A Life Lived to the Hilt, A Music Played Well....

“Life is for the living.
Death is for the dead.
Let life be like music. 
And death a note unsaid.” 
― Langston Hughes, The Collected Poems

My life has been an ordinary tale, like that of many. Just like others, I too have had my share of joys and sorrows. Born to parents who loved me, in a household that was full of good food, love and music, there was not much I wished for. Happiness was something I lived with during much of my childhood. Yes, happiness - that fleeting thing that escapes your mind and heart as you grow up with an endless burden of desires and wishes. For a child, happiness is simple. For adults, it is everything other than that. As I sit back and reflect on the goodness that was bestowed upon me by my parents, I realize that one thing stands out - the love for music.

Some of you might have read my earlier posts where I have talked about my mom. Mothers are so special, aren't they? Whatever they do, they leave an indelible impression on our minds and hearts. They love you, scold you, inspire you, goad you. You might not feel like it some days, but she knows. And that's the reason she pushes you. Even when she is not doing that, her little actions impact your thinking.

My early childhood was a time when there was no cable TV, no internet, no computers. We had Doordarshan, and we had radio and we had those special family times when all of us would sit together and watch movies on weekends. Music came to us through special programs like 'Chitrahar' and through that small rectangular box which we called the radio. Mom had memorized most of Lata's sad melodies and Asha's peppy numbers. So, when I first heard songs, I heard them through her. She had a Master's degree in vocal music. It was something that had happened to her just by chance. She had loved music throughout her life but language and literature was another passion she held deep in her heart. As luck would have it, the government college in her home city Gurgaon, did not offer a Master's degree in English and she opted for music instead. Music, as she understood like most of us, was filmy songs. So, with a heart beating loudly and a mind listening to only romantic Bollywood numbers, she went to her first music class. Only she knew what a shock she was in for when she had to listen to alaaps and ragas. Instead of cool guitars, she saw herself holding a tanpura while besides her sat her teachers playing harmonium and tabla. It was sometime before she got into the depth of soulful music and then there was no turning back for her.

Listening to all these stories was something that always brought a smile on my face. Mom's eyes would beam with delight as she remembered her heydays. College gave her some beautiful memories in the songs she sang during Youth Festivals. She must have been a heart throb in her time, I must say. And although I was and still am a bad singer, I learnt to play Sitar, all owing to her encouragement. After school, I bade goodbye to my instrument which had given me lot of peace and satisfaction. (Ironically, I pursued not music but literature, something my mom had so wished to learn.) But that farewell to the instrument was not a farewell to music. I carried within me a streak of love for it which has remained like that even though it has been years since I last touched it.

As they say, 'the best legacy you can give your children is not for them but in them' (Deborah Roberts). The resonating musical atmosphere my mom provided was a gift that happened to land in my hands. My brush with Sitar, though for just about three years, sowed inside me a seed which would blossom much later when I became a mother. I had unknowingly nurtured that seed by listening to good music and by listening to my mom's words and songs. When I became a mom, even before my baby came in the world, I started singing songs for him. I was an avid reader and had read somewhere that music benefits the unborn one, so I would do just that. When my son came into the world, he would, unlike other kids, choose not peppy dance numbers but slow sentimental notes. This used to intrigue me. He gradually developed interest in other kinds too, and started showing affinity to what I personally felt was 'good' choice. He would not dance, but try to sing. One of his first favorites was Aaj Jaane ki Zid Na Karo... and ...Jaane Kya Chahe Mann Bawra. I would wonder whether he had inherited the genes from my mother, given the choice of his music.

As time passed, I bought a keyboard for him. I don't know much about music, but I could manage to play certain tunes by hearing them. So, I would select some songs, rhymes and tunes that my son liked and would play them out on the Casio. That amazed his little brain. What amazed me in turn was that he started picking the tunes I played for him. And he was just four at the time. That was the beginning of another love affair with music in our family. What started with my mom had navigated through the generations silently, unknowingly, and reached the heart of my son.

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The two of us, that's me and my son, spent many such moments together which gave us melodious joy. And slowly I realized that I needed to nourish my son's talent. Given my limited abilities, I could not give him enough room to fly. I had to find a teacher for him who would be formally able to polish his skills. As he turned seven, he went for his first formal music class. He has started learning piano, the king of instruments. The day he got his first lesson, I sat in the adjacent room, listening to the serene and uplifting notes the teacher played for him. It sounded divine, sublime. My own fingers twitched to touch the chords and my heart felt a strange titillation as I pictured my son playing the instrument one day with complete perfection. That day is far away, but who can stop me from dreaming...!

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As per the teacher's instructions, we had to buy a piano for him now. The search began and we went to a few homes and stores to search for a good quality piano that would be affordable and also play well. Our search took us to a home with three cats, and to a storage house with just some extra stuff. It is funny how music finds its way into unimaginable places. Our search ended in the storage house and we finally bought the piano. The night we finalized the piano was a beautiful night. Mesmerizing in a strangely tranquil way. The moon shone bright. It wasn't a full moon yet, but its brightness captivated me. It seemed to sing a music only I could hear. And I felt like a wanderer, chasing the placidity it seemed to offer. My heart hummed Moon River, making me feel like a 'drifter'. There was a lull, and in those few quiet moments, I wished for nothing. 

The piano came home. It is a huge, heavy instrument. Bringing it up the stairs was a daring task. The man from whom we bought it was a ridiculously funny man who claimed to be the 'strongest man in New Jersey'. In front of my own eyes, he managed to transfer the four hundred pound piano in his van! I could only say to my son - That's what you call a superhero! I was awed by his strength and wondered at that moment how reality offers some 'fantastico' moments - it was both a fabulous as well as an unbelievable spectacle.

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Music is an exceptionally unique sound, to put it in the simplest terms. It is a sound that produces harmony. It is a sound that helps a devotee connect to his God. It is a sound that resonates with profundity, bridging the chasm between mind and heart. It is melodious magic. Life itself is like music. We can play it well with our tears and our smiles, as long as we are willing to. Some notes may makes us cry, some notes may help us laugh. But together they are proof to a life lived to the hilt, to a music played well. 

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This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.