The New Year With Nagma

Like an ostrich burying its head in the mud ostensibly to shy away but primarily to evade its hunters, the 3,500 strong crowd let their hair down not letting the stuff going on on the stage blemish their vibes. Especially when the only way to save their life and loved ones was to dance. The New Year begins by thanking God for making us homoeothermic.

Keeping "sickle: just a little bit sick" in mind, the show was termed as a Nagma bonanza. No doubt this was the most happening event of the seemingly left out twin cities this year (with the likes of Babul Supriyo and the "elusive" Kashmira Shah trying hard to qualify into this league), but vigorous advertising isn’t half the job done. If Nagma was visible at least for more time than the time taken by a tennis ball served by Goran to reach the net, it probably would have been that.

The first few indications did give the impression that we weren’t going to the opening ceremony of another garage door. The parking space was adequate, and there were seating facilities for all those family men and women and separate dance floors for the couples and stags (and, as usual, racism when it came to allowing girls to qualify for the ‘couples’ section but not the guys). The CCI management really learnt from their horrific experience at the Mamta Kulkarni show last year. The security was for the casino vaults in Vegas this time around. Overall the production value of the entire setup appeared decent. But who was the moron that said that the first impression is the best?

The delay didn’t bother the crowd but the cold did, and so they were desperate to generate some heat - and just when the situation was heating up came a Jojo to croon some melodies. Jo who? The same old guy, remember? Jo ‘Yash’ ke gaane gaya tha? Anyway, woh jo jo bhi gaane gaya, people were dancing. Actually the guy is reasonably talented, and he started out with the numbers that made him popular. Good ones like Subah Subah Jab Khidki Kholi, Woh Kaun Thi etc. He sang a host of old numbers as well.

In between came a DJ that played music. As simple as that. It was after that people there had consumed everything possible from the stalls that someone announced a ‘give it up for Nagma’. Dazed audiences applauded as they realized that the person jo stage pe gaa raha tha was only Jojo, and not Nagma’s dopple ganger.

Wearing a sleeveless leopard skinned strap-on and obscenely tight golden pants, she proved that some people never change. All them men that had seen her during her supremacy in Tollywood would tell you that. She danced with a bunch of expert Shaimak-Dawar-school-student-lookalikes. The collage of the songs wasn’t tasteless nonsense, and by the time you realized this, she disappeared.

The countdown began, and when the clock ticked over into another long year, fireworks darted into the night and some into the crowds. There was a glimpse of her again while she cut the cake. Her next dance sequence was a lot better since it was a little longer. The songs were better, too. Bhumroo, Dil Chaahta Hai, Shake It Daddy and many such commercial successes. All this lasted for about 15 minutes.

It's not the organisers' fault if the public mistook the chief guest to be the lead performer. Nagma came late, cut the cake and went. The crowds there had come to have fun, and that’s what they did. It’s the only way to party, too. All in all, it was better than attending a perfume convention as a guest sniffer.

MV