INDIA JOURNAL

pg. 4

  Things got rather quiet after the initial euphoria of the opening jam. It seems we all were filled with the anticipation of it and when we started to play it all broke open like a dam and we were flooded with it and now there was a calm afterwards, like the calm after a storm.
There were smiles all around and much laughter but the charged atmosphere of the preceding jam had now ebbed and I became aware of the hot breeze blowing through the trees, the sounds of the river flowing by and the birds singing. Mark leaned over and said, "I bet you're glad you came on this adventure now!". To which I responded with the obvious,"You bet!". It was a little awkward, this calm. The leader of the Bauls started another song. This one was a little less frenetic and we all slowly joined in. People seemed to be playing with more purpose and less abandon. We were joined by what turned out to be our hosts wife, a beautiful Indian woman on the veena. Amazingly she had a pick-up on it and it was plugged into an amp.It wasn't till then did I notice the faint sound of a generator off in the distance.It sounded more like a farmers tractor in a far off field. This song went much like the last; melody passed around and improvised upon. The Zulus were not as involved this time around. The jam ended much the same as the first one but with less exuberance. It was then that the head Baul came to me with his outstretched hand beckoning me to lead the next song. For a moment time stood still for me and all these things quickly ran through my mind. "What am I doing here? I don't know one sacred song! Nothing that I know on the fiddle will have one scintilla of context here! What to do, what to do." I considered playing a fiddle tune but that would most likely exclude most present. You tend to have to know those to really play them. Finally I just spontaneously made made up a slow raga or, to be more accurate, my interpretation of what a raga should be. People slowly joined in but the leader of the Bauls was strangely silent. I thought to myself,"Maybe he expected me to sing something." The veena player joined in and she played along quite nicely and soon it actually sounded good. When it came around to me again I changed the melody and the veena picked up the new melody very well. I passed the solo along to Mark on his acoustic bass and then on to the percussionists and then back around again and we ended more or less together at a spontaneous ending and I thought to myself, "That wasn't half bad for someone that doesn't know much about ragas."
  The leader of the Bauls took another turn to much the same effect. Then our host took a turn. He taught us the words to a simple tune and we did the best we could to sing along but the wind was coming out of our sails after an hour or so of emotionally draining, spiritually uplifting jamming. We played some more but it was definitely winding down. We mostly talked amongst ourselves and I made the acquaintance of most of the players. I'd seen
most of them at the venue but this was an opportunity to really get to know them.
  Phil came up to me and said,"We've got to get back soon. We have to play tonight." We were scheduled to play at another venue that evening and we had not even seen it yet. We wanted to get back and rehearse a little to tighten up some loose ends and get over to the venue to sound check. As we left we were called over to tent where they were cooking. Our hosts insisted we have some food before we left. The tent was a parachute type affair where the veena player had been busy preparing a wonderful spread in several big pots and pans. She served us on plates that were made of leaves sown together. Once again I had no idea what it was I was eating but it was delicious! We finished and said our goodbyes. A brief search turns up our driver sleeping down by the river. As we are leaving our host suddenly foists upon us two of the Indian percussionists. This visibly agitates both Phil and our driver. We already were pretty crowded and now we were borderline uncomfortable. We said nothing, not wanting to seem ungrateful. After we had dropped off our unexpected guests Phil explained that it was a breech of etiquette to just strap us with the extra passengers without first asking. Our driver was definitely pissed and agreed with Phil. No big deal to me. I was still high from our amazing day. And it wasn't over yet!
  We made it back to our hotel and I went up and took a shower. When I came out Phil was in our room suggesting that we change our flights to Dehli from an evening flight to a morning flight. There were things he needed to accomplish there and it would be easier to do them earlier in the day. He needed our tickets to change them over the phone. I went to fetch mine out of my bag. I went down through the tickets that were attached together; each leg of the journey having it's own separate ticket. Or so I thought. All of my tickets were present except the flight from Bangalore to Dehli. I looked several times and no luck. I said, "I don't seem to have the ticket I need." "Where's the ticket you had from Bombay to Bangalore," Phil said. I said ,"Oh you mean the receipt from the flight from Bombay? I threw that away." My tickets were purchased though American Express and they give me a very detailed accounting of my expenditures and I've found that keeping the spent coupons from airline trips to be confusing and redundant. Phil said,"Why did you do that! That was your ticket to Dehli!". "No way!", I said,"That thing was as flimsy as copy paper!" Every other country I've been in issues a separate ticket for each flight in your itinerary. Not India! Now I was in a panic. I quickly dumped out the garbage can. Too late! It was already emptied! Phil said, "Alright, calm down and look through your bags again."In the mean time he got on the phone and called the airline. It was as I feared. The tickets were non-refundable. I had inadvertently taken $160 and thrown it away. We called the front desk and the manager of the hotel came up and said she would have them look in the big garbage bins in the basement. Then, at her suggestion, she and I ripped the room apart. No luck on either count. We called the airline back and asked what the procedure was. I was told I had to go to the police and file what is called an F.I.R., which is basically a statement saying that such and such a thing was lost or stolen in the vicinity of blah, blah, blah and that I have reported this within the jurisdiction of yada, yada, yada. I'd seen some Indian police since I'd been here and all of them looked very unfriendly and were armed to the teeth. Going to the police was not high on my list of things to do whilst in India! I freaked for a while and vented some steam. Phil had told me to separate the ticket to Bangalore in the first place. I had planned on keeping them all together and had I done so I would still have the damn thing! I'd never run across a plane ticket that looked more like a laundry receipt! After saying all of theses thing peppered with choice expletives Tad said,"You're not gonna let this ruin this magnificent day are you?"(or something to that effect) and to that I said,"Nothing could ruin that."That's when I realized that at worst I had lost some money and I had a hassle in front of me. The airline people said I could apply for a refund and receive it in a year if I had the proper documents. I was giving Jet Airways of India an interest free loan for a year and that was all. Or so I thought. I was soon to become well versed in the ways of Indian bureaucracy.
    I had to set aside my problem. It was time to head over to the new venue. It was called
the Taralabu Auditorium. It was in another part of town; a residential area. The P.A. was a little primitive but workable. On the bill this evening were very young chanting monks from the Theravada tradition (Thai), the Musical Mosaic from Canada and, of course, the Dharma Bums. We were met by a young lady named Arzanne who was to be our stage manager. She was at the other venue after our performance the night before and we met her and her boyfriend. They were full of energy and expressed how much they enjoyed the music. She seemed very familiar to me, as if I had met her before but I knew this to be impossible. They were lovely people and it was great to see that we'd be working with her. It was a nice theater but the killer part of the building was the room they gave us as a dressing room. It was easily 50x50 and made of solid marble. I mean walls, floors, ceilings the works! It also had 2 huge marble columns in the center of the room. The acoustics were phenomenal! The decay time on the sound was nearly 10 seconds! As we were warming up I was saying,"We should just tell everyone to come in here!" After a while Mahesh showed up. Mahesh!! I'd almost forgotten that I'd invited him to play with us! Mahesh was the terrific flute player I had met the evening before. He started warming up with us and it sounded great! He played some songs with Tad on some stuff we weren't going to be playing and that sounded great as well. We took the stage and played through our set. It didn't sound as good as it did in the dressing room but the small but appreciative crowd didn't seem to mind. Mahesh seemed a little tentative. I tried the best I could to cue him for solos but he seemed to enter late and play too long. I could see that Phil was getting a little peeved. It didn't help that Mahesh was set up on the end where it was difficult for him to see Phil. We finished our set and went back to the dressing room. I thanked Mahesh for playing and he said he would be coming to the U.S. this summer. I gave him a card and told him to ring me when he hit the east coast and I'd show him around. After he left Phil lit into me. He said, "If you're going to invite people to play it's you're responsibility to cue them and make sure they don't over play!" I was finding out that Phil likes to play the blame game. It seems like a control thing. I just let it pass. I said,"Perhaps I overestimated Mahesh's ability to fit in the spaces." He overplayed a little but it was a gas to play with him and when we introduced him as being from Bangalore he received the longest ovation. The crowd loved him! We said our goodbyes and took pictures on the steps out front. We jumped in the car with Namgyal and headed over to the other venue to see if they were still serving dinner. They were and once again with the food of strange names. We stayed for the final act. It was the Zulus. Actually they were called Umkhonto ka-Shaka (Zulu for "the spear of Shaka"). They're not bad but I was a little disappointed. They reminded me of a Vegas act. Complete with pratfalls and puny humor, it was African vaudeville. I liked the girls tongue shouting and dancing. When it's over I talk for a while with Arzanne who has made her way back from the other venue in time to see the last act. Her and her friend are so sweet and sharp as tacks! We head back to the hotel and Phil and I try once again to get a drink in the bar. It's 11:05 so the bartender waves us off. Phil comes over to our room to have a beer because his frige is not working. What a day! Haven't really seen many sights. Haven't really had much time. My camera broke on the second day. I thought it was the battery but the enterprising young Mr. Namgyal tracked down a battery but to no avail !@#!!%$!! Life has it's ups and downs even when you're having the time of your life! Tomorrow's our last day in Bangalore. We've been asked to participate in the closing ceremony. It will be a "We Are The World" kind of thing with the Zulus, a Japanese composer/trumpeter named Toshinori Kondo, the Tibetan flutist Nawang Khechog and a bunch of the other performers. It should be interesting!
  
  Next: Disaster part 2, the exhilarating finale and goodbye to Bangalore!