Concert

Feb. 22, 2008

Last night we went to a classical music and dance concert arranged through the hotel. We set off in an auto rickshaw driven by one of the hotel staff members, Rostom, a paan consumer of major proportions. It was a crazy mad drive in the dark full of lurching and sudden stopping and vigourous bouncing off our seats as we dropped into and out of pot holes. And of course the constant honking of horns. We were caught in a major traffic snarl and were motionless for what seemed like ages. We finally arrived after going down narrow lanes, squeezing past cycle rickshaws, bikes and pedestrians, at a hall next to the Elvis Guest House.

It was a small hall with a raised stage area at one end, a cotton padded area down two sides with cushions for sitting against plus a couple of carpets. The whitewashed walls on three sides were painted with line drawings of dancers, instruments and a Saraswati (the Goddess of music and learning). On one wall hung 7 or 8 sitars and a couple of violins in plastic bags and a large bin of wooden flutes sat under the sitars.

When we arrived there were three young women and two young men sitting against one wall. A friendly young Indian man welcome us and sat on the stage singing scales now and then. From a door on one side of the hall could be heard the sound of dishes being washed, children's voices and the occasional deep low of a cow. More young travellers arrived all greeted by the man on the stage. Another young man arrived, took one of the sitars from the wall, removed the plastic bag and sat on the stage tuning it. The first chap was the tabla player and he set to tuning his drums.

As the musicians were preparing their instruments three fellows came in with a young woman who had been sitting in the entrance when we arrived. They all sat in a corner, the three men surrounded her, one holding a stringed instrument that I'd not seen before. They were giving her the total hard-sell treatment. The instrument looked a bit tacky and new to me. She looked polite, but tired and overwhelmed. The concert was about to start with the lights down and the stage lights up and explanations of the music beginning and still the fellows were hounding the girl. All four finally left through the side door. Shortly after the concert began the girl came back and sat to listen to the concert with no instrument in hand.

The players were very good, the concert was not too long, it was lively and rhythmical and never dragged.

Then the dancer appeared. He was slim and totally effeminate, dressed in a calf-length robe completely covered with purple sequins, belted with a gold mesh sash, an ornate necklace around his throat hanging to his chest, white jodhpurs, tight on the calves and full on the thighs, multi-belled anklets from bare foot to eight inches up. He had black kohl and white eye shadow accentuating his marvelously expressive eyes, rouged cheeks and plum lipstick on his full lips, lips that could pout seductively or break into a huge smile. The movements that he could make with his arms, hands and fingers, each muscle under complete control, the rhythmic stomping of his feet in 16 beat time in total sync with the tabla, the sinuous and sensuous movement of his hips, spine and neck was all put together with incredibly intricate and elaborate eye movements and facial expressions plus hand and finger gestures into a terrifically entertaining dance. This form of North Indian dance is called Katak. Between each dance section he would give an explanation of the rhythms and time using the vocal syllables often heard in a tabla concert. “Ta, tika ta,ta, tika, ta, ta...” A young woman here at the hotel is studying Katak dance and had one lesson with him. He has been studying Katak dance since the age of four. I believe women were discouraged from dancing so men played the part of women, as was done in early Shakespearean performances. This dancer was an absolute diva, a real drag queen, and did one dance that I'm sure he choreographed himself, of a woman doing her long hair, putting on her makeup, looking in the mirror, putting on her shawl and going to fetch water and carry it on her head. A great performance and so entertaining.
Judy Norbury