I went to the opera last night. Yup, you read it right. The name, the picture, it's no illusion this. I, Gaurav Kapur, self-professed David Dhawan fan, entertainment junkie, junta film propagator, I, went to the opera! Join me in asking me why.

Why in the good lord’s name would I willingly put myself through something which is the stage equivalent of a root canal? Why? Well, some things you do out of love, some out of boredom, some out of habit, some out of loyalty and some, you just do for friends. History is witness that people have done a lot worse for a lot less.

So, I find myself standing outside the Siri Fort auditorium in New Delhi when the first hiccup is encountered. We were a group of six with only five tickets. There had been a bit of a logistical bungle. But you know what they say…in every logistical bungle lurks an escape opportunity. I selflessly volunteer to sacrifice my seat at the opera for the cultural salvation of my friends. Yes, yes, I am banishing them to Siberia with no return ticket but in the dog eat dog world of the opera, you take no prisoners and you have no friends. It’s each man for himself. The gleam in my eyes thankfully goes unnoticed but my acting like a sacrificial lamb does not. It was bound to happen, I grossly overdid the hamming and the effect was reversed.

I end up turning the guilt so high that I actually motivate my friend to hustle a ticket from what seems like thin air. Six years of kitsch television has made me forget the meaning of underplaying. He holds the ticket up with triumph. The look on his face is from page 45 of the David Copperfield book of Shady Post Illusion Expressions. Yes, that book does exist. It’s actually on the bestseller list of the World Sleazoids Association. They commissioned the book in fact. The look on my face was that of Claudia Schieffer’s when she realised what David Copperfield actually looked like five minutes before breaking up with him. For me, she remains his greatest trick to date. But that’s where any similarities between me and Miss Schieffer end. She broke up with him and chose not to get together with me, thus we shall not talk about her anymore. Sour grapes.

Coming to the opera or rather coming back to me trying to go away from the opera. So I swallow hard, bite my lip, clench my fists and get ready to enter the auditorium. That’s when a larger problem decides to rear its ugly head. No mobiles phones are to be allowed inside the auditorium. No mobile phones! Would you believe it? I have just had it with French cultural oppression. Yes, I respect their culture but they obviously don’t respect ours. Don’t they know that for an Indian to enter a theatre without a phone is equivalent to walking in without one of our limbs? Don’t they know that most people would rather leave their arms in the car than their phones? Don’t they know that smack in the middle of the performance is when we might need to inquire about Chunnu’s nappy rash? Don’t they know that life saving decisions have to be made. Decisions where split second timing means everything. Decisions such as the menu for dinner or the location for next Friday’s kitty party or what to get to get the Malhotras for their silver wedding anniversary next year. The French, evidently, have no understanding of our culture. Those brutes. I have had it with them.

The other thing I’ve had it with is cricket in India. Looks like the circus was mated with a saas bahu saga and their offspring is what we now know as the Great Indian Cricket Tamasha. The incessant fighting is driving everyone nuts. Coach versus captain, captain versus team, team versus sponsors, coach versus board, board versus board…zzzzzzz…. 

The amount of fighting these guys do, they should change their name to the Board Of Control for Boxing in India. Boxing is better; at least they don’t call pointless cover up meetings and broker fake truces thus pulling wool over everyone’s eyes. They threaten each other, point fingers, yell abuses, and then beat each other to a pulp. I’m starting a fund for boxing gloves. Four pairs. One each for Ganguly, Chappel, Dalmiya and Pawar. Put them all in the ring in a free for all slug fest. May the best man win. At least we hapless bystanders can have some fun in the bargain. I wish these jokers would just get bored of controlling cricket in India. If wishes were horses …

The cricketers themselves are one sorry lot. They’ve become a team of unfit amateur actors who’ve become fatter than their endorsement paychecks. They beat Zimbabwe and start talking like they’ve comprehensively beaten the World XI. The grandmothers of Pali Hill could put up a team that would beat Zimbabwe in under three days. As for the Zimbabwe team, could someone please tell them that it’s a cricket match and not a race to see who finishes batting fastest.

Well, coming back once again to the opera. The lady at the ticket window told us that we had brilliant seats. I needed the Hubble telescope to figure out where the stage was. I've had it with ladies in ticket windows and their lies. A month ago another of their species took me for a royal ride in the West End, no less. Big promises and 40 pounds later I found myself in a seat that was in a separate county from the stage. Only difference being that it was The Lion King and I actually did want to see it. The good opera seats were so square to the stage that I was actually sitting behind the actors. I wonder what happened to the poor old sods that got the bad seats, would they be sitting in the parking lot? On second thoughts it doesn’t sound too bad. I would have actually thanked her if I was sitting in the parking lot. The further the better. My question to these actors or tenors or operatics or whatever is this “How big is your diaphragm?” These guys can shout! Now when it comes to acoustics the Siri Fort auditorium is no Royal Albert Hall. So some of the high notes actually sounded like cries for help from the world beyond. In fact, one of the blokes woke me up about five times in the first act itself.

So it’s the next morning and I've made it through the evening by the skin of my teeth. I honestly doubted if I’d make it through the first act but the second act was much better, mainly because I had the best seats. Yes, I was in the parking lot.