Metro Plus
Chennai
Hyderabad
Urban melodies
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One can hear them from reversing cars or while waiting on the phone. From `Jingle bells' to Carnatic tunes and A. R. Rahman's musical scores, these urban melodies have become part of Chennai's lifestyle.
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I ENCOUNTER urban melodies everyday in this lovely city of ours. Yes, these are loony tunes, which make life more enjoyable, feisty, calm and efficient. I heard these melodies many years ago when I visited some Second World countries; probably one of them invented this concept. The first time I heard such a melody my curiosity was aroused. Having arrived late in the night, I went to bed, not knowing which part of Singapore I was in. I was woken up by the shrill cry of a peacock. As you all know our national bird is better seen than heard.
"They didn't tell me they live so near the Jurong Bird Park", I thought, and looked out of the window and discovered to my amusement that the bird cry was from a neighbour's reversing car. What a strange idea, I said to myself. Recently, I heard another such melody, A. R. Rahman's "Snegidhane." He has, of course, received high praise for in re-introducing Vande Matharam to our country— that patriotic tune has been the most popular reverse warning for years. I often wonder, how considerate these drivers are and am disturbed at their total lack of sensitivity when they are moving forwards rather than backwards. For their mad rush ahead they still make blaring and deafening noises.
Urban melodies come in many packages. After years of listening to Jingle Bells, whenever I had to call a corporate friend, I am now relieved to hear Carnatic melodies, which are definitely more enjoyable. Except when the high-powered person I am trying to reach is unreachable and I am left to listen to an entire Kutcheri. Sometimes, I catch the wrong end of the tape, and my ears are blasted with a Tani Avarthanam, leaving me tense with the business of waiting.
The late Ananda Shankar was the staple of our national carrier. Strapped to our seats in a cabin, which never cooled until we had flown past the Tirupati hills, the rather cloying adaptations of Bengali folk songs almost made us look for a parachute. Things are not much better now, except that the music is more eclectic. We still have a peanut vendor, who makes a loud "ding ding ding" with his ladle as he roasts the nuts in a large iron pan. He stops only to serve customers as he passes our compound wall. In our childhood there were many ice-cream carts, all with different varieties of bells. Now we eat `global' ice-cream, which we buy in supermarket chains.
The call to devotees to hurry up for prayers has always been the chime of bells. I grew up between two distinct sounds... the bells of the Kapali temple, which announced each puja and the Santhome Cathedral. The stereo systems in cars have now become symbols of affluence. Rich and not-so-rich kids show off their boom boxes, playing a range of pop music, which emphasises their level of modernity. These kids might never be able to understand how loving couples used to sit in their cars, facing the sea on the Marina, their radio antennae pulled up, bonding with each other listening to Binaca Geet Mala.
Strangely, what was once considered the centre for blaring radio music, the tea-shops, have now become silent. Perhaps there are ever so many little bunk shops around that the distinctive tea-shop with its non-stop radio sounds is no longer part of the urban lifestyle. People have changed. Hordes of them used to land on the beach in the summer carrying their transistor radios. These people now are probably stuck most days in front of their television sets. So, when they get away from home, they probably want to hear nothing. Only the more affluent plug in their Walkman, and smile at the urban confusion around them... for their head is full of another melody.
LAKSHMI VISWANATHAN
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Metro Plus
Chennai
Hyderabad
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