Speaking Tiger Publishing Pvt Ltd.
Print: New Delhi ISBN 978-93-88874-88-5
Seven is a coveted number in the Hindu belief system, the saat pheras, seven janam and the like. Given that Ms Shubha Mudgal’s foray into fiction is aimed at an essentially Indian audience, she might have considered this ethos and put forth 7 stories in this breezy collection, that is witty, satirical, eerily realistic and certainly believable. All seven stories belong to the genre of tragicomedy, and coaxes the reader to not merely empathise with the pain and loss of the central characters, but also holds up a mirror to the readers about the inherent human foibles that is so devastating and vicious, without being didactic. Not only are the characters subalterns, barring Sikandar Sufi, from the first story, Aman Bol, they are believable, long suffering people like you and I, who are bumbling their way through life seeking success and solace, in a world obsessed with materialism and fame, that comes at all or actually any cost.
Despite such a grim and realistic depiction of their lives, Mudgal maintains an easy demeanour, peppers it with witticisms, cynicism and a comic outlook that make these stories a quick read. It took me just three days to complete reading all seven of them, which actually are a critique to various forms, genres and fields associated with music. The writer’s astute awareness in this field and a resolute belief in painting a realistic picture is evinced in each of these tales. The first story, Aman Bol, set in the dazzling city of Mumbai, bedazzled by entertainment and commerce, is a gritty introduction to the world of Media, Event Management and cross border Musical Shows, that focuses mainly on the moolah rather than music. It is hard to not admire the shrewdness of Shweta Bansal, sporting a “palazzo kurta set” trying to outsmart a calculative, self absorbed and bollywoodish, Sikander Sufi. Her characterisation highlighting their quirks and ways with such distinct voices engrosses the reader immediately. Sentences such as, “ …from Moga to Mumbai, Sikandar Liddar had discarded the satin and surname. He renamed himself Sikander Sufi, a name he could retain as long as Sufi music remained fashionable…” captures the essence of shallowness and devotion to success and TRPs that drives the entertainment industry. The all too predictable peace concerts, grandiosely proclaiming peace between India and our forever at loggerheads neighbour, Pakistan, is so well depicted in this story. It captures the eccentricities of these musical geniuses who have ample helpings of street smartness, and are savvy with the commercial world.
The hype and hoopla that has come to define the entertainment industry and the extent to which reality TV has taken over the Indian collective conscience is acutely depicted in the third story, Taan Kaptaan, set in a second tier city, Meerut. The story chronicles the rise and fall of a moderately well-known, Vishwas Saxena, or Saxena Sir as he is referred to, who from being the general secretary of a local Sangeet Sewa Samaj, catapults to
co-creating a reality TV show, entitled, Taan Kaptaan, by the wily yet deferential businessman from Delhi, Ramesh Gupta, or Guptaji who moves the plot in this tragicomedy. Saxena’s intuitive wife, just like the flurry of mails and applications for the proposed singing show, remain etched with the reader long after you finish reading the tale.
Likewise, the sense of longing, naïveté and a pronounced devotion to craft and aversion to commercialism that distinguishes musicians of the previous generation from the present business savvy and will do anything to succeed current generation, is poignantly etched by Mudgal. She does this without pontification, in a gentle but in a telling manner in her second story, Foreign Returned, set in a staunchly Marathi background, Pune. The references to music, peppering of the regional language and demystifying of the ever coveted foreign tours is so realistically depicted in this slightly melancholic tale of an ageing Asavari, in sharp contrast with the self assured, sly and rather an upstart Upendra. This story, cheekily portrays the India is within me fervour held on to by several NRIs and gives the readers an insight into their way of influencing cultural aspects of our nation such as these foreign tours and students for classical music from across the seas. Asavari’s observations on “facebook posts of house concerts” to the “voluntary contributions being dropped into a beggar’s bowl” along with Asavari being hosted by the benevolent Mohites in “ their basement room”, demystifies the aura behind these foreign tours of the not so famous artists. This melancholy and resignation exuded by the Pune based Asavari, is echoed by Manzoor Rehmati, the harmonium player, in the fifth story from this collection. Like the instrument that is often overlooked despite its mandatory role in classical music, Manzoor, is a hapless, helpless aspirant of the coveted Padmashri awards. His painful and rather tragic experiences with the cold and calculative vocalist, deferentially referred to as Khan sahab, enables the reader to grasp the ‘truth’ behind compositions, and the all pervasive plagiarism. Khan sahib’s misappropriation of Rehmati’s musical legacy, Tanakashree makes us wonder how many of these celebrated artists can lay claim to authenticity. It is not just melancholic but this slow paced tale is a dark exposè of ignobility prevalent among artists of much renown too.
The last two stories from this collection are racy, realistic and riveting to say the least. The Man Who Made Stars, chronicles the grinding to the ground experience the pompous film maker, Raj Ramani faces from the righteous classical singer, Manjusha, brings to the fore the richness of the musical heritage of India that is sorely and at times, scandalously abused in films. The implicating mention of a musical duo, “Rukkesh-Nurresh”to a reference to Raag Yaman Bilawal, this story completes the range and crossover from the world of sublimity in classical music to its shallow transformation in film music. It lends us an insight into the perils of copyright, credits and everything in between. It is hard not to exult in the satisfaction of Manjusha, after her rightful drubbing of Ramani. In the same vein, the final story, keeps up with the age old adage, “save the best for the last.”
At the feet of His Master is a heady concoction of a small time, humble musician, Shivendra Kumar Jha, and his interaction with the glitzy musical duo, Mayur and Sharad, who try to con this naive Bihari, whose guardian angel happens to be the doyen of the religious world, Shri Mataji! From music, melody, bhajans, to page 3 parties and Hollywood director this tale is another critique of the underbelly of the music world, greed and plagiarism. Not only does it mirror modern India’s trysts with marauding values, it also projects that there is an honour among thieves, when this spiritual Shri Mataji comes to the rescue of her ardent but gullible devotee. This story with several sentences in Hindi, etches the primary difference between “hum chote shehar ke chhote aadmi” to the wily duo of Gabbar n Mak (aka Mayur and Sharad). The story holds a mirror to the treasure trove of talent India has in its hinterland that is often subjugated and sublimated by the savvy uptown musicians, who thrive on the hard work and talent of such naive folks. This is a compulsive read in the collection, with every character depicted so accurately.
Miss Sargam, is the motif and the proverbial glue that holds this entire collection. The fact that in each of the stories, Miss Sargam is the character in absentia, abstaining from performing and being reclusive from the world. In more ways than one, upon reading the stories, readers recognise that this is an incisive allusion to the absence of melody in music, grace in simplicity and truthfulness in practice that is missing in the modern world. The allusion to Sargam, meaning music, is therefore a hard hitting point and critique of the prevalent practices that we are witness to in these tales. Like the generational gap and the adherence to music worn solely a cultural cap, seen in A Farewell to Music, Mudgal makes her point about superfluousness and shrewdness that has come to be a way of life. Despite its insights, evocative characterisation and apt use of imagery, the structure of the story and choice of language is a slight let down. The expected twist in each of the seven tales is evident, but the stories do not entirely build up a climax, refuse to climb a peak and enable the reader to endure the throes and vagaries of its protagonists. This is however my personal observation and should certainly not dissuade you from reading this hardcover collection that so effectively lends an expose to the world of music. Mudgal’s debut into fiction is promising, riveting and realistic while retaining its humour.
A G K
6 February, 2020
