The Karaoke Session

While sipping the single malt and enjoying our first karaoke session since the pandemic began, I found myself asking this question: What it really takes to go to the other side of the table, pick up the microphone and face the audience? And as it often happens to me when I try to find an answer, I look for correlations to a certain event and make further connections from there. Recently, I came across this informal fallacy, Post hoc ergo propter hoc -after this, therefore, because of this- meaning that since event Y followed event X, event Y must have been caused by event X. The fallacy and its Latin origins were indeed new to me, but I realized occasionally I fall for it and believe it to be true. And tonight was no exception.

As I was trying to answer my own question, I realized three factors were vital in order to make that move to the microphone:

1. Love for the music.
2. Some knowledge of music/ “sur” . Some people are born with it, some acquire it later via formal music classes and dedicated practice.
3. The confidence factor, just to believe that Yes, I can sing.

All these three components are equally important, though sometimes, one might try to overcompensate for another. However, if there are any drastic changes in the delicate balance of these 3 factors, the experience may not be that pleasant for the audience. Fair warning!

So for my case, #1 was true as long as I can remember. #2, frankly, I am challenged severely in that department. Even after so many years, I find it hard to understand the difference between tempo and pitch. So for my case, it must be #3, the confidence factor which was overcompensating for #2. That's when the fallacy of “Post hoc ergo propter hoc” triggered and I started trying to find the chain of events.

The year was 2010. Before that, I remember participating mainly in antakshari and some other musical games, but I never attempted to sing with a microphone in front of more than 2 people. I knew I didn't have it in me and I didn’t feel particularly bad about it either. That year, my parents had made the tedious 23 hour journey to visit us in the US. We had recently moved to our new home and were extremely happy that baba and maa could make the trip to spend some quality time with their only grandson at the time.

Baba, like me, had an immense love for music. Growing up, tuning in to Binaca Geet Mala on Wednesday nights or Jaimala on Sunday afternoons was a regular affair. Maa used to question how one can study and listen to music at the same time, but it was Baba who proved its efficacy, leading by example so I didn’t have to answer her. While he caught up on office work later at night, his Bush transistor would be invariably tuned in to a Bangla or Hindi station. I had never seen him singing before, though, so I suppose that he only possessed the first of my three rules.

You can imagine how happy he was when Mithu, well known in our extended family for her singing, decided to call our home her home. The year was 1998. Baba was extremely proud of the new and only singer in our family. When we would visit Raipur, he would invite his friends at the house and would request her to sing various songs, to which she would happily oblige. If she was not around, he would make sure his friends listen to her recorded songs waiting keenly till they say “Kyaa baat hai Ganguly saheb, kitna acchaa gaate hai aapkee bahu”. So it is not difficult to guess how the later half of 2010 was spent here in our new home. We would have karaoke nights whenever we had an open evening. It was same time when our friend Anjana’s father was in town as well. Anjana is a talented singer and her dad, like mine, is a big music aficionado. So whenever both the dads would meet, they would request song after song to these two ladies. Mithu and Anjana were too happy to try out old, new, Hindi, Bangla songs, whichever track they could get their hands on. We would meet almost on a weekly basis and this musical session, followed by a full course Bengali meal, would be the highlight of those meets.

All this while, my role was mainly confined to that of a sound engineer. I had purchased a karaoke system and was content with experimenting, mike testing, and mixing voice and background music at different levels. Occasionally, I would hum one or two lines along with them, but it was not anything close to a proper solo yet. While testing the sound before a karaoke session one day, Baba said “Niltu, why don't you try some Hemanto songs? I think it would sound good on your voice”. To this day, I am glad I didn't shrug off the advice and played along. After all, I would be leaving my shell in the comfort of my own home, with only my family as audience. Worst case scenario, the performance is subpar and I go back to what I had been doing. But to my surprise, I was amazed the way it was received by Mithu and my parents; I think that was the first day that I truly felt like I was open to the possibility of singing in front of more than just my family.

Over the next few weeks, I gradually started singing and trying more Hemant songs. One day with much courage I attempted a duet with Mithu- she was very excited about the fact and gave me relentless encouragement. But the best was probably the day when I tried singing “Yeh nayan dare dare” mixed with its Bangla version “Aiee raat tomar aamar”. I vividly remember Baba saying to Anjana’s dad “Sir, just listen to it closing your eyes…It is as if you are listening to Hemanto Mukhopadhyay himself”. Baba was always so lavish when it came to praise someone that it will be too obvious to anyone and I knew it was one of that instance. But I still felt good about it. Contrary my mother is extremely frugal by nature when it comes to praise. For her there are mainly two ways she can do it with a minimal facial expression. “Not bad” would be the basic version and “It is OK” would be the upgraded version. So getting a “It is OK” from her was another boost that evening.

With my confidence at its peak, some more practice sessions and high encouragement from everyone, I said yes to my friend who was organizing Diwali Karaoke session that year. I remember Suresh, who is celebrating his birthday tonight, was there as well. I sang a Hemant Kumar song from “Bees saal baad” and got a decent appreciation considering it was my first public singing. We returned home quite late that night, Baba was still awake and extremely eager to know how it went and when Mithu said “Baba your son sang really great”, he simply said “ See…I had told you”.

This year on April 18th, Baba left us quite suddenly. But his love for music never dwindled till the very last moment. He would read his kindle while listening to the Saregama Radio which we had gifted him on his birthday few years earlier. I don’t recollect how many times he might have told us that this is the best gift he got ever. Also Maa would show the video clips and sound bytes from our karaoke sessions and he will simply say “daroon” (awesome!) and keep encouraging us. I am so happy that not only his favorite Mithu, but he could also relish his son and grandson’s singings till the very last.

“Indranil…it is your turn to sing now” I heard Suresh, putting an abrupt interruption to my thought process and bringing me back to the present. I had not prepared anything for tonight celebrating his 50th, but I knew exactly, which song I am going to sing. Tonight it will be for Baba, Mithu and all of my Dhun Karaoke friends who kept encouraging me for the past so many years, to have that confidence to go to the other side of the table and pick up that microphone.