The Soprano

Recently, I have been looking for what really is driving my existence.... and I have been getting the most unexpected answers. Most of the things which prod me to go on, I cant even mention because they are either stupid and ridiculous or obscene and sick. But there are a few things I can mention. Thats what this post is all about.

Now for those of you who are still under the delusion that the title of a post should have something to do with whats in it........ WAKE UP! We are in the age of absurdity; the age of shameless and rationalized absurdity. (thats more moronic than oxymoronic......... as against the cheap welding flame which leaves that ugly scar ... more oxy than oxy-acetylene)( Cant believe I wrote that previous line...... and cant believe you are reading my asides, much less my posts!). Anyway, as we can see in the world around us, whats in a name? One of the hottest selling vodkas is Kalashnikov.. named after the luminary who has lent a new dimension to 20th century violence. The lady who sings the most obscene songs with the most obscene music has named herself Madonna. Saurav Ganguly calls (or atleast used to call) his teammates "the boys" while Javagal Srinath and Anil Kumble were sordidly looking on at this upstart who calls himself the "Tiger of Bengal". The story of an Indian family with random reincarnations , easy-to-find "hamshakls", convenient memory loss, widespread polygamy and vicious relatives is called "Kahani Ghar Ghar ki". And finally the bloody serial about gangwars and mindless violence is called "The Sopranos"

Ah... you let out a sigh! Hold your breath. Thats not the only connection this post has with sopranos. Let me refresh your mind. I started this post with some profound thoughts about why I think I should prod myself to go on.(Does that ring a bell? ......or have my digressions served thier purpose!). I started engaging in this profound line of thought after I attended this concert by the world renowned mezzo-soprano Cecilia Bartoli. It was my first classical concert experience and let me start off by saying that it blew my mind. Most people find this hard to believe, because I have a severely limited knowledge of opera and they fail to understand how I could enjoy it so thoroughly inspite of not being able to appreciate the nuances. But you know...... all the talk about "music without borders" and all that which you scoffed at........... well guess you've got to eat humble pie now and huge portions of it.

I had my apprehensions before buying the ticket which was a neat 35 bucks. But, I had just received my stipend that day and you know the thing with money, dont you. It follows the law of diminishing returns(read balance). 90% of my money is spent in 40% of the time. And the other 60% of the time is spent thinking about how I lost my money or blogging or anything else which doesn't cost money. So it appeared that I had bought my ticket in youthful folly. But I still waited with bated breath for the day of the concert. Got back from office much earlier than usual and listened to some random classical pieces just to set myself up. I then realised that while I was lost in my dreams dancing an imaginary waltz with Julianne Moore to the music of Tchaikovsky, I had gotten late. I hurried and made it to the concert hall just in time for the concert. I was all shabby and sweating and panting and inspired quite a few concerned glances as I walked in. I collected my guide book for that evening's performance and proceeded to sit down after asking half the audience to move while trying to get to my seat. I caught my breath, straightened my shirt, tied my shoelaces and tried to stay still and be on my best behaviour. The guy that I am, I found it quite hard to handle all the polite coughing, the "god-bless-yous" when you sneeze and the elbow etiquette (never managed to figure out who gets to keep their elbow on the armrest when you are sharing a common armrest). Nevertheless, I pulled myself together and steeled myself up for the best behaviour of my life. I looked around and noticed a couple of things. Firstly, most of the guys in the audience were in the "sunset years" of their life so to say. Secondly, a more than reasonable number of them were dressed in glorious black suits and I seemed like an out-of-place twerp. Just when these thoughts were clouding my mind, God relented and the lights went off.

The orchestra players walked in to a cultured applause ( my description of an applause not punctuated by random catcalls and "xyz rules" and little girls screeching). While they took their places, my mind was already being overwhelmed by the visual spectacle. All the ladies in their flowing black evening gowns and the men in impeccable suits; The 35 bucks was a distant memory. Just while I was congratulating myself on making one of the few good choices in my life, the audience roused to welcome the woman herself, Cecilia Bartoli, or as the Italians would say Chechilia Baartholi. At once I was entranced by this angel in a flowing green gown which was glistening under the spotlight. She took a bow and thumped her fist against her heart to indicate her gratitude. The concert began .

Words cannot express the pleasure the heart feels when you hear the voice as it tears across the hall not in a way that disrupts the piece but in a way that it becomes part of the flowing music. The distinctly feminine voice portrays both the gentleness and the strength blended together in a way only a woman can. The way she could evoke different emotions like happiness,sorrow, revenge, gratitude and love really amazed me. For the period of time I was inside there, none of my worries seemed even remotely significant. I was thinking to myself that I'd go through a life of pain if I could occasionally be afforded such a pleasurable experience.

Three hours and three glorious encores later, I was filing outside the hall distinctly happier. Life seemed to have more colour than it had before. You know those movies which are called "feel-good", they dont know what the hell they are talking about. This was feel-good and as "feel-good as it gets". I feel so impaired that the pleasure I derived from this experience, I cannot express. I guess thats why its called art. But what I can tell you about is Cecilia Bartoli's latest CD called "Opera Proibita". This CD features opera from the 18th century when opera was banned by the Vatican. Apparently Rome had escaped from what could have been a great disaster and in order to thank the gods, the Vatican banned public performances of any kind. But great composers like Handel, Scarlatti and Caldara continued to produce great operas. To revive these operas, Cecilia Bartoli has released this CD. These operas were actually written for castratos (males who were castrated to develop a feminine voice) since women were not allowed to perform. So essentially this album is a reinterpretation of those arias. Funnily, the album cover is based on the "La Dolce Vita" cover, a movie which was also banned by the Vatican. Needless to say, this album is a must-have if you want to enjoy some wonderful afternoons alone or with your significant others.

It is experiences like these which drive me on from day to day in the hope that at the end of the stinking routine, there is something which will make me glad I'm alive. Like I was pointing out to a friend, it really doesn't matter what I am doing for a living because in any situation, it is the other things in life which capture my imagination. At which my friend remarked wryly, "Ha! the eternal dream of a human is to be a professional dilletante"