Anyone bitten by the travel bug knows that Morocco is an exotic destination. I was no exception and awaited my trip with great impatience.
I was very excited by Fes, the venue of the International sacred music Festival and one of the oldest imperial cities in the world.
Being one of the most renowned stages for world music, crowds throng from all over the world at the venue.
This year’s 13th edition brought together legendary artistes from all over the world including Barbara Hendricks, Johnny Clegg and others from Syria, Lebanon, Iran, Uzbekistan etc.
I knew it was going to be a one-of-its kind experience combining the mysterious charm of Fes with the awe of the Festival. More so as my family - my husband Badri and my daughter Sumitra, was accompanying me on this trip.
The journey was going to be long and tiresome. But the thrill awaited at the other end. But little did I know what really awaited us during the journey!
An all night long vigil at the Bombay airport for a flight that took off an hour late, did not make it easy for the trauma that awaited in Dubai.
The result - too late to be taken on board the connecting flight to Morocco. No amount of discussing, arguing, could convince the young lady at the counter. So her boss was called for, she pleaded helpless; the gates of the aircraft were shut she said, even God could not have helped… “We’ll put you on tomorrow’s flight, don’t worry”, she said nonchalantly.
Tomorrow’s flight? That would have meant going one day after my scheduled concert !
What ensued was arguments anew, discussions, alternatives and finally we were put onto another airline this time via Cairo. Until the flight late afternoon, Dubai airport saw a miserable looking bunch of Indians - singer, husband, kid, accompanying artistes, all struggling through the length and breadth of the ostentatious airport, without the right kind of food and sleep, looking like victims of a sand storm.
Another series of unpleasant happenings in the desolate looking Cairo airport between Arabic and broken English and threats of loss of baggage, and finally we landed in Casablanca, musicians et al, haggard, at 12.30 am.
Fortunately the baggage arrived, save for the box of CDs. The cars that awaited us, took us to Fes, a journey over 300 kilometres by night on the highways of Morocco and we arrived – finally, yes ! At Fes, at 6.30 am, in shambles.
One and a half days of travel without having seen a bed and with a decathalon experience in different airports.
The sound check was at 1pm and the concert at 4.30. That was all what happened before I ascended the stage at roughly a little before 4.30 pm on the same day.
The scenic setting under the giant oak in the quietude of the precincts of the Batha Museum, formed the perfect venue for a Carnatic concert. There was peace, quiet and tranquility. The sun shone though not harshly and a gentle breeze wafted through.
The arrangements were impeccable, thoroughly professional. As I began with my Kedaragowlai Varnam, the sounds of the violin, mridangam and morsing blending in, the horror of the journey and the immense fatigue faded away.
The intense look of the 700 odd audience sitting in a circular arrangement, all around the stage, goaded me on.
The proximity with the audience created for a close rapport between me and them. They could see the musicians, live the mood, feel the spirit.
A very important element in my opinion for a performer, to have this closeness, that generates a bonding and makes for better music.
There were cameras placed all over capturing the event for different televisions across the continents, and authorized photographers, silently awaiting the right mood.
There was silence, the music, the resonant claps. I couldn’t say if they loved the raga stretches more or the kritis or the niraval. Needless to say, they lapped up the violin solo bits and the vigorous mridangam-morsing Tani.