Musical M(a)elodies!

I am rudely awakened from the sweet recesses of slumber, heart pounding, throat dry, wondering where the earthquake is. A few groggy, confused seconds later I realize that it is the neighbor’s new boom-box, brought out with much gusto for the New Year party. But the level of the thumping beat accompanied by the constant caterwauling of the self-proclaimed musician sends me scurrying for cover and for my ear plugs. I think what he lacks by way of tune is being compensated for by sheer volume which continues till the wee hours, rules be damned. And thus, the dawn of a New Year begins with a splitting head-ache for me!

While my claim to fame is definitely not a great musical ability, I enjoy good music as much as the next person. It is not my habit to make tall claims at being a connoisseur, since I tend to appreciate the lyrics more than the music. Therefore, my caveat: I like to listen to music in peace without self -proclaimed singers providing unnecessary accompaniment. And thus, a group of strange folk whom I call the “hummers” for want of a better word vex me no end. They are those wonderful folk who will keep mum in the absence of an audience or actual rendition but will immediately give tongue if there are sufficient people around or just HAVE to sing along if someone is performing really well, justifying themselves by calling the humming ‘spontaneous’.

The strange sounds which emanate from some such throats and which pass as “singing” leave me confused at the ease with which everyone and their aunt is claiming to be a critic these days. This belief is further strengthened by the number of invitations for ‘Facebook-Live’ music concerts which I receive on a daily basis. While these have done a great job in furthering budding musicians by providing a unique platform for everyone, danger lurks in the form of those with a dubious musical ability who unfortunately firmly believe in their own talents. I honestly believe that not only should Mark Zuckerberg take a bow here but should be specially honored for this great service rendered to mankind.

Schooled in a convent, I was taught the virtues of silence at a very early age. Back in the ’eighties, no-one gave a second thought to teachers not sparing the rod, and the mere sight of the raised eyebrows of the teacher made one literally swallow their words and their songs. The only music I was thus exposed to was choir-music, with its deceptively soothing cadence. Possessing a tape-recorder in those days was a thing of pride and while we did have one at home, our selection was limited to cassettes of a few well vetted film songs, bhav-geet, natya sangeet and P.L.Deshpande’s humor. My mother had tried to entice me into learning classical dance, an activity I so loathed, that it merely had the side effect of putting me off classical ANYTHING for the greater part of my childhood and teens. The music scenario at home remained limited to occasional warbling on our collective parts to the popular ditties of the day, some tuneless whistling (not at anyone in particular) and some God- awful screeching by a few family members who considered themselves Belgaum’s answer to Pt. Bhimsen Joshi of blessed memory. Thus, I grew up, a relatively ‘bereft of music’ kind of child.

Twenty odd years rolled by and not only did I happen to join a new family, but also a branch of medicine which (gasp) happened to deal with all aspects of sound, from its perception to production. And thus, I bid adieu to my old way of life of (relative) peace and quiet. It is great to listen to classical music at dawn they say, but for someone who is a notorious night-owl like yours truly, being startled in the wee hours by the strains of the sitar or shehnai or Anup Jalota (no offence to the great man) meant passing the day in a semi-dazed, sleep deprived state! This definitely was not my idea of ‘rise and shine’, more of ‘pull pillow over the head’.
While I totally agree that ‘Jyoti Kalash Chalke’, ‘Jaago Mohan Pyare’ and ‘Ghanyashyam Sundara Shreedhara’ are eternal morning songs, I am equally firm in my belief that their rendition is best left to the original playback singer, in this case the redoubtable Lata Mangeshkar. The easiest way to kill a morning in my humble opinion is for a self-proclaimed singer to go around trilling these songs driving the birds, butterflies, bees and family before them, shrieking for mercy.

Another of my pet peeves remains constant noise in an enclosed space, the sterling example of which, is a car. Give me Nilesh Misra’s storytelling, Suhana Safar with Anu Kapoor or even the news over constant twittering any day (nothing to do with the popular app). In the early part of the millennium, FM radio was neither as popular nor as widespread as it is now, and we carried music tapes with us on long drives thanks to the insistence of the spouse who apparently could not function without a constant background noise, making me want to leap out of the car and run over the hills and far away. Or at least chug enough intoxicants to put me out of commission for the duration of the journey. But since neither was possible, I meekly settled for stuffing my ears with cotton.
But, my tryst with music truly began with the arrival of the offspring. In constant quest of new ways to lull her into a soporific state, I quickly discovered that songs from the Golden Era of Hindi Film music did the trick where traditional lullabies from the throat of yours truly had had the effect of the neighbors coming a -calling to find out if someone had done something to the baby. Kishore Kumar, Mohammad Rafi, Hemant Kumar, Manna Dey, Mukesh, Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle all flitted through my home borne on their lilting voices and making me realize that if silence was golden, their ethereal voices were pure platinum. I even learnt a bit (a very tiny bit) of appreciation for the great classical singers like Pt. Bhimsen Joshi, Pt. Jasraj, Gangubai Hangal, MS Subbulakshmi, Kishori Amonkar and the like.

Now that the offspring has grown, the house on a good day resounds to a lot of different music, ranging from K-Pop, Ariana Grande, Arijit Singh, Shreya Ghoshal and the like. Personally, I don’t like to criticize her choice because I’m sure my choice in music (though somewhat limited and rather dubious) did not sit well with my mother back in the day either. But the venerable ones (read her grand-parents) are hard pressed to understand how apparent noise can pass for music and make no bones in stating their views in rather loud, opinionated and definitely unmusical voices. I am then the one who literally faces the music in my futile attempt to keep the peace.

But music is drowned in the clash of battle when the spouse is at home too, espousing (what else?) his cause for the betterment of music. His brands of music are rather eclectic, ranging far and wide from ABBA and the Beatles on the one hand to Bade Ghulam Ali Khan and Kesarbai Kerkar on the other with everything in between. When he is in a bit of a classical music mood, the offspring is in the mood to wail about “stop whatever music he is trying to play, I’m trying to STUDY”, totally forgetting that she was playing video games only a moment ago. Add the venerable ones and their warbling to this discordant symphony, (for they in the vein of almost all Indian parents just HAVE to side with their beloved son) and the only music you hear is the offspring retreating to her room with an almighty ‘bang’ of her door. Where there is music, there is disharmony, I muse with a sad shake of the head as I listen to the maid busy cutting her own album in the form of clanging utensils.

Where words fail, music speaks is what the wise say, but I have often been in unhappy situations where both words AND music have failed me simultaneously, especially when I am called to comment upon the performance of certain close relatives, whom I cannot afford to offend for it would be akin to disturbing the harmony of the universe! “Oh! My daughter is taking music lessons in middle age and sings so well”, declares a proud father. Well, while the feat is an achievement in itself, my difficulty arises when I am called to comment on her singing prowess which sounds like a cat whose tail has been at the receiving end of a size 10 shoe. But I can’t say this and coward that I am, merrily change my tune in a bid to ingratiate myself with the proud father.

But luckily for me, such disasters are few and far between. I am actually fortunate in the fact that I have a niece who is an award- winning singer par excellence, the offspring who at the end of the day is quite a credible percussion artist, as well as a couple of good friends who can render the most difficult of songs with deceptive ease even in the absence of a background score.

And it is this silver lining which makes me plod on my semi-musical path, facing the music and ignoring the discordant notes in the orchestra allowing music to free my soul from the dungeons of my mind!