For many, missing out on Coldplay’s Mumbai concert is a missed chance to align with the elite. But for those who made it, is the real victory in the music or the bragging rights?
Last week, social media was flooded with stories of dejection and despair among thousands of young people across the country. The dejection wasn’t over because they had missed out on college or IIT admissions — though those too are sources of deep national despair, occasionally leading to suicide. This time, however, the national despair stemmed from something far less life-altering: thousands of fans were unable to secure tickets for the upcoming rock show of Coldplay, the global sensation behind hits like Paradise and A Sky Full of Stars. It marks Coldplay’s second visit to India, but the anticipation was no less feverish.
This moment of collective disappointment came close on the heels of India being disparagingly left out from the list of venues of Taylor Swift, the world’s most sought-after and listened-to singer at this point, leaving our urbane and aspiring classes utterly dejected. Now, for the second time in quick succession, this dejection has been repeated — not for being left out, but for being out of reach, despite the fact that this great event is being held in a Mumbai suburb over three days.
A passport to an elite band of people
What does it mean for the young and the slightly old to be left standing outside the DY Patil Stadium, which has hosted top-grade cricket as well as soccer matches (the Saudi league’s top football club, Al Hilal, played here last year, which this reporter witnessed)? Is the feeling of being left out of a concert the same as being left out of a World Cup final, where in both cases you are reduced to watching it on TV, rather than experiencing it up close and real? Is being left out the same as being dismissed as sleepy Joes or uninfluential country folk?
Looking at it another way, what does it mean to have tickets for this concert? Are these memories to be carried out of the stadium and narrated to friends and family for many days? Or is it more about discussing the music and stagecraft of the lead singer — the parts that unfortunate TV viewers couldn’t see? “What a great riff it was, maaan!” To be fortunate enough to witness the moment is also to be seen as a lucky person, one who now has a lot of selfies and pictures to post and will carry the memory of a lifetime. But what is really fortunate about having a ticket to a show when you can listen to Taylor Swift or Coldplay any time of the day or night?
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For a country where millions aspire to the unattainable, the Coldplay ticket itself is a passport to an elite band of people. In terms of money, affluence, and being directly and actively connected to a Western world where they ultimately hope to end up, the Coldplay ticket means a great deal. For many, it is as much an admission ticket to a US university or even a US, British, or European visa. This crowd, this ‘creamy layer,’ believes that though they live in India, they are European or American citizens in terms of personal preferences, choices, yearnings, ambitions, and the ability to eventually reach these places.
An artificial, performative social behaviour
Those dejected at having to be undergraduates at Amity University instead of Brown University can at least take comfort in attending this show, aligning their interests and worldview with the elite. If you can’t afford a Coldplay ticket, how can you even dream of reaching those golden shores where milk and honey flow? Such aspirations are universal, not just confined to India. This writer was in Edinburgh recently when the Swift concert was approaching, and the ripples of excitement were palpable. However, it’s a different story in Navi Mumbai, the lesser cousin of distant South Mumbai, where the Coldplay crowd actually lives.
The mad scramble for tickets, and the resultant involvement of the police in summoning the online ticket seller (as they too want to be part of the action), is all part of an artificial, performative social behaviour that is growing here as elsewhere. The sense of victory in possessing a ticket to the show is akin to the daily triumphalism of Mumbai’s super-rich, who were carefully chosen as the audience for this mega concert because they have money to throw. If Rihanna could dance for the Ambanis, here Coldplay is performing for even those who weren’t invited to the Rihanna show.
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This is an easy ticket to acquire an imagined social height, and thus draw a line of distinction between those who think Coldplay is an ice cream and the plugged-in classes who know what it means to be part of the show. Here, it’s not about the music, whether there was an exquisite riff by the lead guitarist, or whether the drummer’s sticks flew through the air. It’s also not about ragas, you see. For the aspiring classes, it’s a comforting thought that even if they can’t be rich, at least they were part of the rich crowd that bought tickets for Rs 2 lakh apiece. At least they could see Ranveer Singh and Deepika Padukone from the rafters and live to tell the story, and carry it home.
