My stint with music
I am not a musician. But I can loudly say that
I love music. And I appreciate it and enjoy it when it is to my liking. I also
admire those professionals who could appeal to our musical sense and make us
forget everything else. I cannot imagine a world without music. How dull it
would be! Hats off to those who discovered the charm of it and those that
invented myriad instruments and to those who experimented the lilt, melody and
rhythm. I salute those experts who made it a science.
Many
a time I have watched those musicians who blindly let their fingers slide
through the strings with such ease and grace. In fact I too wanted to
experiment with those. But somehow I couldn’t. I remember how my mother with
her humble dreams had sent me at the age of nine to a convent where a seventy
year old British nun was teaching the violin. Though the class was only for an
hour and half it was an ordeal for me mainly because the instrument was almost
my size and howsoever I positioned it, the nun’s expectation was not achieved.
Moreover I couldn’t manage to bring out any sweet strain from it. The unearthly
babel of the strings shocked everyone near me. And the nun would make a most
unpleasant face that horrified me. My sincere plea to let me out of this bitter
venture was unheeded. The only consolation that encouraged me to pursue this
weekly pilgrimage was the snacks the convent hospitably provided me at the end
of the session. Quite often I would dream about the savour of the delicacy
while the nun was seriously instructing me about the nuances of the bow
movement. However this experiment did not last longer than two months. Then I
was able to conclude that I had no special musical flair.
It
was my friend C- who played an important role in awakening my taste for music.
During my postgraduation we had plenty of time due to the working schedule of
the college department. So my friend persuaded me to spend some time in
learning Hindustani music. It was agreed that he would learn the sitar and I
would pick up the tabla. But in spite
of our genuine efforts we could not pursue it due to the frequent closure of
the music school. Then I suddenly had an urge to learn the guitar which was
acquired by my friend. On the whole my
musical trip was literally a hop between the sitar, guitar and keyboard. When I
came home after my studies I was armed with used books and a sitar What I missed in Agra, I tried to compensate at Nagercoil. I found out a Carnatic
vocalist who came every afternoon home to sing for me. The musical notation was
scripted down and I dutifully tried the same in my sitar. It was a queer fusion
of Carnatic and Hindustani. Though my old teacher did not know anything about
the sitar, he was sure enough to shake his head vehemently when a wrong note
was depressed. When he ceased to come after a couple of months, my sitar found
a convenient corner to rest by itself. After a few months a man who came home
to bargain old furniture took a fancy to the sitar coated with a thick layer of
dust. His offer price was much more than what I had paid for it and so I gladly
parted with my sitar. And that was the end of the classical saga.
Now
that I am retired and have not much to do anything, I try my hand in the guitar
my friendly cousin had left with me. The instrument though meant mainly for
rhythm was a melody thing for me. I experiment my favourite tunes in it and
sometimes get mild approbation from my loved ones. I play it now and then because
I still believe that I have some music in my gene. Moreover it washes away from
the soul the dust of everyday life.
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