The Spirit of Music

The Spirit of Music

        I was ten years old when my mother enforced me to join Carnatic music classes in my hometown Turuvekere. My teacher Mr.Guru might have been 60 years, tall, fair, bald and grim. Students had never seen him smile. I suspected that the daily dose of cacophony of students lead to those permanent creases on his broad forehead! He would hit the child on her head with the wooden board of the harmonium, if she missed a tune. My elder sister Smitha was almost a year into music classes and thoroughly disliked him too. He was often invited to perform in the nearby villages and such days would be holidays for our classes. Smitha had this theory that if we hold the music book in left hand and walked to the class, it would be a holiday. The trick seldom worked. Day after day, we walked warily and unwillingly to the class. Sometimes we went late deliberately to exempt ourselves from singing the preliminary exercises taught to junior students. Once we finished our exercises we would lie that we had to study for exams and whether we could go.

“Buzz off”, he would utter with disgust and ridicule.

      It was my grandmother to blame for this music mania of my mother. My grandmother had brainwashed that girls should learn music so that they can get selected by a suitable groom by singing a good song in the bride selection test. My father was totally disagreed. He would say, “My daughters will not sing songs to get selected by the groom. They will select a suitable groom based on his virtue.”My father detested Mr. Guru too.  He would mock my mother saying,“Mr.Guru thinks he is Thansen of Turuvekere. He is not interested to teach and the girls are not interested to learn. Yours is a futile exercise forcing these girls into music.”

         When my younger sister Akhila turned six, my mother admitted her to music class too. The only difference was that she was an earnest student and a melodious singer. Smitha and I thought that my mother was an anti-feminist making girls learn music. We were surprised when my younger brother Kumar turned six and he had to join Tabla classes because his tiny little hands could not reach the sides of Mridanga! The young Tabla teacher in his youth would pinch Kumar on his thighs. Seeing the bruises on his thighs we sisters protested that he should no longer continue the Tabla endeavour. In spite of the brutal punishment my mother said, “It is for his own good”. That day I realized my mother was not an anti-feminist but a Nazi. My mother had a club called “Matru Mandali”, a gang of Nazi mothers who learnt Soundarya Lahari from Mr. Guru.

        It had not rained in our region for nearly 5 years. Farmers were facing huge losses. My father had burnt his fingers too and resorted to Ragi that year. The draught struck village resorted to Mr.Guru to sing and make it rain. They planned a pooja in Mallaghatta a nearby dam which was the feeder for Turuvekere lake. On the big day, nearly 50 people started in a Bus from Turuvekere. We reached Mallaghatta dam and offered prayers at the Shiva temple. Women started cooking and children ran amok playing around the temple. After having lunch, the concert of Mr. Guru started. Initially we all sat in front of the stage and acted to listen with fervor. After a couple of songs, me and Smitha sneaked out and joined our gang of girls playing ‘Jootata’, a game where one player has to catch other players running. We were enjoying ourselves but there was no sign of rain. I went once in a while to my mother and asked what was happening. There were different people discussing about whether it would rain or not. My mother’s gang believed that Mr. Guru was a rainmaker and it would definitely rain. My father’s gang thought that those were tough times and music might not be the answer.

         After a few rounds of playing, I went to my mother again and enquired why it was not raining. “My dear, Mr. Guru is a distinguished singer. Have patience. Now raga Malahari is coming up. Let us wait”, my mother whispered with teary eyes.

         I looked at Mr. Guru. His face was calm and determined. He started with aalap of the song. If you are thinking that my heart melted and I sat there to listen to the entire song, you have mistaken me. I had unfinished business with my friends. I ran like a rabid dog to play. I went and announced to my friends that the rain maker tune was starting raga Malahari.

“Poor Appu. You are so gullible. They give big names like Malahari, Malaya Maruta etc.  We are in this scientific world and you should not get deceived by such cock and bull stories. Let’s play”, ridiculed Smitha.

       Even before she finished her sermon, all my friends around screamed with excitement. It was raining. No one was interested in playing anymore. We retreated to the temple with enthusiasm where Mr. Guru continued to sing. The rain was masking the tears rolling from his eyes. My mother’s gang was thrilled. My father’s gang was envious. They muttered that Mr.Guru got lucky as he had chosen a day with Ardra nakshatra which made rain happen. For the very first time I was proud of my teacher. I was astounded by his courage and expertise. My mother’s faith in her teacher touched my heart. I was ashamed of myself.

         In the pursuit of science, I severed my damaged relationship with music as well as Turuvekere and moved on with life. 3 decades later I came to know that Mallaghatta has received the support of river Hemavathi and my region is no longer longing for rain. The river has filled lives with prosperity and hope. Music is just like a river. Music fills life with hope, excitement and purpose. Music can put an end to sorrow and help endure testing times.  All my mother wanted was her children to taste the spirit of music. It took me a lifetime to understand my mother’s sentiment. That was when I forced my 12 year old son to join Keyboard classes!

       There are neither bad teachers nor bad parents, only bad circumstances.

********************************

Dr. Aparna Sreevatsa

Consultant Oncologist

Nanjappa Hospitals, Shimoga

Karnataka, India