Sundry Musings

India’s Edward Scissorhands

Suresh Subrahmanyan A housewife was arrested recently in Bangalore for attacking her husband with a pair of scissors. She was deeply upset over his refusal to eat dinner her mother had specially prepared for him. She is being questioned by the police — Press Reports. ‘Madam, do you realise you could have killed your husband? Why did you attack him with a pair of scissors?’ asked the investigating officer politely. The housewife replied calmly. ‘Because in my fit of rage, I could not find anything more lethal. I regret that I did not kill him.’ The police officer harrumphed impatiently. ‘My question was why did you attack him at all?’ ‘He calls me from his workplace to say he will be home late, and could I rustle up something substantial for dinner as he is famished. I requested my mother who lives close by, to prepare his favourite mutton biryani and some side dishes, and now this happens.’ ‘What happens?’ asked the puzzled cop. ‘Surely, he must have told you.’ ‘At the moment, the nursing home where he is admitted is dealing with several deep cuts and bruises, resulting from his struggles while you went after him with a pair of scissors. He is not in a talkative mood. Why scissors, for God’s sake?’ “I already told you…’ ‘Of course. Madam things aren’t looking good for you. Aggravated assault and causing hurt with a dangerous weapon are serious crimes.’ ‘You have not heard my side of the story fully, Officer.’ The policeman pressed on. ‘Are you feeling sorry that you find yourself neck deep in the soup or that you couldn’t finish the job with a pair of scissors?’ ‘Ah, so you sympathise with my quandary, do you?’ ‘Sir Winston Churchill once said, “Give us the tools and we will finish the job.” Obviously, you were not happy with your tools.’ ‘You have lost me completely, Officer. Who is this Churchill, and who was he trying to kill? Anyhow, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Try going home late tonight, while your wife waits at the door with her mother’s biryani and tell her you have eaten and got sloshed at a bar, Officer. Expect a black eye and hide the scissors.’ The policeman wasn’t amused, ‘Very funny. Since you ask, Churchill was trying to kill the Germans. Tell me, why did you ask your mother to cook? ‘I was out of doors and was forbidden from entering the kitchen.’ ‘Out of doors? That. I understand. Sorry.’ “Accused out of doors, three to four days out of action” he scribbled in his diary. ‘Boozed as well? But why do you feel so aggrieved simply because he ate out and had a couple of large pegs at a bar? ‘You have not been listening, Officer. The fact is he wanted to insult my mother. I had specifically told him the same morning that my mother will be preparing dinner that night. She is a great cook. Had it been his mother, he…

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Uncle Sam drops a few bricks

Suresh Subrahmanyan Almost seven decades ago, the late Harry Belafonte released a melodious, calypso-tinged song titled Brown Skin Girl (‘stay home and mind baby’). Teenagers then, we had no clue this was a song that obliquely commented on American soldiers who landed in Jamaica and other islands in the Caribbean (ostensibly to protect the local yokels from communism, a fate worse than death). Only, as they have routinely done worldwide, Yanks left the islands leaving a bevy of (mostly) blue-eyed babies, who never knew their fathers. We learned the sordid import of those lyrics much later. The song itself was catchy and hummable, and along with many other such songs like The Banana Boat Song. Harry Belafonte was a party favourite worldwide. Now you are doubtless wondering what made me think of Belafonte and Brown Skin Girl. A gentleman by the name of Sam Pitroda, till recently friend, philosopher and guide to the Congress Party of India and in particular, Uncle Sam to the Gandhi clan, decided to comment on the racial diversity in India. This provoked widespread outrage. Pitroda’s defence was that he was celebrating the diversity of India, that is Bharat. To be fair to the man, he may have been taken somewhat out of context, though there are few takers for that school of thought. Which is hardly surprising. Mr. Pitroda’s innocuous remarks, even if considered so offensive that he is now been ostracized, officially declared an outcast and no longer Chairman of the Indian Overseas Congress. Likening people from eastern India to the Chinese (broody herr!), denizens from the South to Africans (Crikey! / Ayyayyo!), those from the North to the whites (really? Caucasian?) and pretty much the rest of the country to Arabs and Africans. All this purely on the basis of skin tone. Clearly, Pitroda’s mouth started operating in fifth gear while his brain was still cranking up to second. Result? A potential political disaster for the Congress party just when it was beginning to gain some traction leading up to the final stages of General Election 2024. However, we must acknowledge that it was Sam Pitroda who led the telecom revolution in India during the early 90s though that does not give him the licence to start racially equating large numbers of Indians with Chinese, Africans, Arabs and Whites. While the Congress Party distanced itself from Pitroda’s blooper, the BJP went on overdrive to take full advantage of what was viewed as an unpardonable solecism on the opposition’s part. It is election time, after all, and the BJP minions were in no mood to look a gift horse in the mouth. The Prime Minister thundered on about how cross he was at this gross insult to India’s people. Speaking for himself, he would not have minded barbs being directed at him but drew the line at this tasteless slur on his beloved countrymen, women and children. He even demanded an apology from the Congress leader, but thus far not one has been forthcoming.…

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Anatomy of applause

Suresh Subrahmanyan It has been barely three weeks since I returned home from my annual Carnatic music adrenalin rush — a non-stop, round-the-clock festival of musicians of every hue strutting their stuff across the length and breadth of Chennai. In earlier missives, I have dwelt at length with all the usual trappings, musical and non-musical, that the December music season jamboree provides. Rather, I fell to thinking about the way in which members of the audience, since time immemorial, appreciate an artist’s performance during a concert. I am particularly fascinated by the unique manner in which we use the age-old device of applauding to let musicians know we have enjoyed what they have taken the trouble to offer us for our delectation. Applause is an integral part of audience participation during a performance that we do not consciously think about. It just happens. At times spontaneously, at times mechanically. And at times caught between and betwixt, not sure if the performance is deserving of applause or not. Thus, the end result could be a spontaneous eruption or an apologetic whimper, but applause all the same. Let’s look at this fascinating aspect of audience appreciation closely. Before I embark on this task, let me establish one cardinal rule governing the employment of applause at a Carnatic music concert. Namely, that the culmination of any pause of performance must necessarily be followed by a round of applause. There is no question of sitting rock-still when a piece of music has just concluded. Hands must come together and burst forth. In this respect, we differ greatly from audience behaviour at western classical music concerts. If you so much as clap your hands gently after the first movement of one of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos, censorious glances will be directed at you while you look for a non-existent hole in the ground for instant exit. That is their tradition, though I am always baffled as to why, if the first movement of a symphony moves one to applaud, this natural instinct must be curbed till the third movement. Always assuming there isn’t a fourth movement! If you are a novice, better to hold back and join in the applause when the entire audience has got into the act. Minding your Ps and Qs at a western classical music concert is a given. In the words of classical pianist Emanuel Ax, “We seem to have set up some very arcane rules as to when it is actually okay to applaud.” Thankfully, that is not the case with Indian classical music performances. Having observed audience behaviour at Carnatic music concerts for several decades now, I have arrived at some definitive ideas about how to classify different types of applause. Please excuse my improvised Latin. Applaudus Erupticus. The audience goes berserk. The end of a particular piece has so moved them that they simply cannot stop clapping. So much so that the performer concerned almost looks a bit sheepish, as if to say, “Is this really me they…

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Cashless in la-la land

– Suresh Subrahmanyan, Bengaluru-based former advertising professional He lends out money gratis and brings down the rate of usance here with us in Venice — Shylock, Merchant of Venice. Most of us have credit and debit cards these days, tucked away in bulging wallets and squeezed into back pockets. Not to mention driving license, Aadhaar card, medical insurance card and all things plastic. Hard cash plays a minor walk-on part, if that. Credit and debit cards are essentially the same things, only credit cards take a while longer to inflict the pain on your bank balance, but that is compensated by their charging a punitive interest rate. You know what they say. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Debit cards, however, are more direct. Swipe one of those and its bye-bye moolah. Hasta la vista. In addition to these cards, various online vendors like Amazon, Flipkart, Big Basket et al, from whom we place regular orders, entice and exhort us to deposit varying sums of money in their ‘wallets,’ the easier to place orders online without having to go to the trouble of credit / debit card rigmaroles like keeping an eye on expiry dates, monthly limits, mad rush to key in the OTP and so on. Lest we forget, there are also various UPI digital payment options like BHIM, Google Pay, Phone Pe, Pay Pal and Paytm among others. The embattled Paytm is currently under the scanner while we poor sods are still trying to figure out the implications. Meanwhile their chief executive has been shown the door and those of us who have placed our trust and money in Paytm are left wondering if we have been taken for a right royal ride. Welcome to the rarefied world of cashless transactions. A brief aside. In the world of trading and commerce, the word ‘cashback’ is intriguing. I am struck by the word that is now an integral part of our commercial lexicon. For reasons I haven’t been entirely able to fathom, the word ‘discount’ has been cast into outer darkness. Totally discounted. The only plausible reason I can come up with for this change of terminology is that the word cashback sounds so much more alluring. It is only a mirage of course, but one gets the idea the company is doling back cash to us every time we buy something. In a sense they do, but only after hiking up their recommended list price. And when we are not actually forking out hard currency from our wallets to pay but swiping plastic cards or placing our mobiles in front of obliging QR codes, life seems to be a breeze. Until you check your bank balance at the end of the month. Most people don’t even do that. If they do, they flinch and quickly avert their eyes. ‘I couldn’t possibly have spent that much.’ There is a deeper question to be addressed. Is the ease of transacting business through credit or debit cards, digital wallets,…

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Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned

– Suresh Subrahmanyan, Bengaluru-based former advertising professional There is a tendency among many of us hack writers to attribute any slick proverb to Shakespeare who came up with so many smart lines befitting any occasion, that one can be excused for giving him the credit for aphorisms he didn’t write. I diligently researched my proverb of choice for this essay to ensure it was not one of Shakespeare’s. It was William Congreve who came up with this beauty in his Restoration play The Mourning Bride, way back in 1697. The playwright is also credited for ‘Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,’ which has often been misquoted as ‘Music has charms to soothe a savage beast’. Dear reader, my apologies. I will come straight to the point. I recently came across a news byte that a woman in the city of Pune was so incensed with her 30-plus husband that she punched him in the nose so hard, the poor fellow died. Possibly of nasal asphyxiation, if there be such a term. Reportedly, it was the young lady’s birthday and she had her eyes set on a shopping trip to Dubai. When it became clear that no air or hotel bookings for Dubai had been made, and that the husband was planning to fob her off with flowers and dinner at a nearby restaurant, hell broke loose. You would not be far wrong in saying the gloves were off. The better half hauled off and delivered a vicious right hook to the unfortunate chap’s nasal bridge that would have made Mike Tyson proud. Not only did the husband see stars, he soon became one among them! The husband had reportedly promised her expensive jewellery and luxury perfumes, but nothing was forthcoming on the big day. Perhaps you can understand where the hellish fury came from. The police are now trying to piece together the unpleasant episode. The killer widow may be full of remorse and crying her eyes out. Next time, if there is a next time, she must learn to go easy on the wrist work and follow through. ‘Heat of the moment’ will be her plea to the cops and the courts. My own take is that she will not face the ultimate wrath of the law, though a verdict of manslaughter could well be on the cards. In a reversal of roles, an irate husband in Bengaluru hurled a pressure cooker full of boiling sambar at his wife, prompting severe burns and injury. I am not making this up, cross my heart and hope to die. This after not being able to push her over the balcony or finding a knife handy to stab her mortally. And the provocation? Reportedly, the family was living from hand to mouth and unable to pay the rent. The man of the house was an electrician and the distraught wife requested him to help a neighboring senior citizen with some electrical repairs, thereby earning an honest wage and keeping the…

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What’s in a name?

– Suresh Subrahmanyan, Bengaluru-based former advertising professional One of the most exciting tasks that a married couple anticipates is the arrival of the proverbial stork with their first born, or for that matter, second or even third born. Rarely in our straitened times do couples go for more than two kids, three being a bit of a stretch, probably accidental. Unless, of course, you are Elon Musk, in which case after the announcement of the birth of the eleventh infant, he has just got down to spitting on his hands and getting into his stride. More of Musk anon. It is superfluous to add that in our enlightened age, marriage is not a necessary pre-condition to add to the world’s head count. My preoccupation this month is more to do with how couples and their near and dear ones get into a right, royal tizzy over what to name the impending arrival along with the patter of little feet. Those who do not wish to know in advance the sex of their bundle of joy that is still blissfully swimming in its mother’s amniotic fluids, run around with reference books while frantically Google searching, scouring names of boys and girls. In any case, Indian law doesn’t allow parents to determine the baby’s gender in advance. Depending on which religious denomination you belong to, Hindu, Christian, Muslim, Sikh, Parsee, Jain, Buddhist or any other, there are loads of names for you to sift through during those nine months of cozy captivity for the little wonder. The process of naming a child, in this modern age when the world is our oyster, or as the poet Wordsworth had it, ‘the world is too much with us,’ has become somewhat universalised. Westerners, who notoriously fuss about pronouncing names from the southern hemisphere, have become just that much more familiar. They still behave as if the cat has got their tongues, but they muddle through. Kamala Harris poses no problem, that’s easy-peasy, Vivek Ramaswamy is rapidly gaining currency with frequent appearances on American TV debates. Britain’s PM Rishi Sunak is a walk in the park, though his first lady Akshata Murty could prove tricky, if not a mouthful. To the native Brit that is, not to Asian migrants. Now that we have turned to the subject of names in the western hemisphere, I cannot but talk at greater length about Elon Musk and his rapidly expanding familial empire. While I have touched briefly upon the Indian diaspora and the unique challenges their names could pose to a western audience, the Twitter (now X) mogul, Elon Musk, has blazed a new and enthralling trail when it comes to naming his offspring. Across three partners (Justine, Grimes and Shivon Gillis), the prolific Musk has fathered 11 children, and I would not bet against more in the pipeline — more partners and more children. While one gasps at the great magnate’s fecundity, it is more the names his children are burdened with that is noteworthy. Try these…

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Music is what music does online & offline

Carnatic musician T.M. Krishna has recently held forth on the perils, as he sees it, of music lovers leaning towards consuming the art form through a plethora of streaming OTT channels and eschewing live performances. Sitting comfortably at home, one can order entertainment, à la carte, often through state-of-the-art sound systems. Not to mention the all-pervasive mobile phone. ‘Spoilt for choice’ is an oft-repeated phrase. Krishna’s gripe is that increasingly, music lovers are becoming disinclined to attend live concerts, thereby denying themselves the opportunity to experience, along with others in the auditorium, the immediacy and thrill that a live performance promises. And, with caveats, delivers. What Krishna posits is inarguable in theory. The facts on the ground may or may not bear this out. Since I have chosen to cite a Carnatic musician’s views, let me stick to the cloistered world of Carnatic music to take this discussion forward. Our world has come a long way over the decades, and there have been fundamental sociological and lifestyle changes. I am not an anthropologist, but that pretty much sums it up. I am keeping the Covid pandemic out of this purview, though it might have been a contributory factor in accelerating the process of keeping people out of concert halls. However, Covid was a black swan event and the scourge’s relevance to current behavioural patterns is virtually nil. Covid distorts the narrative. YouTube and other digital platforms were not available back in the day, but radio was a hugely popular medium. All India Radio’s weekly National Programmes and morning offerings of Carnatic music were avidly anticipated. The best musicians gave of their time generously to these programmes, which only whetted the appetite of listeners to flock to concert halls to listen to their favourite musicians live. Vinyl records, cassette and spool tapes would circulate freely among friends and relatives who would wear them out endlessly listening to these masterpieces. If you were a Carnatic music aficionado back then, there was not much else happening to divert your attention. Fast forward to the past couple of decades. If you look beyond the pandemic aberration, there are two factors that make attending concerts not quite the experience it once was. Just getting from one place to another has become an arduous deterrent. In many metros, concert venues are located far apart and only those who live in the vicinity make the effort. Then there are parking woes, traffic navigation and the anxiety to return home. The exception is a city like Chennai, where many venues exist within shouting-distance of each other. This is particularly evident during the December music festival, when people move from venue to venue like those great historical migrations. Krishna does make the point that a handful of musicians who enjoy box-office appeal, are the exceptions to the rule. I am not sure if this is a recent phenomenon. Even in the 1960s and 70s, the venerable Music Academy Madras would find itself hard pressed to fill the hall for…

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