THE MICROPHONES OF MUSSOORIE

In 1981, as a  Fresher  in Delhi University , I decided to attend a show by the  Ghanaian Afro- pop band Osibisa  - for two reasons.  It  had a percussionist by the impressive name of Daku Potato and the performance was an all night show. Or so I thought. For those uninitiated to this group, listen to its rendition of Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram on You Tube. So, fortified and blitzed for a night long entertainment,  I reached India Gate at around 11 pm along with my friend Amit Jha, only to discover it was an evening function and the fellows were winding up. It was a cold night, the cops who accosted us were unhelpful, the DTC Night Specials sped past us.  Why am I  taken up by surprise at the turn of events which I could have easily tackled with a bit of an extra diligence? Such things end up as tragedy or a comedy or as mixture of both as it once happened with me in Mussoorie.

When lack of due diligence combines with microphones, the resultant cocktail  is devastating.The testing  and handling of microphones in themselves are events at an event - almost sub plots of a play. Malfunctioning of mics have been occasions for silent glare, loud arguments and even fisticuffs amongst  artistes and technicians. But when the tragedy  of microphones struck me in Mussoorie, surprisingly it had nothing to do with testing or handling  or malfunctioning of mics.

It was during my Foundation Course at Lal Bahadur Shastri National Academy of Administration, Mussourie. Three hundred and fifty odd young officers of the different civil services  had assembled at Mussourie. The slew of activities in these fun filled three and a half months. 

Morning jogs and Whispering Windows walks,

Eyes agog and cheerful talks,

Guest lectures and back benchers, 

Teen patti and trekking adventures,

The afternoon halts  at the post office,

The anxious waits at the Director's office,

Courting, escorting by the prim and proper

Leer and jeer by the aggressively improper, 

New games of billiards and of squash, 

Of village visits and  the evening slosh,

The one act plays at Sardar Patel Hall, 

Tea and snacks at Hari's stall. 

The One Act Play was a regular  event of this course. Bhaiyya selected  the play "Chandragupta " penned by the celebrated writer Jayshankar Prasad as our entry.He brushed aside my previous experience in Class 5 when I had forgotten the lines in a play which  had led to two teachers being summoned by the Principal, and instead, pencilled me to play the role of Chandragupta.  Of course, Sanjay Pandey, who was a couple of years senior, chose himself . He would settle for nothing less than Raja Nand because it gave him the maximum time to sit  on the throne.  Most of the others  were unwilling, a few singularly unsuitable .  But the cast was cast in stone and Bhaiyya  picked  up the role of Chanakya for himself and started the rehearsals - mainly in my room at  14, Mahanadi after afternoon classes. 

Bhaiya wrote the dialogues, directed and even sang one song ( I only remember the words 'jahan pauncha anjaan khsitij per'…) which would  be repeatedly aired from the nepathya. He would pat us on the back, and in stark contrast to our pessimism, exuded confidence about winning the competition. Diction, delivery, facial expression, sword fight, the dress - he decided. He also gave a valuable tip.

' Vivek, Sanjay Sir, Rajinder, Anil, Alkesh,' he told  us repeatedly in closed huddles, "there would no  microphones in Sardar Patel Auditorium. We should be shouting at the top of our voices to be heard even by the backbenchers."

He even distributed  cough drops after the rehearsals and begged me  to me cut my smoking. 

Finally the day arrived- a particularly cold evening in November. Bhaiya had 'managed' to have our play listed  first. There were two reasons. One was that most of us were thinly  clad for a hill station winter  and second , he was not sure how long he could hold back some of the cast from hitting the bottle. Besides,  we would have the advantage of  a fresh audience. We trooped in.  The song rang out from the nepathya and Raja Nand, accompanied by me,  walked in and  started the proceedings , bellowing orders to the darbaris and santris. Then he bellowed a question on state matter to me, I also bellowed back and in no time  it was 

'Here a bellow, there a bellow,

 Every where a bellow bellow.'  

Which was fine by us  because that  is how  we had rehearsed. 

But I suddenly felt that something was amiss. Firstly, the audience in the first row started to smile in an unhelpful and  funny manner - a few  ladies  covered their ears,  and  even close buddy ICP Keshari followed suit. Then a wolf whistle  flew in from somewhere to signal a few more.  By  then I realised that even our ears were agitating.What to talk of the most soporific elements in the audience,  our bellows would have even woken up a sedated  python and sent the mice scurrying to their chthonic shelters if there had been any.

So without trying to make it obvious and managing not to forget my lines ,  I began to search for the reason. I let my eyes wander furtively, just the way one sniffs searchingly when someone breaks wind a bus.  Then I saw. Suspended from the ceiling, there were at least ten microphones -in rapt attention and dutiful submission to amplify the sound of the quietest shuffle and  the weakest muffle. And here we were, shouting,  thinking there  will be no mikes!!

Now for the damage control. I first beckoned at Rajinder Vij, the Selukus Nikator,  to lower his voice.

Not an expert at  Dumb Charades, he stopped in between , arched his eyebrows , and promptly forgot his lines! More jeers.  Anjali and Radha ,  Oindrilla and Sundari, KPP Rao and Bhaskar Mahanta left the hall. Alka, Chow, Bullu,  Atul, Punnu  and Poonam followed them. Catcalls flew in like bats in an abandoned garage.

Sanjay Pandey,  the Raja Nand, perched on a  throne and dressed in peacock colours , bellowed, " Tum chupp kyun ho Selukus?"

Selukus, thoroughly shaken  up by this time, jumped to the command of the royalty and seniority, but could only pout  his lips - in silent amplification and vigorous animation. 

I intervened,  deviated  from the script, looked  upwards  and lifting my hands at the mics, spoke " Maharaj Nand, kripya shaant ho jaiye, dheeraj rakhiye, yeh kuchh achambhit ho gaye hain." 

Raja Nand, Dhristrashtrically  blind to the mics, never saw the prompt.

He hyper bellowed, " Tumhari yeh dus sahas ki tum hamei shaant rehne ko bologe?" 

The first two rows , except the judges , jumped out of the hall. More catcalls  followed, prompting Raja Nand to further raise his voice  to drown them.

Bhaiyya made his entry singing 'Jahan Pahuncha Anjan kshitij  per ' to signal the change in cast.  As some others came in , I and Raja Nand went  out into the Green Room . I told him that there are mics which are functioning efficiently, that the Diro was wrong about them  and now we  must speak softly. He took a drag from the cigarette which was being shared by four of us,  wiped the  Raja Rum dribble   and in about three  minutes we trooped inside the stage to stare  at a larger number of empty seats.

Raja  Nand started his  second proceedings on  a much subdued, chastened pitch, I too delivered my dialogues tenderly - but soon realised something was amiss again. The judges started to crane their necks and hood the palm to their ears   to hear us . The backbenhers of Keshav, Mathursaheb, Ilango and Sivaramkrishnana started shouting. Bhaiyya was glaring at us to raise our pitch. Raja Nand,  an ex IITian from  Kanpur,  understood in a jiffy where the problem lay. He rightly  guessed that when we were away, someone had told the technicians to switch off the mics since we were hollering.

So he decided to  do some damage control for a change - he again raised his pitch to status quo ante to make up for the silence of the mics. But with astonsihing alacrity, even before Raja Nand had hit the pitch,  the sound technician, confused by the initial low pitch of Raja Nand's second innings, reverted the volume of the mics to the loud  status  quo ante volume. So again it was  bellows status quo ante. Bhaiya  had given up, and even smiled that luminescent smile which flutters in the eyelids of lambs just before slaughter.  

'Here a bellow, there a bellow,

 Every where a bellow bellow.'  

I conceded it was was too much to expect even my college mate Herman Prit Singh, my teen patti friend Srikant Mahiyariya and my classroom neighbours, Roll Nos. 17 and 18  Alka Thomas and Bandula Sagar,  to stay back and suffer this Comedy of Unadulterated Errors.   My big regret was that when I slew Raja Nand and sat on the throne, and  Bhaiyya  the Chanakya came  to anoint me amidst bellicose bellows of Raja Chandragupta ki jai, there were no cheers except polite and unenthusiastic handclaps  by the judges, about 20-30 officers and a few technicians. We did get a standing applause though- when the curtains came down and the  the audience was assured we were truly done.