Urban Legend

HE may have moved the Taj Mahal, but it isn8217;t helping magician PC Sorcar tonight. Only a dozen families watch as he goes about his trad...

HE may have moved the Taj Mahal, but it isn8217;t helping magician PC Sorcar tonight. Only a dozen families watch as he goes about his trademark skip from mike to mike, punctuating the acts with lively, often incoherent banter in English, Hindi and Bengali. Sorcar is the torchbearer for India8217;s first family of magic, with seven generations behind him. But his impressive lineage and worldwide reputation have little bearing on children today, who consider his shows a throwback. The fact that his ferocious Serengeti lion, Sultan, is no longer around doesn8217;t help either.

The PC Sorcar show is cheesier than I remember; but it8217;s still dramatic. The new elements include a quasi-erotic dance by eight women garbed in revealing sailor suits that threaten to burst. Later, the same troupe dons harem gear for a belly dance sequence that screams sexed-up middle school assembly. It8217;s all very entertaining.

And there are the old favourites: Sorcar being locked into a dynamite-laced capsule by three military men, and placed on the Indo-Pak border. Sorcar waves the tricolour furiously, his hand protruding out of a conveniently-located hole. The music grows louder and BANG!8212;the explosion startles me, even though I8217;m prepared for it. The capsule8217;s been blown to bits, and there8217;s lots of smoke, but no Sorcar.

8216;8216;Here I am,8217;8217; he screams, running towards the stage from the back of the hall, flag in hand. The guy can still spring a surprise.

Between every three acts, Sorcar repeats his favourite trick: Water of India8212;always set to the same instrumental village music. Sorcar pours water from an ornate jug that never runs dry. The fourth time he does it, I8217;m irritated. The seventeenth time and I can8217;t stop cracking up.

Then there8217;s the trick where Sorcar8217;s wife Jayshree ties him to a platform on wheels8212;then runs a sword through his gut, slicing him in half as he struggles to break free. Assistants pull apart the platform, with Sorcar8217;s head and hands taken to one side of the room and his flailing legs placed on the other. Amazing.

So when Sorcar calls for volunteers, I8217;m the second person on stage. He asks us to inspect a red handkerchief, to test if we can see through it. It8217;s opaque. Then an assistant hands us a long strip of atta, which I check for holes. Sorcar places the atta over his eyes, then asks one of the volunteers to tie the handkerchief over it.

8220;Write anything you want,8221; he says to me. I walk up to a blackboard and write 8220;18578221;, which Sorcar replicates in a flash. Maybe the assistant8217;s signalling the numbers to him, I think. Another volunteer writes, 8220;How do you do it?8221;. Sorcar replies, 8220;With images8221;. And when the final volunteer writes, 8220;Sorcar is a great magician,8221; the master illusionist simply scribbles, 8220;My father was better.8221;