The Mike and audience

Kolkata and the people of Kolkata, are always the most enjoyable type, and I, a Kolkatian too enjoyed the same. My home was in Park Circus the heart of the City well known for its markets, with all the hustle and bustle of the market place: Small shops, big shops, stalls etc. The tea stalls were the most entertaining one for they would be playing the radio, which was a boon for me, an ardent lover of music, especially songs. The need of any individual radio in one's home wasn't a necessity at all, for songs would be blarrering out, from these tea stalls. And moreover, other than these stalls, there were the loud speaker rental stores, who too would be playing their records. So it was a celebration all the time, and these 24x7 songs made me a good singer humming around the house all day. The days passed by with this practice of mine and I started thinking myself to be a singer not less than the great legend Lata Mangeshkar ji. Thus  brimming with pride 🙆 the Lata ji  residing in me now inclined to catch the attentions of neighbours and relatives singing aloud, and within no time a session of Atankshari began every weekend in our home. This talent of mine slowly came to the notice of my busy Accha too. My Accha adhering to the advice of my neighbours decided to bring out my talent on stage in one of the Onam programmes organised by the Malayali Samajams. Accha was a very active member of Rotary club, Malayali Samajams etc. Thus, began my practice classes, day in and out, with loads of praises and backings,which made me a full blown balloon🎈 of pride. The day of the programme arrived, and I, with the support of my family members, was all set to be on stage, though I  never had  an experience of one.Onam programme began in chronological order with  dance performances being the first: audience started enjoying every moment with great enthusiasm. Then, came the  session of Ganamela. One by one the singers started

singing their songs and were getting applauses. I standing at the backstage was hearing all this and was waiting for my turn with full confidence clearing my throat.  Just at that moment my name was announced and I moved to the stage, in front of the Mike. The spot light flashed upon me and I witnessed the huge audience in front of me. Opening the song written chit in my hand, I started Arr.....hum....hrrr... hum...hum...hum. All these sound came out from me except the song. The Lata ji inside me didn't stir nor will sing. I was literally shaking with stage fright and the nervousness choked me, by now the audience bursted out laughing and hooting. Phusss....... 😒gone with the wind was my enthusiasm and pride, and my dream of singing to a large audience came crashing down.  As it is said "Pride comes before a fall," I ran 🏃towards the back stage with tears in my eyes 😭  and my dream remains a dream even today.

Pic courtesy Google images

Maago vs Mango

In this post I am portraying an incident, as told by Amma to me. This was the era of sixties, my mom a newly wedded bride, came over a miles apart to Kolkata where Accha worked for a living. She was a village bele born and brought up with the innocence of village. She was a tender vine, with no knowledge of the hardship of city life. Amma was the youngest amoung her ten siblings, adored by her eight brothers and her only sister.  She, a bubbling innocence used to enjoy all the freedom roaming around in her courtyard plucking fruits and flowers, playing around in the rivers,fields, and ponds catching fishes. She was a carefree bird flying in a clear sky. This lovey dovey of village came over to the clutter and bluster of city life, ignorant of the happenings and the ways of life here. Accha a busy worker, hardly had time to make her view the city scenario or to explain her the way people lived here. She was hardly twenty then. They shifted to a small one room apartment on the ground floor in one of the lanes of Kolkata. As you can assume she felt locked down and in a cage. The only entertainment for her the whole day was to watch through the windows the hustle bustle of moving vehicles and rickshaw walas.  Amma was slowly getting adjusted to this life of hers, and a period of two months passed by. The summer was approaching alongwith the seasons of mango. Amma who was an ardent lover of fruits especially MANGO, and was desperate for having one; but couldn't find the way to get it the way she used to in her village. Since, Amma still hadn't learned the local language so didn't have any idea how to approach any one outside. The days were moving on as usual, she sitting near the window, watching and waiting for Acchan to come back from work.  During her two months stay, Amma neither could have a good conversation with Accha nor could she keep her desire for having mangoes in front of him. For, in those days just to obey one's husband without demanding anything, was the ordeal thrust upon her, by her mother. But her desperation for having MANGO was very high. Now, her window peering was going on as usual and during one such day, she suddenly heard a voice "MAGO", "MAGO" , my innocent Amma without rectifying what she heard ran outside to get her "MANGO"  and alas what do she see 🥺🥺..(a haggard female),since she didn't know the language, she couldn't make out what actually was, happening. My mom kept on asking for MANGO  from the begger with what ever way she could explain to her, and on the other side the begger kept on saying 'MAGO''MAGO, this happened for a while, and in midst of all this Accha arrived and had a good laugh😁😁. Seeing my Accha laughing my mom burst into tears 😭😭. My mom was very sad😩 and confused🤔. Consoling her my Accha explained  to her saying, in Bengali "MAGO" means mother, just as Amma in Tamil for addressing females, so she was actually a beggar and was asking alms, and not selling MANGO.  As said  a "Jaundiced eye' will see everything yellow" My poor Amma was so desperate, that she could hear and feel only MANGO 😂😂😂😂.