A matter of taste

Dear Kaklaat,
Aapro Viraf Violin invited me and Kavas Kishore Kumar to Zubin Mehta’s concert at the NCPA (National Centre for the Performing Arts). Khojeste Mistree is absolutely right that Parsiana’s statistics about our declining population are utterly misleading. There were hardly any non-Parsis, dikra. If our number is only 40,000 in Bombay, how can there be 800 Sirpas (Parsis) at a single concert? Though, I must confess, I hardly knew any of them. One of them looked like my classmate in Bharda New High School; but he snubbed me and said he was a fourth generation Cathedralite. They were, of course, all suited and booted, while Kavas and I were wearing a tee shirt and bush shirt, respectively. Viraf Violin was also looking most uncomfortable in his marriage-day suit.
When we settled down in our seats, the atmosphere felt like an uthamna, bossy. People were talking in hushed tones and all that. Then the firangi (foreign) musicians walked in and took their positions next to all vague looking musical instruments. And an unbelievable number of violin wallas (Viraf said they are called First Violins and Second Violins!). Though not a single fellow on the drums or tabla, which was a bit strange. Aapro Zubin, looking really handsome at 80, walked in, with a little stick in his hand. Throughout the concert he fidgeted with this stick as if he was trying to hypnotize the orchestra. Kavas and I asked Viraf, during the interval, as to why Zubin, like our Goody Seervai and Nelly Battiwala, did not play any instrument. We got some very dirty looks from a lady in a purple gara and large pearls, who was dressed as if she was at a navjote. Kavas was most disappointed that, like our Dadar boy, aapro behesti (our late) Freddie Mercury, Zubin did not even sing.
The program said that the first item was a Carnival Overture; but there was nothing carnival about it, boss. The music was so slow that Kavas started snoring and several suitwalas around us took deep breaths. Luckily, Tehmi called him on his mobile with the Kishore Kumar ringtone, and he woke up, with a rude start. Viraf Violin bichaaro went white in the face.

Zubin Mehta conducting the Israeli Philharmonic Orchestra in Bombay; qawwali singer Shakila Banoo Bhopali

The next item was called Concerto in D Major. I asked Viraf as to whether Concerto was Italian for concert. He just put his finger on his lips. I thought this item was dedicated to some army Major, but again, it was too slow and no military music. Suddenly, Dadaar Hormuzd knows what happened to Kavas that, at the end of the piece, he loudly clapped. Believe it or not, Kaklaat bossy, none other applauded. Viraf whispered that it was only a movement and the piece was not yet over.
On our way back to Dadar, Viraf explained to us that Zubin was one of the greatest orchestra conductors. But he was the only person on the stage who did not make a sound, argued Kavas humming a Kishore Kumar tune. A conductor interprets a great composer’s music, he sets the tempo and unifies the orchestra, explained Viraf Violin. But none of the musicians were even looking at Zubin, I argued. Viraf took a deep sigh and explained that top quality orchestral players can watch the score and at the same time watch the conductor who is also listening to the other sections of the orchestra. What has cricket score got to do with all this? queried Kavas. If Zubin has memorized all the scores, he would make a great scorer at our IPL cricket matches, he added. Score means printed music, exclaimed a harassed Viraf Violin.
The next day, Viraf attended another concert of Zubin at the Brabourne Stadium (of course, he did not take Kavas or me), where Zubin conducted a male singer, who is visually impaired, called a tenor; and a nice Mexican lady called a soprano (you remember that Sunnu soprano, who taught us Algebra in school, and whose voice could be heard three lanes away near the agiary?). So I asked Viraf Violin as to how the tenor, due to his handicap, can follow our Zubin. Viraf sighed and said that it is the conductor who looks at the soloist and then imparts to the orchestra. All very confusing, dikra!
I mean, Kaklaat dikra, Zubin is the most famous Parsi and all that; but I did not really enjoy myself. As compared to this concert, you will recollect the programs of Shakila Banoo Bhopali, the queen of qawwali, that we used to attend on Saturday nights. Although she was a bit plump, what mesmerizing eyes she had! Our Pallon Petrol Pump used to rush to the stage and shower her with five rupee notes and she would so warmly reciprocate by taking out from her hair the mogra no gajro (floral hair ornament) and fling it at Pallon who would be orgasmic with joy. We would take a swig from the quarter bottle in the pocket of our jeans. The audience applauded after every couplet and shouted ‘once more’ a thousand times. Such a boisterous crowd it was. Shakila Banoo’s singing would reach a crescendo and then she would smash a glass on the stage; and the audience would be on fire. From industrialists to stockbrokers to taxi drivers, all were enthralled. That is what you called a performance, bossy. Your each vein was throbbing with excitement. I know you will laugh at me, comparing Zubin Mehta with Shakila Banoo Bhopali; but for me, brother, she was like hot and spicy kolmi-na curry chawal, and this concert was an insipid bowl of asparagus mousse, to be eaten in funereal silence.