Let Us Sing a Story of Abiyoyo

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Once upon a time....How often have we heard these words, how often have we uttered them too. We grew up listening to stories. And when it was our turn to become narrators, these were the words with which we began our tales. Stories have been with us since the time we were born. Stories are fluid definitions of our consciousness. There is a story behind every single thing, living as well as non-living, real as well as imaginary. Stories have been part of different cultures around the world for ages. Be it the oral tradition in the form of folklore or the written word, these yarns have helped shape our minds. Our imagination has been fueled. Our worlds have been transformed. And we have traveled through time and space through the power of these narratives.

To tell a story to a child is perhaps the most fulfilling experience one can have. The wonder in a child's eye, the peaked up curiosity, the million questions that they ask, the titillating display of their giggles - all this adds to the delight of story-telling. Stories are also a medium to generate in the young minds a sense of inquiry. Understanding what constitutes good conduct is something that easily navigates to the child's mind with the help of a simple story. What is the best way out of a seemingly unconquerable hurdle is another thing that they learn through stories.

Stories fall in many genres. Folk-tales is one such genre. Specific to cultures, folk-tales have a characteristic way of putting on a performance of characters, real as well as make-believe. One would often notice a child asking, "Did giants really exist in the olden days, Mom?" Animals, monsters, giants, fairies, inanimate objects - they all have a fair share of role to play in folktales. These tales have no author. They have seeped down from one generation to another, by word of mouth. Often accompanied by peppy music instruments, like the banjo, folk tales have managed to entertain kids and adults alike. They always have a message to give.

The other day, my son told me an interesting tale he heard in his music class. It is the story of Abiyoyo, a South African folktale. After hearing the story from my son, I googled and found out the story. As  I read it myself, I was amazed as I realized that my son had managed to tell me each and every detail of the story. He had not missed anything. Was it just the plot that was catchy? No. It was the magic of music that they had played alongside the story. It was the rain-sticks that they had used to bring in some peppiness to the plot as they imagined the heavy footsteps of the approaching Abiyoyo. I could well imagine a whole bunch of lively kids feeding their imagination as they sang the story and played the musical instruments their teacher had provided them. Let me tell you in brief the story of Abiyoyo.

Once upon a time, there lived a man who used to practice magic tricks on everyone. He had a son who liked to play ukulele. The people in the town did not like the sound of the music instrument he played. They also did not like the little fun the father had at the expense of everyone. His simple magic tricks tricked everyone and one day, they all said that they had had enough of the tomfoolery. So, together, they drove the two out of town. The father and the son lived at the periphery, ostracized, and unloved. One day, there was a loud shaking of the ground. People screamed that Abiyoyo had come. The father told his son that if the monster would lie down on the ground, he would be able to make him disappear. The son asked his father to come along. They headed toward the monster while the people looked in shock at what the pair was up to. The boy started playing his ukulele. He sang: 



♪♪♪♪♪♪.... Abiyoyo ♪♪♪♪♪♪♪ Abiyoyo....♪♪♪♪♪

♪♪♪♪♪......Abiyoyo.....♪♪♪♪♪.....Aboyoyo....♪♪♪♪

Abiyoyo

The monster having never heard his name like that started dancing. The beat catch up and Abiyoyo tried to match the tempo of the music. In the haste, he fell down. As he stumbled, the father wasted no time to ''''zooop''''... perform his disappearing act. Abiyoyo was gone. And so was gone the indifference of the people around him. 

The story can be read in a variety of ways. It can be read as a celebration of the uniqueness of the father and the son, even though they are not loved and respected by the people at first. It can also be read as a triumph of one's belief in one's talent. It can be read as a tale of facing the fear in order to vanquish it. That is the beauty of a folk-tale. The giant may not exist as a physical being out there waiting to quash us. It is present in the many obstacles the society throws in front of us. It can also be our self-created notions of failure and lack of confidence. Abiyoyo helps us tell that it can all be done away with, only if we try. 

The fact that the story is accompanied with music adds to the over-all effect it has on the listeners. It makes room for engagement and participation. When the listener starts to participate in the process of story-telling, s/he is already living that story. And the way the story ends is bound to leave an indelible imprint on the mind. For a child, whose mind is like a blank slate, these imprints are crucial in that they will have long-lasting impact on his power of critical thinking. They will help him figure out things in his own life for a long time too.

Our bodies are made to react. Our minds are attuned to respond. We are responsive-reactive beings. Things and people around influence us. The way the influence works on us impacts our very being. The way we think, the way we feel, the way we act. This is all the more effective when it comes to young minds. So let us start the music. Let us sing a story today. Let us tell them of times gone by, and of times to come. Let us sing them songs of valor and victory, defeat and resilience, obstacles and persistence, fairies and demons, reality and imagination. Let them dance and sway. Let them enjoy as they learn to live well and live wisely.

I recently also read these folktales to my son. Do check these out. I am sure your kids and the child inside you, are all going to find amusement and delight in these narrative folk gems.

Mabela the Clever

Zomo the Rabbit

Tunjur, Tunjur, Tunjur

Indian Tales - A Barefoot Collection

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.

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.

Nanna's Corner

That shop had been empty for a long time. But somebody was coming in it now. Emma saw an old lady trying to fit the signboard which said " Nanna's Corner". Emma was curious but too shy to ask. She quietly went inside the music studio adjacent to the old lady's shop. Emma came here everyday to get piano lessons. There were two things Emma just loved more than anything else - music and chocolates.

Two days later, Emma saw the shop open. The lady stood outside with a tray in her hand inviting everyone to taste her chocolates. Children were rushing towards her, picking their chocolates and running away. Emma slowly walked toward the lady and picked up a heart-shaped chocolate.

"That one's my favorite too, honey", the lady said.

Emma looked into her eyes as she put the chocolate in her mouth.  One could immediately discern the sparkle in her eye as the sweet delight melted in her mouth. 

" Do you like it?", the lady asked.

  Emma nodded. 

" Call me Nanna. All little children call me Nanna. I hope to see you soon dearie." 

Nanna went inside and Emma walked back home. The sweetness of the chocolate was still lingering in her mouth and oh! how much she had loved it. She wanted to have some more but she just couldn't say it.

The piano lessons continued and Emma went with her usual routine everyday except for the few moments when she would gaze at 'Nanna's Corner' longingly. She just couldn't muster the courage to go inside and buy few of those divine delights. Nanna would notice it all, every single day from her shop and hoped that the little girl would come in. She did not want to  scare her away. She wanted her to come on her own and Nanna knew that she would come in one day.

A month passed by. As Emma approached her music studio, she saw that 'Nanna's Corner' was decorated with balloons. Nanna stood outside with a tray full of treats and with children full of smiles. Nanna saw Emma and called her. She told her that it was her granddaughter's birthday today and this was her way of celebrating it. Emma picked up the same heart-shaped chocolate she had picked last time and thanked Nanna. 

"How are the music lessons going?" asked Nanna. " Oh, just lovely. I am learning Beethoven. It is just great!" Emma could have gone on and on but just then some more children came and asked Nanna for chocolates. Emma then went to her class.

Next day, the door to Nanna's shop was open wide and one could hear the music that was playing inside. Emma was surprised because the piece that was being played was the one she was learning in her class. It was Beethoven's Ode to Joy. She knew at once that Nanna had put on the music for her. She felt happy, well, more than happy. She felt special. Without much ado, she entered the shop. Nanna was attending to one of her customers but the moment she saw Emma, she came and hugged her.

"So glad to see you, sweetheart. How are you doing?", greeted Nanna.

"Did you play the music for me?" Emma asked.

"Yes. Are you happy?"

"Very much, Nanna. Thank you."

She then looked around and saw a picture of Nanna hugging a girl who was Emma' age.

"That's my granddaughter Jude. She is just as lovely as you."

"My name is Emma," Emma said.

"Are we friends now Emma?" asked Nanna.

"Yes", said Emma.

Shyness is like a sunflower. It will open its petals only when the warmth of sunny smiles and kind hearts touch it. Emma's heart was touched by Nanna's gesture.That day was the beginning of a special friendship between Emma and Nanna. Not a single day would go by when the two did not meet. Nanna would tell stories about her own childhood and then she would often talk about her granddaughter whom she missed a lot. Emma would often think of Nanna as someone who always gave her so much love and so many chocolates. She wanted to do something special for her too. But she did not know what.

One day Emma came to the shop and saw a birthday card on Nanna's counter. It was from Nanna's granddaughter Jude. It was Nanna's birthday! Emma picked up the card and read it. She knew she should not do that but all she was thinking about was how to make it memorable for Nanna. The note on the card said that Jude missed Nanna terribly on her birthday and she remembered the times Nanna and she would sit together and listen to one of their favorite songs ' What a wonderful world'.  Emma saw Nanna coming and quickly put the card back on the table and ran outside. Nanna called out to her but she just disappeared. 

After her class, Emma asked Nanna to come in her music studio. As Nanna entered the studio, music started playing. It was the song Jude had mentioned in the card. Emma did not know how to render it on the piano so she had requested her teacher to play it for her. The teacher had agreed and the music went on much to Nanna's joy.

"Happy Birthday Nanna!" everyone in the music studio shouted. All the children came and hugged Nanna. There was such rapture in the air. 

" Oh Emma! How did you know?", Nanna could barely ask as her heart was so full of happiness. 

" I....I saw your card from Jude....and .....I am sorry....but I read it. I wanted to make you happy, Nanna. It is your day today", Emma confessed to Nanna.

Nanna took Emma in her arms and the two danced with joy. All the children joined in the rhapsody. It sure was a wonderful world.