by AC Tuli
The other day a friend of mine who is a music critic with a big newspaper asked me to accompany him to a concert of ghazals and light classical songs. I said I could not because I was suffering from cough and a bad cold. ?Well, if a minor cough is stopping you from going to this concert, then I may tell you that, as music critic, I must have so far attended hundreds of concerts but I don?t remember one where none in the audience ever coughed,? he said, encouragingly. ?So, come along. You?ll enjoy this concert.?
Somewhat reluctantly, I gave in to his persuasion. However, as a precautionary measure, I took along a packet of cough drops. Alas, what I had feared most started happening the moment we entered the auditorium. The somewhat stuffy atmosphere there started aggravating my condition. I hastened to control it before it was too late. I slipped a cough drop into my mouth and prayed to my guardian angel for the best. But the tickling and heaving in my throat, which earlier in the evening I had somehow stilled by gargling with salted lukewarm water, were now back at work again and I was experiencing a strong urge to cough. However, by sheer power of will I somehow held on until the first song was over ~ and then I allowed my raging cough to drown the generous applause.
I once heard a wag say that there is something about the human cough that is strikingly akin to nuclear chain reaction. That is, if just one fellow in a crowded auditorium starts coughing, he is sure to be followed by at least half-a-dozen others, as if on cue. What therefore somewhat bolstered my morale was that every time I tried to smother a cough into my handkerchief, I heard matching responses from different parts of the auditorium.
The next item of the concert was a song by a semi-classical singer. There was pin-drop silence in the hall when he, along with his instrumentalists, came on the stage. He first did his adaab to the audience in the traditional style of Indian singers, and then began his brief alaap. It was at this moment that my friend whispered to me to make a more liberal use of cough drops.
But the singer had not yet worked his way through the alaap when the demon within me once again started crying for instant release. For a while I struggled with it futilely, and then let go, my handkerchief proving of little avail. This time the cough was so loud that the singer stared at me in horrified amazement.
Luckily, there was a little bit of improvement in my condition in the intermission when I was able to get a steaming hot cup of coffee. Therefore, in the post-intermission spell I did not cough much.
Then the star ghazal singer of the evening began regaling the audience by repeatedly intoning a couplet that had taken its fancy. He was giving each word a special meaning with the murkian (vibrato) in his voice. But my untimely cough at this juncture was so loud that it eclipsed his vibrato.
When the concert was over and we came out of the auditorium, I asked my friend whether my cough was really so bad, for I had not forgotten the nasty look the ghazal singer had given me. ?Frankly,? replied my friend, ?I had never before heard you cough, but now that I have, I must say that you?re indeed a champion cougher. In fact, your cough puts me in mind of an elephant I had once seen trumpeting at its loudest.?
Never again for me a cough and a concert at the same time.
http://www.thestatesman.net/page.news.php?clid=4&theme=&usrsess=1&id=231645
The other day a friend of mine who is a music critic with a big newspaper asked me to accompany him to a concert of ghazals and light classical songs. I said I could not because I was suffering from cough and a bad cold. ?Well, if a minor cough is stopping you from going to this concert, then I may tell you that, as music critic, I must have so far attended hundreds of concerts but I don?t remember one where none in the audience ever coughed,? he said, encouragingly. ?So, come along. You?ll enjoy this concert.?
Somewhat reluctantly, I gave in to his persuasion. However, as a precautionary measure, I took along a packet of cough drops. Alas, what I had feared most started happening the moment we entered the auditorium. The somewhat stuffy atmosphere there started aggravating my condition. I hastened to control it before it was too late. I slipped a cough drop into my mouth and prayed to my guardian angel for the best. But the tickling and heaving in my throat, which earlier in the evening I had somehow stilled by gargling with salted lukewarm water, were now back at work again and I was experiencing a strong urge to cough. However, by sheer power of will I somehow held on until the first song was over ~ and then I allowed my raging cough to drown the generous applause.
I once heard a wag say that there is something about the human cough that is strikingly akin to nuclear chain reaction. That is, if just one fellow in a crowded auditorium starts coughing, he is sure to be followed by at least half-a-dozen others, as if on cue. What therefore somewhat bolstered my morale was that every time I tried to smother a cough into my handkerchief, I heard matching responses from different parts of the auditorium.
The next item of the concert was a song by a semi-classical singer. There was pin-drop silence in the hall when he, along with his instrumentalists, came on the stage. He first did his adaab to the audience in the traditional style of Indian singers, and then began his brief alaap. It was at this moment that my friend whispered to me to make a more liberal use of cough drops.
But the singer had not yet worked his way through the alaap when the demon within me once again started crying for instant release. For a while I struggled with it futilely, and then let go, my handkerchief proving of little avail. This time the cough was so loud that the singer stared at me in horrified amazement.
Luckily, there was a little bit of improvement in my condition in the intermission when I was able to get a steaming hot cup of coffee. Therefore, in the post-intermission spell I did not cough much.
Then the star ghazal singer of the evening began regaling the audience by repeatedly intoning a couplet that had taken its fancy. He was giving each word a special meaning with the murkian (vibrato) in his voice. But my untimely cough at this juncture was so loud that it eclipsed his vibrato.
When the concert was over and we came out of the auditorium, I asked my friend whether my cough was really so bad, for I had not forgotten the nasty look the ghazal singer had given me. ?Frankly,? replied my friend, ?I had never before heard you cough, but now that I have, I must say that you?re indeed a champion cougher. In fact, your cough puts me in mind of an elephant I had once seen trumpeting at its loudest.?
Never again for me a cough and a concert at the same time.
http://www.thestatesman.net/page.news.php?clid=4&theme=&usrsess=1&id=231645