MS, the lizard and I

Who says April is the cruellest month? For me, it is the month of paanakam, thair saadham and music. Pandals sprout on every street corner. Temples turn into concert venues, where priests unconcernedly conduct their pujas and other duties while the giants of Carnatic music perform as if it was Carnegie Hall. Rama Mandira in Malleshwaram was one such space where the musicians sat on a makeshift stage covered with a striped carpet to sing world class music.

My story goes back decades when M S Subbulakshmi graced this venue. I arrived early that evening to grab the prime place on the floor near the stage. Subbulakshmi, as usual, lit up the temple when she arrived in a gorgeous “MS blue” saree, fragrant mallipu and sparkling diamonds. She walked to the main deity, bowed her head to receive the “Brahma kadagina paadamu” and settled down on the small stage with her two thampuras on either side. There was a hushed silence in the temple hall.

I was just a few feet away from her, sitting cross-legged near the stage. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a torrent of sound as she plunged into that lovely Ata Tala Varnam in Bhairavi with the drum beats, violin and thampuras joining in incredible harmony. It was then that I saw a long tail moving near her feet. The slimy visitor must have been rolled up in the carpet for months, and was confused by the sudden noise, people and lights. I stared at it, fascinated as it inched its way up to the mridangam player who was in the throes of rhythmic delight and saw nothing. The violinist, bent over in deep concentration, did not see it either.

Only I followed its jerky moves as it tried to escape from the stage. It was confused by the bright lights, sudden sound, and movement after months of hibernation. The poor thing raced between silks and flowers and musicians, unable to escape. I stared at it in fascination as MS sang “chiru navvu mōmuna ... ” describing the soupcon of a smile on the lips of god Rajagopala, when the lizard suddenly found an opening and slithered up the curtain.

Once it was free, it started moving upside down on the roof of the stage, hunting for insects. Its tail moved from side to side, MS sang “saariga sarigaari….” while the audience kept time in a beautiful symphony. I wondered about its next move when something cold and slimy crashed on my neck and got entangled in my hair. I heard a piercing shriek which I did not realise was my own.

The music stopped, and someone shouted “water” while the accompanists frantically shook out their clothes. Mrudangam and ghatam were flung aside while pandemonium reigned. I lifted my tear-stained face to MS. She remained calm and smiled. That restored my composure and taught me to avoid the front seat at kutcheris.