Morning in Mylapore. MS Subbulakshmi's Venkatesa Suprabhatam plays at a temple in a distant loudspeaker.

Abhirami !! Meenakshi varA!

That's a warning that I must fetch my cousin Mini from the station. Soon she is home, all baggage, enveloped in a sweater and scarf and excited over her weekend plan of meandering through the Sabhas here. And I am of course, her chauffeur-in-waiting.

Mini insists that going to the temple during the early morning is good for the soul. So we are now performing pradakshinam around the Kapaliswarar koil. We look for some sign of the Margazhi Bhajanai groups around the tank. There's one with a Tambura and holding a picture of Papanasam Sivan. We race across. That has to be the one we will join, Mini says, as she drags me towards them. They are singing nI irangA and Mini synchronizes with them enthusiastically. I try to look equally informed, and align myself with the chorus, rather off the drone. (As for my musical experience, I must mention that it is hardly worth the mention)

We pause in front of an old house on the wayside. The Mama of the house emerges with a steel bucket and hands out cups filled from it, with sweetened warm milk for all the Bhajanai singers. As I sip from the cup, straight ahead I can see the Gopuram of the temple. Mini has by now befriended everyone in this group, and especially a one toothed 'Thaatha' named Raamamrutham who has asked her to get him some halwa and chips from cousins in Kerala.

Shall we have a look at the papers before we proceed? No, she has an extensive list already downloaded from the Internet. And we read them all excitedly; Narada Gana Sabha, Krishna Gana Sabha, Naada Inbam, The Academy...and before getting muddled, we decide to route ourselves such that we attend the pre-lunch concert close to Saravana Bhavan or Gnanambika caterers. Academy sAppaDu dAn best says our sabha-savvy neighbour.

Chennai is rather hot at this time of the year but it could rain without any provocation too. So we equip ourselves with anti-rain accessories, sun-defying tools, a mini tape recorder and plenty of empty ninety-minute cassettes. Buses are crowded and autos loot, I tell Mini. Hmm...

We enter the concert hall. Obviously the artiste is not a great crowd puller. So, getting seats in the front is easy. I look around while the violinist replies to the vocalist's spate of sarvalaghu swarams, to study my co rasikas. Not too many. There are a couple of pATTi-s from the nearby agrahArams in nine yard sarees carrying woven plastic kUDais (baskets). One thAtha with especially bushy ears, reading Kumudam. Look there, that must be the singer's family eagerly taking pictures, capturing each oscillation of his countenance, I whisper to Meenakshi. But she is trying to cope with the khanDa jAti tripuTa tALam.

The next is a Veena concert. Several of our seniors advised us against attending it. But who could convince Mini? The artiste apparently is her friend's guru's sister-in-law. Sigh! Here again, an audience comprising of relatives alone, for a relatively less known talent.

Ah more entertainment for me as I am incapable of recognizing many (or should I say any) of the rAgAs! Here is a nice old couple seated right next to us in this thickly packed auditorium, hot water flask, walking stick and all, waiting energetically for the curtains to draw. Since Meenakshi looks a little more like a carnatic music person than I, the mami makes friendly overtures directed towards her. Starts with a smile, then further bolder questions, engirundu varEL?, pATTu katthukarayA? yAr kiTTE? Bangloora? OhO. KeralAvA?

The concert proceeds splendidly and our neighbouring mAmi challenges Mini to name each rAga and flashes approving smiles at her jnAnam for every right answer. Then comes one kriti and the mAmi turns as usual. She says pAthayA amritavarShiNi Akkum. And, Mini whispers back in great humility that it is actually sunAdavinOdini. But the mAmi is not one who would give in so easily. Even the mAma sitting beside her had confirmed the fact. Ah, says Mini, it is sunAdavinOdini. No, says the mAmi. Sigh! I don't care, said Mini (At this point, I think Mini gives up).

This is at yet another concert shortly after lunch. As usual we spin around to get a feel of the audience. Of course, there is one head that heavily nods with sleep. One neck rests backwards on the spongy chairs of the hall. One parent contends with a howling child, while the other parent seriously slaps Adi tALam on the thighs. Grin! Begin to enjoy it. Of course I should mention the more tech-savvy rasikAs who usually have a mobile phone that ring at irregular intervals. And by Murphy's Law, they tend to sit in the extreme corner and need to transmit themselves through the whole row of attentive rasikAs. Just as you forget about their existence, they come right back causing a disturbing effect that percolates to the preceding rows as well.

There is work to be done, such as a visit the Carnatic cassette store, the music book centre. Mini persists in her searches and sneezes in the dustiest corners of the book shop and excavates some papyrus like books and she is thoroughly happy! Happy days pass thus...taking down notes at lecture demonstrations, and getting comfortable with the bus numbers.

As I see her off at the station, she has the walkman on her ear, a pile of books in her arm and the smile of one who has eaten a full feast.

- Gitanjali Venkataraman