In Indian (Hindu?) culture, it is fairly common for young people to bow down, and touch the feet of older people and seek their blessings. I'm going to call this the Indian Bow for the sake of brevity. I was taught this when I was young, and I performed the bow diligently when I met my grandparents. They used to get all flustered (and pleased too, of course!) and blessed me wholeheartedly. And it made me feel good, too - like I had done something good that day! In fact, it still does!
When I first began singing on stage, it was mostly really old Telugu film songs (1940s - 1960s) that I used to perform along with a live orchestra. The chief guests were usually eminent veterans of the Telugu film industry - including actors, singers and lyricists. At the end of each program, the amateur singers who performed that day were called on stage and were given shields, mementos or bouquets. The singer would then, like a robot, mechanically do the Indian Bow. Now, it is one thing to admire a person as an artist, and totally another thing to admire them as a person and really want their blessings. Apparently no-one made that distinction. Anyone above the age of fifty was deemed as an Indian Bow-worthy person. Being a part of all this, I was no exception either - the Indian Bow was there to stay. Until one day.
The seventy year old Legend was pretty bored that day, having attended five music programs in a row already. He wanted to really go back home, but was instead forced to sit through the whole of his sixth program and even listen to my song. What was worse, he was called on stage along with four or five other people, each of whom gave a long-winded speech before he did. Whenever someone finished his or her speech, he would frantically gesture for the microphone. Let me speak and go home! he yelled inside his head, but no-one heard. When his turn came, his speech was pretty abrupt and short - just enough for a 'hello', 'nice program' and a 'bye'. But was he allowed to go yet? No siree. The bouquet-bestowal was still unfinished. He glared at me accusingly as I walked on to the stage, ready to receive my bouquet. Being twelve years old back then and being unable to perceive his restlessness, I beamed at him and got a grim-faced reply that was reeking of annoyance. Then the most embarrassing thing happened. After receiving my bouquet, I said something along the lines of - "One second, sir, I want your blessings." I bent down to the Indian Bow - only to find him walking off in the opposite direction. He had chosen not to acknowledge my presence whatsoever, leaving me to grope at the carpeted floor aimlessly, on stage and in front of almost five hundred people in the audience. I thought I heard a few chuckles from the spectators too - then again, it is easy to imagine things when you are in an uncomfortable situation. If there was a color redder than red, then that was my face that day. Never did I feel such resentment as at that moment, when I looked at his bald head disappearing through the backstage. You rotten old dhoti-clad baldy, I thought bitterly.
That was when I decided that the Indian Bow was over-rated. I did not want to face this situation ever again. It felt like a loss of respect - forget that I was only twelve. In all fairness, the Legend could have waited a few more seconds to at least pretend to give his blessings. But no! This incident led to a lot of snot-inducing wailing once we were back home, followed by some radical discussions. My parents, who were part of the audience too (and had felt enraged), agreed that I would do the Indian Bow only when I really admired an elderly person for their values, and not their fame.
That incident is pretty funny when I think of it now, but the 'problem' is still really 'rampant' today! In fact, I was reminded of this story because I recently got to see another great person at a function. People were queuing up in front of him - and each and every person did the Indian Bow one after the other. The great man was smiling in a self-satisfied manner. His hands were perpetually raised in a God-like position (think Sai Baba), and he expectantly waited for everyone to touch his feet. It really was a sight to see. But the most intriguing thing is - what does the public know about that person (and not his artistry), that makes them want to bend down so much? What do they really know?
When I first began singing on stage, it was mostly really old Telugu film songs (1940s - 1960s) that I used to perform along with a live orchestra. The chief guests were usually eminent veterans of the Telugu film industry - including actors, singers and lyricists. At the end of each program, the amateur singers who performed that day were called on stage and were given shields, mementos or bouquets. The singer would then, like a robot, mechanically do the Indian Bow. Now, it is one thing to admire a person as an artist, and totally another thing to admire them as a person and really want their blessings. Apparently no-one made that distinction. Anyone above the age of fifty was deemed as an Indian Bow-worthy person. Being a part of all this, I was no exception either - the Indian Bow was there to stay. Until one day.
The seventy year old Legend was pretty bored that day, having attended five music programs in a row already. He wanted to really go back home, but was instead forced to sit through the whole of his sixth program and even listen to my song. What was worse, he was called on stage along with four or five other people, each of whom gave a long-winded speech before he did. Whenever someone finished his or her speech, he would frantically gesture for the microphone. Let me speak and go home! he yelled inside his head, but no-one heard. When his turn came, his speech was pretty abrupt and short - just enough for a 'hello', 'nice program' and a 'bye'. But was he allowed to go yet? No siree. The bouquet-bestowal was still unfinished. He glared at me accusingly as I walked on to the stage, ready to receive my bouquet. Being twelve years old back then and being unable to perceive his restlessness, I beamed at him and got a grim-faced reply that was reeking of annoyance. Then the most embarrassing thing happened. After receiving my bouquet, I said something along the lines of - "One second, sir, I want your blessings." I bent down to the Indian Bow - only to find him walking off in the opposite direction. He had chosen not to acknowledge my presence whatsoever, leaving me to grope at the carpeted floor aimlessly, on stage and in front of almost five hundred people in the audience. I thought I heard a few chuckles from the spectators too - then again, it is easy to imagine things when you are in an uncomfortable situation. If there was a color redder than red, then that was my face that day. Never did I feel such resentment as at that moment, when I looked at his bald head disappearing through the backstage. You rotten old dhoti-clad baldy, I thought bitterly.
That was when I decided that the Indian Bow was over-rated. I did not want to face this situation ever again. It felt like a loss of respect - forget that I was only twelve. In all fairness, the Legend could have waited a few more seconds to at least pretend to give his blessings. But no! This incident led to a lot of snot-inducing wailing once we were back home, followed by some radical discussions. My parents, who were part of the audience too (and had felt enraged), agreed that I would do the Indian Bow only when I really admired an elderly person for their values, and not their fame.
That incident is pretty funny when I think of it now, but the 'problem' is still really 'rampant' today! In fact, I was reminded of this story because I recently got to see another great person at a function. People were queuing up in front of him - and each and every person did the Indian Bow one after the other. The great man was smiling in a self-satisfied manner. His hands were perpetually raised in a God-like position (think Sai Baba), and he expectantly waited for everyone to touch his feet. It really was a sight to see. But the most intriguing thing is - what does the public know about that person (and not his artistry), that makes them want to bend down so much? What do they really know?
