Diwali Entertainment
"I have decided o put up a Tamil comedy for Diwali,"
announced a patient. "I don't like all the pollution crackers produce. As for the new movie releases, don't even get me started. A bunch of young men from the star fan club were bursting crackers on the road. One actually pushed another in front of my car. Luckily I braked in time. As for television--- it poisons the mind."
I wasn't really paying attention, as I tried to calculate the dosage for his diabetic medication. Perhaps the high results (including the three-month HbA1c values) were due to sweet and namkeen sampling for Diwali?
He droned on. Finally, he said "so I will see you on Tuesday. Thank you so much for agreeing."
It transpired that I had agreed to be the chief guest for his play!
He sent an invite which stated
"Please be seated 30 minutes before the performance. Play starts promptly at 7 pm. Tickets Rs 200/Rs 500 /Rs 2000."
At 6:30, I reached the venue. The auditorium was packed. Someone had circulated a rumour that a famous Tamil movie star was attending. At 7:15 the producer announced: "now we will light the lamp."
I looked up hopefully. Perhaps this was why I was invited?
He started announcing someone else's name. There was no movement from the audience. After 10 minutes and repeated announcements, his daughter came on stage and whispered loudly into the mike ," they have not come."
"Why?" asked the man.
"Perhaps because you asked him to buy 2000 rupee tickets---"
Every word was clearly audible.
The audience started to laugh. A few people clapped their hands.
He then called for his mother to light the lamp. After a couple of announcements, the realised that she had not turned up either. They contacted her by phone. The daughter did not bother to go off stage to use the phone nor did she switch off the mike.
"Patti, " she said, "where are you?"
"I am at home watching TV," said a voice over the phone. "I got tired of your play watching the rehearsals itself."
The producer was beginning to look wild-eyed.
I was beginning to wonder if this was some sort of Avante garde production.
He saw me sitting there. (By this time I was beginning to feel like an extra fitting and to wonder why I had turned up at all.)
"Madam, please come on stage."
It was already 8:30. The audience was beginning to hoot.
I tried to light the lamp, but the lighter did not work. The audience started whistling and shouting.
The daughter came back and said, "Daddy, the hero has gone home."
This was too much for me. I crept off the stage through the wings.
An entire row of the audience (obviously one large joint family) stood up.
"Good show!" they shouted "good performance." they clapped and clapped. Then they walked out en masse.
Confused by this turn of events, convinced the play was over, many members of the audience got up and started leaving.
As I made my way to the parking lot I heard sundry people at the ticket counter demanding their money back.
The producer was still not aware that the mike was on. He told his daughter "Take the car, go to the hero's house and bring him back!"
This loud statement added to the utter chaos. There was no Tamil hero, and it looked like there was going to be no play either. More people left and demanded refunds. It looked like a riot in the making.
I ran for my life.
"I have decided o put up a Tamil comedy for Diwali,"
announced a patient. "I don't like all the pollution crackers produce. As for the new movie releases, don't even get me started. A bunch of young men from the star fan club were bursting crackers on the road. One actually pushed another in front of my car. Luckily I braked in time. As for television--- it poisons the mind."
I wasn't really paying attention, as I tried to calculate the dosage for his diabetic medication. Perhaps the high results (including the three-month HbA1c values) were due to sweet and namkeen sampling for Diwali?
He droned on. Finally, he said "so I will see you on Tuesday. Thank you so much for agreeing."
It transpired that I had agreed to be the chief guest for his play!
He sent an invite which stated
"Please be seated 30 minutes before the performance. Play starts promptly at 7 pm. Tickets Rs 200/Rs 500 /Rs 2000."
At 6:30, I reached the venue. The auditorium was packed. Someone had circulated a rumour that a famous Tamil movie star was attending. At 7:15 the producer announced: "now we will light the lamp."
I looked up hopefully. Perhaps this was why I was invited?
He started announcing someone else's name. There was no movement from the audience. After 10 minutes and repeated announcements, his daughter came on stage and whispered loudly into the mike ," they have not come."
"Why?" asked the man.
"Perhaps because you asked him to buy 2000 rupee tickets---"
Every word was clearly audible.
The audience started to laugh. A few people clapped their hands.
He then called for his mother to light the lamp. After a couple of announcements, the realised that she had not turned up either. They contacted her by phone. The daughter did not bother to go off stage to use the phone nor did she switch off the mike.
"Patti, " she said, "where are you?"
"I am at home watching TV," said a voice over the phone. "I got tired of your play watching the rehearsals itself."
The producer was beginning to look wild-eyed.
I was beginning to wonder if this was some sort of Avante garde production.
He saw me sitting there. (By this time I was beginning to feel like an extra fitting and to wonder why I had turned up at all.)
"Madam, please come on stage."
It was already 8:30. The audience was beginning to hoot.
I tried to light the lamp, but the lighter did not work. The audience started whistling and shouting.
The daughter came back and said, "Daddy, the hero has gone home."
This was too much for me. I crept off the stage through the wings.
An entire row of the audience (obviously one large joint family) stood up.
"Good show!" they shouted "good performance." they clapped and clapped. Then they walked out en masse.
Confused by this turn of events, convinced the play was over, many members of the audience got up and started leaving.
As I made my way to the parking lot I heard sundry people at the ticket counter demanding their money back.
The producer was still not aware that the mike was on. He told his daughter "Take the car, go to the hero's house and bring him back!"
This loud statement added to the utter chaos. There was no Tamil hero, and it looked like there was going to be no play either. More people left and demanded refunds. It looked like a riot in the making.
I ran for my life.
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