Yesternight, we were at Anoushka Shankar's concert 'Home' in Mumbai. It sent me into multiple reveries. First I can recall is thinking about my happiest moments, and contemplating where I would love to be (perhaps provoked by the thought that this must be her happiest place). One strong visual was of me debating somewhere on a stage, or interviewing someone (with an audience listening intently, always).
Only a few minutes into the concert, I could feel myself calming down in a weird way- I say weird 'coz I was calm walking in; it was a relaxed day with the wife, good lunch, easy evening, and a nice drive and chit chat with her. But somewhere it seemed to slow me down (yeah 'slow me down' feels more like it than 'calm me down') in a way that I felt the desire to be in that state for longer- a feeling I can last recall from a meditation camp in Rishikesh.
I then remember thinking physical beauty is not redundant. I was not enjoying looking at the Tabla waadak's rather unpleasantly colored hair (contrasted for instance with the beautiful curly hair of Zakir Hussain). I was conscious of myself feeling a little pleasure every time Anoushka Shankar smiled- I think in part it was because it was joyful to see an artist enjoy the performance so much as to smile, but also because the smile made her look prettier. The shehnaai waadak, who walked in about an hour into the show- he had a more pleasant physical presence than the tabla waadak, whom he sat next to. And I remember enjoying his presence even before he blew his first notes out of the shehnaai. I was soon more consumed by the symphony they started building together. The tabla waadak was extremely playful, with his head movements and gestures, egging on the mridang waadak, which I found lovely. It was as if in the middle of a professional performance, he was stealing his moments of childlike fun. Anoushka joined him, reciprocating with head gestures and smiles, and it was endearing. The mridang waadak responded, but almost solely with the rising ferocity of his beats on his instrument, not so much with gestures.
In all this, the symphony was growing in tempo. What they were producing on the stage was increasingly charming. If I could see myself from without, I would've found a 30 year old man, neatly dressed in ironed pants and shirt, going into fits of head swings like a junkie, and suddenly clasping his face and watching intently like a child, his smile growing beyond conscious intent and his body magically finding its rhythm as the symphony on the stage found its own.
It wasn't all mystic though. The person to my left kept fiddling with his phone, the screen's brightness distracting me often, rather disturbingly at times. I felt irritated for a while, but then I remember feeling sorry for him 'coz he was missing something; and then going back and forth between being irritated and feeling sorry. At some point, I moved into another seat to distance myself. physically from the person and mentally from that see-saw of emotions, both equally corroding my experience with what was unfolding on the stage. A few times, I looked at my wife who I found enjoying the music in her own less animated way. She was attending to some office chats once in a while. I think I thought she was as involved and enchanted by the music as I was, but was magically finding in her, the resolve and patience to handle the disturbances and come back to the music rather seamlessly.
Meanwhile, what was happening on the stage was unreal. The percussionists repeatedly challenged the Sitarist, and she obliged every time, upping the game. The flautist and the shehnaai waadak had their own little match going on; and then every one joined in to raise the tempo not once but over and over again, beyond certainly what I could imagine. The audience must have found many highs on the way to the group's eventual high. Like a man skillful enough, would make such love to a woman that she peaks repeatedly before he does and they finally descend. By the time the group finished, I was more than satisfied. I had no qualms getting up. I had had a beautiful journey, though I didn't feel the urge to shout the usual 'once more' as we have grown used to doing at rock concerts we enjoy!
The two of us walked out, immediately as engrossed in each other as were before walking in. A few minutes before the finish, she had made an innocent face indicating she was hungry. As we walked out, all I wanted was to find out what she wanted to eat. Which isn't an easy pursuit on most occasions. But she was quick to narrow down on 'Chinese and Thai', and almost as quick to find a good restaurant on zomato. We could have walked to the place. It was only 600 meters on the map. But we chose to drive.
