Shanker-Ehsaan-Loy in Abu Dhabi

THE MUSIC IS FOR THE CHEAP SEATS.

Friday was the date for the Shanker – Ehsaan – Loy concert and boy o boy did they kick the shit out of AR Rahman.

Better organised. Better Sung. Better choice of songs. Better Interaction. Better everything.

And thankfully without the blind-man glasses that Rahman seems to favour now-a-days. 

The show again started 1 ½ hours late but then the predominantly asian audience didn’t seem to mind much. Neither for that matter did me and my group. 

We had been upgraded to the VVIP hospitality viewing lounge where we sat at round banquet tables and where both food and alcohol flowed freely.

The bird’s eye view of the stage below was just an added bonus.

The very boisterous (is there any other type) Bengali family at the next table looked pretty well off but like with all humans and free offers they could not resist gulping the booze. 

To drink or sip would have been such a waste. Waste of time and free alcohol.

I was driving back to Dubai after the show so had to make do with sipping a solitary beer.

The rapidly inebriating Bong gentleman also noticed this and as we met at the buffet, he unhesitatingly suggested I drink faster.

Only we Asians don’t think it inappropriate to advise perfect strangers on their drinking habits.

“You will enjoy the show better” he laughed heartily obviously knowing more than I did.

“Where are you from?” he asked and before I could answer, took one look at me and decided for me “Must be north-east huh?”

“I have been to Assam,” he said with that certain pride that Bengalis take in their travels “Guwahati, Shillong, Mizoram”

I was bothered less by the fact that he had wrongly presumed my ancestry than that his Geography teacher in school had somehow migrated Shillong from Meghalaya and reduced the whole state of Mizoram into a city.

“Good people… Good people” he said approvingly between glugging the last dregs from his glass.

“Boy” he beckoned the shocked Filipino waiter “1 more whiskey, Red Label and 1 beer for him” he nodded in my direction.

Obviously he had decided that I was now his friend.

He then glanced at my plate and tut-tutted his disapproval at the salad on display.

“Prawns” he whispered conspiratorially and just incase I hadn’t gotten the message he shoved his plate in my face to show how to fit atleast 15 jumbo fried prawns on 1 plate. I looked down at the chafing dish and the 2 lonely prawns that remained and back at him with what I hoped was a look of disapproval.

He obviously took that as a plea and offered to offload a few prawns from his plate.

Politely as I could I refused his generosity, and as socially inappropriate as it was I didn’t feel annoyed.

A Bengali man offering to part with sea-food is not an everyday sight. Sharing Fish would be a rarity but the more exclusive ‘sea-food” is worthy of a miracle.

Though Christmas is round the corner, this I think was the miracle of Mr. Walker not Mr. Claus.

As we moved down the buffet I helped myself to some pulao and was again met with his disapproving look and it was when I reached for the palak paneer that he snapped.

“Don’t Waste” he hissed “there is Fish and Tandoori and Kababs down the line. Dinner later. Dinner later”

“Thank you” I managed to mutter before heading to my table.

Unlike the AR Rahman concert the 1 ½ late hours was filled with not silence but with local winners of a radio contest. And as they are wont to be, a few were good, most average and some others quite frankly bad. This included a compatriot of mine, who sang “Dil ka yeh kya raaz hai” from Bodyguard and hitting every stereotype accent of a Nepali he promptly pronounced Raaz as Raj and then tried to jazz up his bad singing with “Whazzzz up Abu Dhabi????”

“Your fellowman” roared the unmistakable voice from the table next to me who obviously hasn’t met a chinky he hasn’t liked.

“Come meet my family,” he boomed waving me over with what looked like the tail of a prawn.

Rather than risk some more noise from him I went over to say hello.

“This man is from Assam” he told his very alert family who were either bored with the guest singers or just very interested in me.

“We have been to Assam” said his elderly mother.

Let me guess I thought to myself. Guwahati, Shillong, Mizoram.

“We like momos” his wife chirped in referring to the dumplings that are of Tibetan origin but now enjoyed universally.

Now we were leaving northeast state borders and entering international waters.

“Don’t be shy, don't be shy” she said, like I were a guest at her house. “Look, look” she encouragingly waved her cloudy looking glass at me.

Only Bengali women can order beer, have their husbands gulp half of it and then top it with Mirinda to make what is called a Shandy.

“This is same beer???” chided her shocked husband looking at my glass.

“Comeon fellow, you northeasters are good drinkers” said the man who was already 4 shots down.

Again I would have otherwise been annoyed but there was a faint sense of praise in his voice when he said that.

“Are you mixed??” he then asked without the slightest bit of embarrassment.

I presume he meant my genealogy and not my cocktail.

By now we had long crossed all socially appropriate boundaries for me to feel offended.

“Starting. Starting” screamed his 2 sons who somehow had managed to pour themselves a helping each of Coke, Sprite AND Mirinda.

If you are too young to drink alcohol, you must obviously make it up with soft drinks.

Thankfully SEL came on stage at that moment and I moved back to my table.

SEL know how concerts should be done. Fun, personal, interactive and with the right choice of songs.

In an interview the previous day, Ehsaan (ever the outspoken one) had commented that the VIP seats were boring people while the real fans were the ones in the cheap seats. However he must have been pleasantly surprised to see the VIP’s giving the cheap seats a run for their money as they stood up and danced along the aisles. 

The only complaint was that the huge screen on stage had very poor graphics. Infact with the wooshing swirls and spirals it looked like the screen of a Windows media player.

And yet when Shanker launched into Maa from Taare Zameen Par there was pin drop silence.

The wife with the shandy who had previously been jumping up and down was suitably mellow.

“O-Ho! What a lovely song” she sighed long before the song was even over and began looking for the ‘Boy’ to ask for another beer.

It was about 10.30pm and SEL then announced that there would be a 15 minute refreshment break.

“Why break?” said the disapproving voice of the mother who had either had too much shandy herself or totally failed to notice that 90% of the audience unlike us, had been sitting for the past 3 hours with no food or drinks.

As the people below us began to file out to buy their popcorns and beers the Bong came over to our table to say Hello.

In between introductions he signalled the ‘boy’ for another drink and then like an old friend patted me on my back and told my colleagues. “This boy doesn't know how to drink.”

If only he’d met me on a day when I wasn't driving, he’d have seen what we Neps are like with booze.

“I don’t understand this break” he told my amused table “they start late and then this break.”

“Those poor people” he clarified, dangerously waving his whiskey glass at the stands below “they have to take the bus home. This is too late.”

No one does snobbery like the Bongs!

The lights mercifully dimmed for the 2^nd half and Shanker came on stage to introduce their next song.

“It’s a simple number from a small movie that you may have heard of” he deadpanned and as Loy played the famous opening notes, Shandy lady next door screamed “Kol Ho Na Ho” like she’d won the frickin lottery.

Incase we hadn’t heard his wife’s beer induced voice, the husband proudly looked all around himself and repeated “Kol Ho Na Ho. Kol Ho Na Ho”

And in what must be a masterstroke of body language, he not only nodded his wife’s knowledge of trivia but also somehow managed to nod himself another drink from the ‘boy’

They were unnaturally quiet over the next few songs and it may have been because they weren't aware of the numbers or the fact that they were now all stuffing themselves with ‘dinner’.

The closing song was Senorita from the recent release Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara and as the audience danced the end to a fantastic concert the whiskey-shandy drowned table got up to join in the revelry.

Different people dance in different steps but this whole family seemed coordinated and danced like like they were holding an imaginary round object in their hands and throwing it at the stage. Repeatedly.

Seeing that we obviously weren't doing the same the shandy-high wife hopped her way across to us and shouted over the music “Tamato, tamato”

A few of my friends thought she was just a drunk woman rambling incoherently but I knew what she meant. It certainly wasn’t during this song in the movie but I knew the family were imagining the Tomatino festival in the film.

From a wonderful movie about self awakening and finding yourself, all that this family remembered was the Tomatina scene.

And from a wonderful concert with 3 artists at their peak, I am sure all they’ll remember next week will be the free drinks. 

And Prawns. 

LOTS OF PRAWN!

And maybe, a 'mixed' boy from the north-east who wasted all the free drinks.

But the music!!!   What music? 


That is for the cheap seats.