He had just two lousy obsessions in his
artistic existential being. First, he believed firmly in what he said, ‘East or
the West, I am the best!’ Second, he always wanted others to talk him, hype
him, move around him and worship him like an artist…nope…like the Hero!
He learned the classical method of playing
his Indian instrument through a plethora of gurus so that he could finally
perform on stage. With only a few stage performances he ballooned into an
ill-gotten pomposity thus creating a chain of ill-fated disciples and making
quite a few ill-humoured connections. Like you build your down lines!
He managed to capture several concerts
outside India too through his connections that were desperate enough to help him
have those in order to get rid of him permanently. Now, with his foreign trump
cards he started manufacturing more hype for himself.
When performing on stage he was totally
focused on the audience rather than on his music. Of course, he wanted his
audience to applaud him to hail him and never get the opportunity to look
askance at him all through a musical act. When he observed that his
accompanying artist had earned a few claps the noble artiste never failed to
give him/her a penetrating look saying, ‘Hey you! It’s my solo, right? Better
mind you own business!’
True and sincere to his nature he was always
chivalry incarnated when seeing ladies or more specifically foreign ladies
around. His benevolent self never stopped him from announcing how great he was
to the fairer beholders.
Once in an Indian small town concert he
spotted an American lady in the auditorium lobby. Instantly in action he went
up and accosted her warmly.
‘Hello, Milady! Welcome to India and to my music!’
‘Oh hi! You are performing tonight, right?’
‘Yea, yea! Thanks a lot for coming! You see,
only last month I performed in your great city!’
‘Really? Was that good?’
‘The response was damn good! But there was
small mishap!’ He looked listlessly around.
‘Oh? What happened?’
‘Well, I lost my brand new Mercedes Benz!’ He
announced with pride leaking all through his existential being.
‘Good heavens! How was that possible?’
‘I don’t know even now! That beautiful thing
just vanished from the parking lot!’
‘But you chauffeur should have been in the
car, no?’ The American lady looked puzzled.
He hardly knew what a ‘chauffeur’ meant. But
he stuck on to his publicity stunts.
‘You see, I just bought the car and wanted to
drive it around myself considering the fact that I am damn good at that. I
parked it and devoted myself to my music. After music it was gone!’
‘But of course, you claimed for insurance,
right? But you come to our country only for shows, how come you buy a car there?
Astounding, lost cars are always traced back quickly in the US . Very sorry
to hear that.’
The great musician was getting a little
worried anxious and irritated now. How he was supposed to know the car purchase
procedures in the US !
Expecting more salvos he frantically started looking for his next musical
victim and luckily he found one.
‘Thanks for your concern, Milady! But you
must excuse me now! …See you there!’ He nearly leapt away.
The American lady shrugged off into an amused
resignation, and headed towards the auditorium entrance.
Meantime, the great musician was already half
way into narrating another exotically concocted anecdote of his pristine
existence.
