep him going and this may have been the reason why he decided to arm his beggar's technique with a touch of Spanish Inquisition. A touch that inevitably forced his clientele to shower coins on him, to ensure that he would make himself scarce without pleading.

    His rewards increased in proportion with his nuisance value. I have no idea if this is the way he had shrewdly planned his battle for survival.


    ***

    I never tried to find out her name either, nor assign her one of my choice. She was a poor woman without a doubt, but whatever apparel she possessed, she decked herself smartly in. A white saree, if I am not wrong. She was less than middle-aged possibly and wore her ample hair tied up in a bun towards the top of her head. Her sandalwood paste smeared forehead suggested that she belonged to some sect or the other, though I assumed that she was a Vaishnavi. She was dark skinned and had a face that sported a sharp nose and bright eyes. Not beautiful, but attractive without a doubt.

    It is difficult for me to judge sitting so far away in time if she was a run of the mill beggar as well. What I do remember about her was her mellifluous voice rendering bhajans. She had quite clearly received a sort of rudimentary training in music and whenever she arrived, our entire household would congregate to the window facing the street simply to listen to her fascinating voice. Somewhat husky it was, but loaded with power as well as sweetness. Instead of a begging bowl, she carried a musical instrument for accompaniment, but whether it was an ektara or a pair of cymbals, I cannot exactly vouch for anymore. She was our darling and my mother rewarded her somewhat lavishly, going beyond her own questionable means I suspect. There were occasions too when we would request her to sing a second number and she would oblige without any fuss at all.

    Clearly, she enjoyed her singing and did not mind sharing the pleasure with us.

    ***

    On a late morning one day, the woman arrived and began to entertain us in her accustomed manner. We sat there at the window immersed in the beauty of her rendition. When out of nowhere, NSR arrived. Without any preface at all, he began to sing too! At a later age I gained familiarity with the notion of "javavi" tabla in Hindusthani instrumental music. The "javavi" tradition would often infuriate many a maestro, especially when the percussionist belonged to a rival school and deliberately attempted to denigrate him by making him lose track of the tala. If I am not mistaken, I had witnessed one such tussle between Ustad Amjad Ali Khan and Pandit Shamta Prasad during a music conference in Delhi. (I haven't had enough exposure to Carnatic music to know if parallels exist in the South as well.)

    At the time NSR accosted the woman lost in her singing, I was not familiar with the word "javavi". But as I think of the situation in retrospect, it appears to be the best or worst, depending on your point of view, example of "javavi" intervention during a music performance. I cannot possibly reproduce the exact words she sang anymore, but it could have been something in the nature of a Meera Bhajan, such as " mharo pranam banke bihari ji". She performed the tanas with practised ease and continued to come back to the refrain "mharo pranam banke bihari ji". Simultaneously though, NSR kept on rasping his own refrain, "Na-Seeta-Ram". The small audience gasped in disbelief and even signalled to NSR to get lost. But he was himself as lost in his music as the bhajan singer was in hers.

    The horror continued for a few minutes till NSR managed to wreck the woman's patience as completely as Euclid's geometry was ruined by the barbarians. It was she, who protested first. Turning around and facing NSM she came out with a torrent of expletives (all in Hindi, which I could not follow at all), her usually dreamy eyes spewing fire. And NSM too responded, his voice reaching a loud crescendo. He screamed his version of Hindi in turn and it was impossible for me to follow his train of arguments either.

    They did not exactly end up hitting each other, but they came pretty close. For the rest of us, it was obvious that the performance was over. Both of them finally walked off swearing at each other, though public sympathy clearly rested with the woman.

    I don't think the woman ever showed up again, but NSM continued to. I wonder at times if he had deliberately planned the invasion to ensure that his rival would abdicate, unable to put up with his vulgarity. Or was he a pure idiot, from whom the expert decided to keep a safe distance? Not unlike the people who were willing to pay in order to make him leave them in peace.

    There are many ways to win a war. As far as I can make out, the means NSR employed were entirely non-violent. Unless violence is redefined to include not merely bloodshed, but also the damage one can inflict on a person's sensitivity.
     
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  2. Kamla

    Kamla IL Hall of Fame

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    Honestly Oj-da,

    I get the impression that you remember every beggar that crossed your path in your youth! I am unable to get over my wonderment at your powerful memory!! Here I am cursing my failing memory these days which seems to have robbed me the pleasure of naming which song stemmed from what film, a talent for which I was famous for...up until recent where as you seem to clearly know what song each mendicant sang for you and your friends and family?!

    Could it be that I was unaware that Calcutta's vagrants took to song when they needed alms? Possible, going by your TwoPenny, Na-Sitaram and the Vaishnavite (assumed) woman! Going down the memory lane, all I can weakly recollect is the sounds of 'Ammaaa Thaaaye' in various tones and 'sthayis' and the tick tocking of their empty vessels to attract the attention of the householder! Oh well, maybe I should indulge in some brain train games.....

    I shall not elaborate on your writing skills here for we all are aware of its prowess. When in doubt, I shall refer to your previous thread which is exploding in superlative language skills from you and the likes of you!! Not that I need to for I just know our in-house bard!

    L, Kamla


     
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  3. Kamalji

    Kamalji IL Hall of Fame

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    Dear OJ,

    You took me back in time, and i can imagine both the beggars, u watching them with eyes open, and ears too of course, and the narration,out of this world. Ad kamla rightly says, u are our own in house bard eh !


    You know in trains and at stations, u hear different voices. A small boy screaming coffee as Kapeeeee, and a friend of mine, we walk together in the mornings, he comes uop with this scream every morning, making us laugh first thing in the park, and otehr new hawker voices that he keeps picking up.

    Superb post OJ, just superb.

    Regards

    kamal
     
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  4. satchitananda

    satchitananda IL Hall of Fame

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    Wonderful post OJ-da. Enjoyed going back with you in time and witnessing the jugalbandi between Na-Sita Ram and the lady. Pity the lady gave up so easily and never turned up again.

    Like Kamla says, I am amazed at your superlative ability of recall. I often try to reach into my brain for past memories and don't come back with too many incidents except for some which suddenly pop up totally unbidden. May be it is also for the best!

    Looking for more OJ-da. :-D
     
  5. Balajee

    Balajee IL Hall of Fame

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    OJ begging is a lucrative profession. AIn nWEW dELHI AREA NEAR kHAN mARKET,. A i HAVE SEEN A GUY GETTING DOWN SMARTLY DRESSED FROM A BUS., HE THEN CHANGES INTO A DIRTY LUNGI AND PUTS HIS CLOTHS IN A BAG. tHEN HIS TRADE STARTS. hE BEGS AT TRAFFIC INTERSECTIONS BANGING ON CAR WINDOWS WAITING FOR THE LIGHT TO TURN GREEN. i AM SURE HE MUST BE MAKING A NEAT PACKET GOING BY THE WAY HE IS SEEN DRESSED ON ARRIVAL iF HE KNEW LOUSY SINGING CAN FETCH HIM MORE MONEY THIS GUY WOULD CERTAINLY DO IT. HOPE HE DOESN'T READ YOUR BLOG.
     
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  6. ojaantrik

    ojaantrik IL Hall of Fame

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    Dear Kamla,

    Despite all the encouragement I receive from kind people such as you, I know that I have been consistently failing to reach anywhere close to the goal I set for myself. There was no need at all to put up this post in a hurry. I was, of course, carrying in my mind the rudiment of an idea, but I knew that I was nowhere near ready to write it up. It's one of the worst pieces I have written for IL and the thought makes my heart sink.

    To tell you frankly, I had turned on my computer to erase the piece and, to my horror, I discovered that I was too late. In the meantime, some of you well-wishers had posted your reactions to the post.

    Don't you see that I have failed completely in my expressions? My language, even the title I chose, are mockeries of my self-professed search for elegance.

    This is a monumental pile of garbage. That's all I can say. On the other hand, the praise you have sent my way was totally wasted. I know myself that this is third rate. No one can convince me to change my opinion.

    I am descending down a dark chute at hurtling pace. That's all I know.

    I am totally demoralized to read what I wrote. I think I should put an end to this travesty of an artistic pursuit.

    oj-da
     
  7. ojaantrik

    ojaantrik IL Hall of Fame

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    Good Friend Kamal,

    It was so kind of you to respond to my post. You possess what they call a heart of gold!
    And this makes me end up in total embarrassment. As I re-read my own post, I felt quite disgusted with myself. Not on account of the content of the post, but because it was a hopelessly unreadable piece of composition. When I began writing here, thanks to you, I think I was a more honest person as a writer. I was deeply committed to an art form. I would choose words and phrases with caution, more than caution, with love. That is the only kind of love that has visited my life I am afraid. I have observed, or at least been told of, people being in love. I have rarely written about this subject, because I am a stranger in that world. But when it comes to writing, I think I do understand what falling in love means. And when you are in love, you cannot compromise. If you do, you have to suffer the consequences. As I am suffering now. You have often told me that I should not take this matter seriously. But is that possible? I cannot cheat the object of my love.

    I have failed Kamal, I am failing and I think I will continue to do so. I am trying desperately to pull myself out of a bog, or quicksand if you will. It's hard, very hard.

    oj
     
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  8. Kamalji

    Kamalji IL Hall of Fame

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    Dea r OJ

    You call this piece as junk, is it? But let me tell u, crossing my heart, and i think satchi, kamla and cheeniya will agree with me, along with a hoard of others, that this piece is a gem.

    And if u say this is trash, then please let us have trash, yr thrash is a 7 star buffet for starved readers lik eme.

    You know, yr choice of friends is also wrong. Anyone is his right mind cannot be friends with me, for being friends means my effect rubs off on him or her, and they start writing like me, spontaneously. and this peie was just too good, two seperate stories of beggars, and then they come together for the final act, what could have been more marvellous than thsi story.

    When i dontlike anything u write, i dont comment, but when i do comment, it means i must have loved it, and this is my second comment, so i loved it so much.

    So dear genius friend of mine, relax, smile, and try and be like me, at least in thoughts, merry with a glass of sherry .HAHA

    Regards

    kama;
     
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  9. ojaantrik

    ojaantrik IL Hall of Fame

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    Dear Satchi,

    I was about to throw a morbid missile at you, somewhat in the spirit of the ones I had prepared for Kamla and Kamal, when I received a phone call from Kamal himself. He had read my response to my fb and decided to speak to me immediately. As usual he entertained me with his funny conversation partly, I am sure, to help me overcome the state I am currently in. Depression I suppose is what I should call it, aroused by the fact that I am unable to hit what I perceive as a neighbourhood of the bull's-eye. I am not particularly bothered by the theme I chose, but I am unhappy with my expressions. I tried to make a quick job of it, given that other engagements are claiming a lion's share of my time. As a result, I committed what appears to me as intellectual hara-kiri (or what the Japanese call seppuku).

    I have nothing more to write to you good friend. Except that I feel I was dishonest with an art form that I thought I was in love with.

    oj-da
     
  10. ojaantrik

    ojaantrik IL Hall of Fame

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    Dear Balajee,

    I am sure you are right that begging can be a lucrative profession. In fact, as I read you, I was reminded about the fascinating Sherlock Holmes story, The Man with the Twisted Lip. I have come across, or at least been told, of professional beggars. Apparently, there is one who has set up business quite near my home and he leads a group of "mendicants". He sits somewhere, dressed up as a beggar, and sends commands to his army over a mobile phone. Depending on situations, he asks them to change locations and so on.

    I have not tried to track him down, but I do believe that he exists.

    Best regards.

    oj
     

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