It was the rock band competition this morning, with some impressive displays of musicianship and singing. I have made friends with a young man called Abhinav, the drum er in one of the bands. He has an excellent sense of humour; he is a Spurs fan when I told him about the West Ham chant, “If you hate Tottenham, stand up!” he immediately sat on the ground.) His group had just started, when Anu appeared, ordering me to fetch my passport immediately, as it was needed to buy the train tickets. (Nobody has quite believed that I want to return with them by train and bus, but they seem finally to have got the message.) And so I missed their performance. When they rushed up to me in an excited bunch, asking what I thought, and I explained, the disappointment was palpable (though they were very nice about it.)
In the afternoon was the closing ceremony. I feared it would be another marathon, long and drawn out. Actually, it was fine, with some absolutely excellent sections. It began with a performance of a choir of small children, about 400 or so in total, dressed in identical elaborate costumes, though in a range of colours the expense! The waste! But reflecting Geeta’s comments about the Indian love for spectacle over content. Though they charmingly did sing a couple of Oliver! Numbers (taking me briefly back to my Fagin days). But from that point on, matters improved dramatically, with three outstanding items.
The first was a mock United Nations assembly of the future, strongly presented with desks, flags, a small globe on each desk (they seem to have a stock of the things, left over from a Chief Justices of the world conference a few years back.) Nonetheless, I feared the worst; such spoofs can be earnest but lacking in real content and a bit crass.
But it was excellent. The delegates, played by senior students, were all articulate, knowledgeable, well-informed. There was a speech from the “President of the United States” complete with flashing cameras, security detail the works, and he himself was excellent, avoiding the obvious temptation to caricature. The highlight was the clash of the Israeli and Palestine delegates, the idea being that the war in Gaza was still – depressingly – going on. The “Israel” lady was mesmerising, not only summarising their arguments, well-known to all, but also the tone too: loud, strident, giving not an inch, while her opponent displayed quiet dignity. The moment when these two reappeared at the end, shaking hands over an announcement of the cessation of hostilities, was genuinely moving. If only life could be like that.
The other two quality acts were the choir who had so impressed in competition; Geoff’s school, incidentally, showing he knew his stuff. Best of all was a display of stunning drumming and dancing by one of the Sri Lankan schools, in fabulous costumes. They were mesmerising, and ought to have brought the house down; typically, the applause was faint.
I sought them out later – not too hard to find, as their school uniform is pure white suits -praised them to the skies, and explained to the teacher in charge what I did, and what I might offer them. It was all a bit breathless and rushed – time was running out – but his reply was simple – “Please come.” – and we exchanged addresses. Not a cast-iron invitation yet, of course, but positive vibes.
Finally, the awards. I was ridiculously nervous. I had been telling everyone in our group for weeks not to have any expectations, that the other schools were bound to be better prepared, better resourced, more experienced, that I could not be in tune with the judges. But having seen the competition, and discovering that there were six prizes for each competition, (from first to third consolation) my hopes had risen.
Once more I had been ushered forward to the front row, and from there on to stage to share some of the prize-giving duties; fortunately, those to the Junior section, for which we had no entrants. I did my Mr Positive bit, enthusiastically praising the over-excited students, and posing with a fixed grin for each celebratory photograph.
When it came to our competitions, we were awarded 2nd prize in the film category (the one I said we had had no chance of even entering!) And nothing else. Giving prizes for six places is a good idea, spreading the excitement, but then makes losing altogether all the more painful.
I felt sick, deflated, angry. Fortunately, our students took it much better. We were returning with a trophy after all. But seeing wildly excited students from the winning schools, celebrating raucously…
In the evening we went out, I had thought for a short stroll, but actually on quite a trek, first to the Metro, bright, shiny, high tech, which our students would mostly never have seen, and then a couple of stops into the heart of Lucknow. We descended – yes, an elevated metro – into a maelstrom of people, traffic, with the constant noise of a thousand horns blaring. I felt I had gone into hell, and thanked my stars I had not even thought about living here. We somehow picked our way along the main road, dived into the relative seclusion of a small street market, then back to the main road again, to another metro station, and to a quieter area. There we hung around for a while, with no discernible purpose, before engaging a trio of tuk tuks to take us back to the school.
I felt exhausted, depressed and guilty, feeling I had let the school down, even more the students down. I had dampened expectations of a competition I largely despised, but was nonetheless furious to have won nothing.
Not nothing, of course. None of the students had any experience of acting – or for that matter singing. They had come so far, and I was hugely proud of them. They were able to hold their heads high, and in my (not inconsiderable) experience, were the best of the bunch. But in art, competition sucks.
