Welcome 2011!

We sat outside in the balcony.At about 12 midnight, the fireworks coloured the night sky far away in Marina Bay sands.

                                                         Thats watching the city go by!

 We watched the colours dissipate into the night sky leaving us hungry for more. Twenty minutes of splendour. We have watched many new years this way wherever we have lived. One year was a ride on a bike in the rain up to Palayamkottai. Of course the next day saw us in the Ambas dispensary! Yet another year was at Madurai. A borrowed bike.  A long ride  to the University.  We stopped by in a dim lit tea stall for tea in a tall glass tumbler.  Yet another in the Bangalore Mysore highway in the flimsiest car I have ever known the Maruti 800. When one touched 100 on the speedometer you get a sudden feeling of a magic carpet that defied the laws of gravity.I truly survived the lift! There were so many families on that poorly lit highway and 3 of the cars stopped to wish each other when it struck 12. Had coke, some chips and we went our different ways.  

Once was a rustic experience in the Delhi Pilani bus. More of the folksy types.  Now this by large was my best new year. We sat on the roof of the bus along with other dimwits for company. The kind of dimwits who brought their family back to their alma mater in style! Absolutely cold and chill desert winter, cutting the skin. The pullovers weren't helping. But a rocky ride that kept us guessing when was the next puddle that will have us tumble and fall! Singing all the old hindi numbers and eating spicy somosa. At 12, there was celebration inside and top of the bus. It was as though there was a party for 30 minutes in the middle of the desert. And of course there have been more civilised new year celebrations too, where we were in formal dinners and parties, that had us shake hands solemnly and raise a toast. This kind requires some endurance!

As I recollect all of them, there is certainly a unquestioned bias towards bike rides, drives and of course the celebration from the roof of a bus(this tops my list as I felt like the king of the world from there and of course the thrill in doing something very different!). At every occasion there was a feeling of making new starting points and new aspirations to chase. An intangible reset button pressed to probably look for new things to explore with work, fun and places. But one thing,  sure stands true, that the wishes of the heart keep changing all the time with each passing year.

Mixed feelings of what to expect and what to mend; a small fear of the unknown; a quick flashback of things that went right and that which went wrong..may be just seemingly wrong; the triumphs and ofcourse the disasters; the cocktails and the funerals;cricket matches won and lost(BTW it’s a life changing event at home here!) the most cherished moments and the ones you probably want to forget and so will always vividly remember L ; the people some happy, some sad, some ambitious and some bird watchers who live life by the day! Wow ! The heart remembers all of them categorically and guess what,  that makes us evolve each year as people! Changes in us happen every year, every month and every minute.

An old school pal recently wrote a facebook update on how his visit back to the city he grew up in had changes  that left him a bit uncomfortable! How true! I could completely relate to it and realised that changes are inevitable-people, places, thoughts, actions and sometimes even the wisdom that we grew up with, undergo some unbelievable changes. The boundaries stretch and the mind is ready to take on the new challenges that the heart has presented.  As I step into 2011, I have very new things on my ‘to do list’. The list surprises me every year and you know people, as I make my changes for the better, I realise this year’s list is a bit too surprising! To myself! So listen to yourself and surprise yourselves too!

Happy New year!

Strictly not just music!

He looked us closely in the eyes, then tuned his harmonium, then looked again at us after adjusting his dhothi and glasses. This time a quizzical look. Then wiped the beads of sweat on his forehead and folded the handkerchief very very neatly to have it fall back in  crease and then said , “Sing after me…Sa….pa …Sa…pa…sa…”. He was the new music master. Character-spotting is a favorite pastime of all who regard themselves intelligent. Popular myth has it that you can tell someone’s ‘true character’ from the way they dress, how they shake hands or how they react to crisis. No matter how innocuous the mannerism, there will be someone who professes to see the course of another’s life in it, from the way they fold their handkerchief! Well this wisdom and alike has only crept in now in my post 30. It was bull’s eye when after the first class the 4 of us crowded outside, in my portico to ‘discuss and analyse’ our music master. “He is very strict. Did you see the way he folded his handkerchief!” Ha ha! The best part is, the confidence with which these rules are asserted is usually hopelessly misplaced, and the thought that familiarity with them constitutes the wisdom of age is quite laughable. By the way we were 8 years old at that time!!

He came home in a cycle and I can vividly remember that each of us took turns to take the harmonium from his cycle basket and we of course felt knighted doing that. After a few varnams and kritis, was a coffee break and my mom would religiously bring her strong narasus filter coffee in a stainless steel tumbler and davara for him. Now this break was good and bad-good because it smelt of narasus for the next 45 minutes  as we sang and bad because. as he drank his coffee, my mom would do her complaining about how much she was after me to practice the latest kriti and how I had gone off to play badi or basketball or watch Wimbledon at home(all three were blasphemy for the ladies at home!). Not sure how many households had this take that sports is a bad idea and they were bearing with us and our interests. Of course, at home appa was an exception as he too got accused for encouraging me. At the end of the coffee break, the master will look at my friends and me and say that practice makes perfection and statements alike which at that time was GIGO(garbage in garbage out)!

He would passionately explain the Telugu kritis with meaning and it sometimes was more of a literature class than a music class. I loved those parts especially the Thiagarajar kritis about Lord Rama.  One striking feature that I realize was the cause for all the complaints was we lacked the bhava in alapanai. The emotions were lost, perhaps, a corollary to young age and I hate to admit that it was also a lack of many hours of practice that we failed to put in. Our teacher was anything but strict. He patiently taught and re-taught till we grew confident of it. He would smile when we slipped a thalam or didn’t sync the shruthi or even misplaced a swara position. 12 long years and today as I look back the mistakes we committed were big and absurd.Yet the man just persevered. There was a time when my brother called me a “Varsha Varnam” as he heard me  sing a varnam for a whole year! He would also make fun of my Navarathri spree by saying “Show time”!!

Whatever we seemed to lack or we learned, as I sit down at katcheris today I confidently shoot the raga(sometimes I do get it wrong!), hum along, snap the thala right and enjoy the song. It drowns me, engages me, captivates me and also makes me marvel at the so many different ways of singing the raga. Beyond this line, lies the innovation of the artist. In Carnatic music, like in any other art form, ‘deliberate art’ takes you a few yards but ‘non-deliberate’ art spins you into a space of greater imagination where the thala, raga and the bhava come alive very differently. The technical prowess will only  run you through the various aspects of this music correctly,  the beauty and the artist's identity in the piece happens at a much higher level of understanding of the raga and innovating the new ways, within the boundaries of the raga.That’s what tells the difference between a ‘good listener’ and a talented artist.

I am happy knowing this and often thank god for my great master who taught me more than just music by just being who he was- passionate, determined,  tolerant,  and definitely not strict!!

Whats in it that colors ME?

Some things in life don’t require tutoring. Just don’t need it!!Learning is steered by mere passion. Learning how to flaunt.Mehendi. Wave your hand, lift more things around, adjust your finger rings, slide your bangles many times and ah there my brother would ask,”Hey lovely colour! Its beautiful.” A moment of ecstasy it sure is! The efforts have paid off afterall!

Back in my mother’s place is the bushy Mehendi tree that stands for the last 15 years. When I go there even today, after the first round of catching up with people at home, I sling a plastic cover in my wrist and start the process of furiously plucking the leaves. They are tiny but even as you pluck our senses are stirred by the  aroma of mehendi that fills the air there around you. But wait are my senses right? Did I prick my finger now as I smelt the amazing leaves all at once. Life’s most beautiful things don’t come on a platter. Yes, the mehendi tree has thorns and very sharp ones at that.  It’s the tree’s natural adaptation to defend itself . My grandmom often prompted us to sing to the  tree but I have never tried it lest the neighbors think I am a lunatic or the tree simple listens and starts withering ! So perhaps my mehendi tree knows today and says ”Welcome back” or at least I like to believe so!

Every household there would most certainly have a mortar and pestle. The next job in the assembly line, in my making of the mehendi is the crushing. While I start my process, our household help shoves pieces of areca nuts and a small scoop of slaked lime to it. The tropical nuts when crushed secrete a red color liquid and the slaked lime cements the whole pulp well. While I sweat and puff in the process of grinding the pulp, my grandmom has to brag” You know when your dad was small I used to make our regular chutneys also on that. Your dad knew the difference between machine ground and mortar ground and he liked it made on that”. At this point, I am not sure whether she is bragging about her son’s gluttony or her muscle power in using the mortar. Either way, I smiled as that was the safest thing to do! Bragging seems to be a family trait!;)

Now the pulp sits resting, while I am catching up with my friends. An occasional peep gives me satisfaction that it’s all happening. The chemicals are mixing slowly.  Chemistry emerging! Patience has never been my cup of tea and so my mind keeps rushing back to the pulp that’s having its electrons moving between.. A sweltering hot day passes and as I sit out to feel the Madurai late evening breeze, I have mixed feelings. There’s something about this wait that brings to me the flavor of many things together. For one, like so many girls there is nostalgia tied with the act of mehendi from childhood. Something on the lines of why we like music. The abstract sounds may resemble the cadences of our mother’s voice that we remember from infancy.  Just plain patterns that you attribute to the psychology of happy things that was emerging. As we grew up.

And so after an early dinner the act of pasting it to my fingers happens with a whole load of family stories my mom has been waiting to tell me. Some of which is over head transmission and most of which comes with “Are u listening?” tag. Her way of making sure I have assimilated the NEWS while my eyes feast at the light orange color that the fingers have already assimilated.

As I wash my hands in the garden tap(strictly ordered as I will mess the white sinks at home!) next morning , the sun is shining brightly on my palm. The very deep red shines and I recall the umpteen times the old ladies at home say that the temperature of the body had a direct bearing on the shade of red that one got. The biological body temperature took the various components of the mehendi…something like paper chromatography I thought was what was emerging.

As all at home crowd to tell me its beautiful, I realize I have grown up in a lot of ways. From childlike wonder to bragging to physical beauty to thinking what’s emerging from this wonderful act of adorning mehendi today as I stand in the garden there thinking. In the final reckoning there may be no such thing as a truly emergent property, one that can be read off from its components. The color, the cooling , the joy, the happiness, the wonder  -It’s a quality we attribute merely to phenomena, the experience and the positive changes it brings within. Mixed in a single bag -ME. Let me leave the rest of what emerges to your free will!

I rush in to wear my glass bangles in my favorite shade of magenta. It sets off my deep red palm well. There is an undefined happiness in the air that lulls the soul by going through the act of adorning mehendi!Its worth all the plucking, grinding, waiting and thinking ! Try it people…today!

A brief peep into my appa experience!

“Appa how long does this fridge repair take to finish?” I would ask every 15 minutes as a 6 year old growing impatient. With his dexterous hands, he would forever open gadgets and rip them apart at home whether or not they required attention. If you watch him a little longer, then you will be given a detailed account of all the science behind how a refrigerator or an exhaust fan or a geyser or a  bread toaster works. Sigh!  All I watched was, the passion for mechanics that glowed in his eyes as he tirelessly explained. My brother normally mysteriously escaped these sessions !

No one at home could be upset about anything. They were 'fixed'  with his articulate words. He had a tone and voice that was certainly a balm and sometimes one wondered where all that wisdom came. Very often there is only a stream of questions to think about. At the end of it one is probably driven to think that the problem didn’t exist in the first place. Now wait did I see the peepal tree and the halo! May be I did!  I can’t remember as I was drowned in the magic of words that were vapid but bore into the problems and straightened it from the root like ripping the aircon to the last screw.

‘Change’ has never been a comfortable concept to cope with though in my post 30, I am learning the ropes better. It was a bright Saturday evening in Madurai when appa came in with his new pair of glasses for long sightedness. They had gold rim and probably made appa look handsome as ever. The mother, the wife and the son were utterly thrilled and they crowded around the mirror behind him to reassure him as he adjusted his glasses. After a long drawn session of exchanges he turned around and asked me pointedly what I thought of his glasses. My language skills must have been pretty bad or my reflection was bad. Either way I just said ,”Its different and I don’t like that”. In spite of the serious language issues there he smiled a knowing smile. We often grow up knowing and accepting people we love for what they have been and the change even if it was ephemeral did upset an internal balance.

Growing up under his strict disciplining was not easy. We have had the most fierce fights. Logic used to help a bit with him and if u had a point you just had to establish your point with enough reason. Why Cho should not have said what he did in the interview, why the Hindu should always be read first by him at home(this never had an explanation if I can remember though it came up for arguments an umpteen times!), why the Congress is the best party, why I MUST wear a bindi at all times of the day, why everyone should be up by 5:30 am at home, about the local municipality who didn’t do much about the drainage system in our locality, about woman’s liberation and the reservation bill and why I mustn’t stop him anywhere in the city to take a lift back home! Well for those of you who didn’t know my dad our fights and their reasons will tell you enough about him and me. Well all this with an amazing sense of humor was not a bad reason to pick up an argument with him just for the sake of it. And so I always did and today I’m glad I did for all the spirits it brought alive in me. Ah before I forget I was strictly banned from climbing the neighbor’s tree and the argument we had actually had the neighbors come home to say that it was perfectly alright that I climbed their  trees. That’s the decibal levels at home you see!

Deepavali had him sport a white dhothi and a white shirt as early as 3:30am. The entire household except me fell in line with this requirement.  Well there are a couple of things the daughters of every household would most definitely be proud of. It was a special concession and a great feeling –not so much the late bath! It was like getting past layers of government procedures in a government office because you have bribed people enough already!

As I recall a minuscule of what I shared with him, I realize there will always be a huge part of him in me forever. No matter how many years I live, like all daughters will look back and recap those priceless moments with their dads, I always stop to think what he might have said today about the Wikileaks, or what he might have thought of a handphone or the idea of people bungy jumping. Its in these moments that we pay tribute to our parents and may be that’s why people say that they live among us!!