Talent Shows
A local television channel in
Chennai wanted to showcase local talent in singing , dance, music and martial
arts. All the youngsters and oldies who were not good enough to make into
movies (not Jackie Chan or Priyanka
Chopra) or serials were being filmed and then edited and projected.
The Silambam school in Vellore
where I train decided to send a contingent. I went along with my swords and
spears.
"It is good for the
students. It will give them confidence. They have the district state and
national level competitions coming up." said the master.
I nodded my head. I did feel
that a televised program with "lights, camera, make-up" seemed to be
a far cry from a hardcore martial arts and weapons competition where sticks
flew in a fast and furious fashion everyone vied for gold.
On the way to Chennai, the
students wanted breakfast.
"Eat only two
iddlies", said the master "You have to perform."
"How can you bring us
all this way and give us only iddlies?" protested one of the boys. The
others joined the clamour.
"We are hungry."
"Okay eat what you
want."
The kids ate parottas, puris,
vadais and pongal. Energized by the high-calorie intake, they danced and sang
the rest of the way to Chennai.
An exhausted bedraggled group
arrived at the venue.
The stage was set up indoors
with "lights, action camera."
At the trial run, a spear
pierced the false ceiling and knocked off one of the lights. We were shifted
outdoors into a football field. They set up the backdrops on the goal post. The
sun was beating down unbearably so there was no need of lights. The makeup started
coming off in streaks. There was no electricity so we had to perform without
the usual melam music.
The kids lost their timing
and coordination. After three backwards summersaults, one of the girls fainted
and did not get up. She was carried off. After elevating her feet she
recovered.
Another did rapid twisting
movements with deer antlers and then quietly sank to the ground. She joined the
disabled warriors on a bench.
"It is the puri and
parotta, I told them not to eat it. Not to mention the dancing on the bus.
"
Despite his hawk-eyed watch
on the rest of the troupe, one boy ate a
quarter kilo of peanut barfi in the corner. He stepped forward and started
twirling a coiled flexible sword called a sural. He lost the count (no music
and all the barfi) the blade went flying (luckily no one was injured) and he
quietly puked in a corner.
At this point, the sun was
too much for the cameraman. He had no shade at all. We performed for 5 minutes
and then sat under a tree. He had no respite. He slumped slowly to the ground.
The organizer came forward,
"This is not working. We
will arrange the stage with a high ceiling and call you back another day."
We silently loaded our
weapons into the bus and left.
http://velloretimes.blogspot.in/
