Shouldn't come as a shocker that day 1 arrived too early for me. Bleary eyed and discombobulated I got up and bogarted the shower using up as much hot water as I could without tapping it out. I realized that for all the packing which I had done (basically meaning hardly any at all) I had to also steal half of my mothers shower paraphernalia. She's one of those holistic, Ayurvedic, tree-huggers so everything she owns is extracted from the bark of a yem tree. Okay I'm exaggerating but seriously I just wanted some Body and Bath stuff.
I had planned to go to the hall by 10am but Big Bro told me that I was judging the Bhajan Group 3 so I had to get there by 9:30 and since there was a java run to be made, time was not my friend. As I rushed around swiping eyeliner onto my tired lids, rifling through the suitcase to find the bag that housed the jewelry and slipping bangles into my wrists I contemplated the pretty high heels that I had brought to wear. A vision of throbbing feet with a poor me hobbling around flashed through my minds eye and I cringed. Grabbing the heels anyhow I basically swallowed a sandwich Ammu had made for breakfast and was ready to take off. I came to a skidding halt when I stared at those darned heels again, my feet rebelling but my style sense screaming in horror at what I was alternately contemplating, which was to wear my flat black comfy slip-on shoes from Easy Spirit.
As I muzzled my female outrage, my mother actually gaped in horror as I slipped my feet into the shoes and said in a gasp "you can not wear those!"
I looked at her and said with a sigh and roll of the eyes, "I'll be on my feet for the next 14 hours, if someone gets upset about these shoes, they can just get over it." She protested again sounding almost desperate, wanting me to change even assuring me that she would bring a pair of more flattering yet comfortable shoes for me when she arrived later but I assured her that it would not alter the fact that I was still going to use the ugly pair I was just then fashioning. I think for a moment she wanted to tackle me, possibly forcing me into changing footwear but I slipped out with a wave before I found myself on the ground.
Unfortunately the Starbucks run was not meant to be once I settled into the car and glanced at the clock. Crap, 20 minutes to get to the hall which included the long hike from the parking lot to the building. I felt bad for anyone who would come face-to-face with me until I had some hot java poured down my gullet but oh well...
So for those who have been coming to the event for the last few years you know that this part of the campus is as familiar to you as your own home. There's a feeling of familiarity which is uncanny and for 2 days it is, in fac, home to us. As I slugged to the hall shivering in my coat I thought with a sort of resignation that this was just the first of several long walks I'd take throughout the next 48 hours. I thanked my better sense, ignoring my protesting sense of style, for wearing those hideous ugly black clogs that totally clashed with my white and grey blue salwar as I comfortably reached the hall and made my entrance.
The food stall had already been set up and the smell of coffee was wafting about teasing me yet there was no rest for the weary as dad swooped down on me in the lobby as I was saying hi to a few old acquaintances. He instructed that I was to go inside and prepare for Category 1...Bhajans. *Sigh* And so it started.
It's almost like time stands still...morning mushes into afternoon, afternoon bleeding into evening and evening stretching into night. Music is playing in the background constantly, sometimes faint sometimes demanding attention, the spicy smell of Indian food envelops the lobby calling to those who do not want to make the 20 minute drive to the nearest eatery to pick up something to munch and the low murmur of those milling around. There are cries of happiness upon seeing a familiar face missed over the year, laughter bursting from different groups of folks and pictures being taken here, there and everywhere.
Frankly I think music is such that the atmosphere must be congenial, it demands it with a cheerful growl. The appreciation of music is binding and for the most part those there have it. Sure not everyone likes the same things, some prefer the tabla over the bharatnatyam category, north classical may be chosen over sitar, sitar over ghazals but regardless of your taste, you can sit and appreciate the time and effort the person on the stage most likely put into the art form they decided to take up.
The lovely couple whose house I go to in order to take my own classes every Tuesday night was there as well sitting only three rows from the front close to the left aisle. They smile at me as I approach them, each giving me a warm hug as if they hadn't seen me for months as opposed to days. I gave them murmured words of encouragement and they smiled slightly nervously. They are probably in their 70's at this point and didn't start their music classes until about 20 years ago. 20 years though, is a long time when you think about it in the grand scheme of things but not when learning is involved. And if you ask either of them, they will tell you they did not make any improvements in their individual concentrations. I would disagree. They most certainly could not be categorized as amazing nor even all that good but the fact is they had passion and sincerity. Had they improved? Yes, most assuredly. One evening several months ago after class as I sat talking to Aunty (as you all know every individual older then yourself is either called Aunty or Uncle regardless of whether they were related to you or not) while packing up and my dad was busy busy messing around with his phone as he is want to do, I had emmited a sound of frustration making a face and saying that learning classical vocal was no joke...
Wait, wait...let me back peddle for a second. Remember how I mentioned that I had never really picked up one "talent" that I could master? That, unlike Big Bro, I was wandering in the mist of music trying to discover what I could find my passion in, what would bring out the desire to learn? Well yea so a few years ago, approximately 3, I had a sort of epiphany during one quiet winter night just prior to dad's birthday. I was wondering what I could give him that would be special and it struck me. The next time I saw him, I eagerly told him about my interest in learning north classical vocal. Whether I inherited any talent from my family, one thing was and is for sure, my father had/has never been happier with me because now when someone asks him 'what does your daughter learn?' he can say with a wide toothy grin and pride, 'classical vocal!'. *preens*
So anyhow back to Aunty and me as I'm moaning about how after every class I feel inadequate when realizing how much I had to learn, to improve. My dad throws me a stern look over top his glasses that were perched at the end of his nose (with a small smile playing around his lips), shaking his head at me in this 'no' gesture and saying "how will you improve if you don't practice?" Good point dad, I think, as I resist the urge to heave a sigh. It's not like I didn't know this but life was/is busy. Where does anyone have one hour to...okay I'm making excuses. Everyone has that time, I'm just always fighting a losing battle with laziness. Laziness wins. Aunty though is meticulously putting way the harmonium and straightening the tabla, her hands graceful but slow and as she does so she says to me in an almost wistful soft voice "we started to learn music when we were so much older, once we could focus and our children no longer demanded our attention, our grandchildren were born...and we probably still are not very good but we find devotion and love in this, we just love it. It is the one thing we will do till we die." Then she looks at me and softly says "you are so lucky because you are young and have a lot of time to embrace this, be thankful that you can and for your father and your background." Another good point, no?
Yes, I suppose I am thankful and as I sat there in the competition hall watching a little girl holding up her sitar which was twice the size of her small body, I thought to myself that if she has that sort of dedication to learn, that sort of devotion to be able to master her art, why not me? I admired her.
Taking several pictures of her slight frame and then moved on to capture other images.
I spotted one young lady who I remembered came to the competition first when she was 5 years old, now she was 17 and had brought with her a few younger girls who at least appeared as if they were about to compete. Another little boy sat with his fatherm one of his tabla's clutched in his small arms, he couldn't have been more then 7...in the far corner sat a kid in his teens looking bored while he sported earphones, head bobbing in time to the beat of whatever he was listening to while ignoring everyone. I spotted a woman dressed up to the nines flashing blingy earrings her friend/acquaintance while animatedly explaining where she purchased them from, most likely. To my right was the table where those who manned the ticket booth sat looking slightly zoned out because there was a lull in the afternoon therefore they could catch a moment of quiet and to my left a gentleman was lounging against the brick wall waiting for people to come purchase his CD's...
Clomping into the auditorium with my comfy yet ugly shoes, the Bharatnatyam category was starting and one could hear the jingle of bells everywhere. The first young girl from category 1 stood slightly off-stage with her back straight, legs rigid and a giant smile plastered upon her lovely make-up-ed face and hands pressed together in the eternal sigh of 'namaste'. The music cue was given and she proceeded to take the first step with self-assurance and ease. I clicked several pictures of her, the swiftness of movement caught in pixels. Quickly I checked to make sure the picture captured the moment as I wanted it to and smiled. I couldn't help it, it was perfect, not the picture but her. I admired her. I headed backstage and spotted the announcers sitting together, all young and sweet, every one of them giving me wide grins and asking me how I was...kids I've seen for years now who were as familiar to me as my own family because...well they were my family, my musical family. As I stood exchanging a few words, a joke or two, my father walked past and stretching out his arms he did a silly little hip shake (for my desi friends, think "thumka") that made everyone laugh/giggle although quietly. I grinned too and embraced him astounded that the man had so much energy at his age when all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and snore till someone complained about the sound.
Moving into the changing rooms in the back, I saw visions and specters of my past there. These were of friends practicing for their own performances who were now living thousands (some only mere hundreds) of miles away engrossed in their individual lives. I smiled at recollections of jokes being shared, of tears being wiped away after a particularly bad (in their minds) performance or holding nervous cold hands just before going out on to the stage. How many hours had we spent there, year upon year? How many jokes still lingered in the air? How much laughter had that space witnessed as well as sadness, despair, joy, love...all the emotions that could be felt? We had grown up there, my friends and I and even though they were no longer around physically...I could not help but feel as if they were there in spirit. My heart squeezed for a second as I sighed. I missed all of them so much, the group we once were, the faces that everyone knew as well as adored, those who were at one point inseparable yet now...separated.
At that moment an uncle was accompanying a tabla player on harmonium. Uncle saw me, smiled kindly and went back to meticulously keeping the harmony going without missing a beat for the competitor who would be taking stage within a few short hours. Taking one or two snaps I let them be, heading back to the main hall. I waved at the MC's again, thinking for a split second that these were the next generation of kids who were even then creating endless memories. Lucky them : )
Regardless of the comfy shoes I had been going between answering questions of guests as well as other minor details that often cropped up all morning therefore was a bit tired (not to mention the severe lack of sleep). So I chose a seat in the middle of the hall where the view was the best for picture taking and sat with a slight groan. On occasion someone called out to me or waved, I responded in kind. My eyes traveled to the front where one good friend was singularly manning the sound system looking bizarrely chipper and smiling at his phone while Jim Uncle (my brothers first teacher ever and a friend who has been acquainted to our family since my dad first landed in the USA as well as a pretty amazing tabla player) was reading a book waiting for the judges scores.
Big Bro was strolling by with a shawl wrapped around his neck in a weird way (which is in fact his way) talking with a buddy of his. They were both grinning over something. I was glad I wasn't apart of it because knowing them, it was likely off-color. On the other side of the auditorium I saw my friend R gliding up the aisle with a big beautiful smile on her face as she greeted someone who had just arrived, her sari still sparkling in the dimness of the light. My two cousins also had entered and were searching for something as their eyes scanned the crowd. Turns out that something ended up being me as they waved me over. Giving them the international signal for 'one moment' I focused back onto the stage and took several more pictures, then went to join them.
I guess between the picture taking and myriad of other tasks, the time slipped by. It was exciting to discover that we were ahead of time therefore had the opportunity to breath (something we would not be doing on Sunday). My cousin N and I were also slated to perform on Sunday therefore some practicing was in order for although she sounded like an angel, I closely resembled a bullfrog. My throat protested even the slightest "Sa" (I guess in the western scale it would be a "Do"?) and I appeased it by sipping hot tea. Our favorite tabla player and friend who would be accompanying us reassured that we would do fine even as N and I were freaking out royally. We were not prepared (but that's nothing new for us really) yet somehow we always managed to pull our performances off. A few practices later without even the slightest confidence that we wouldn't crash and burn, I picked up my camera again and headed for the tabla room.
For a few years we had been splitting up the categories...while one was happening in the main hall, another would be going simultaneously in another. This, unfortunately, was a necessity when the competitors were far too many and time far too short. Tabla was the category which got bumped so when I entered the 2nd hall I was surprised to see that there were a lot of people there and more so shocked at the little performer who sat with his big tabla taking center stage. He was astoundingly good and with my mouth dropped open I sat down in complete awe. He couldn't have been more then 6 or may be 7 but his speed and confidence was ridiculous. This kid was on fire! I stole a glance at the crowd and sure enough the look of astonishment were on nearly everyone's face.
A friend, who had competed in the past on countless occasions and had accompanied thousands (if one took into account the years in which he attended) of competitors, was judging. Our eyes met and there was a definite 'what the eff' look exchanged...again, I admired this little dude (not my friend, the kid) who had such amazing talent, passion, drive that he, at the same age where I was running around playing with Star Wars figures and skipping rope, could give even seasoned professionals a run for their money. BTW, later his sister, may be a slight bit younger then him, sang north classical vocal and she too made me wonder 'vocal steroids?' Was thre even such a thing and where could I get me some? I mean what sort of cyborgs were these kids? Okay this is just jealousy speaking but seriously she was better at taans and sargams at the age of 5 then I was at the age of 39.
To the intense joy (and definite shock) of the organizers, we were done that day by 10pm. Only those who in the past had been there till 1am could appreciate this fact and as I was finishing up some things, a few close people keeping me company, I was bombarded with questions as to what was going to happen that night, where would we go to hang? It was tradition and god forbid exhaustion should replace tradition. I don't know why it often fell to me to make the plans but that's the story of my life. We ended up home for dinner then I shoo'ed everyone off to my poor cousins house for an 'after party'. About 15 of us decended upon the poor OCD ridden cousin who smiled and welcomed everyone into her home. Thankfully her mother and father were in Bdesh which meant the house was ours. You know that saying, what happens in Vegas...? Well...there you go. Those who have been apart of these after parties in the past will be smiling and nodding and thanking the lord that I have no interest in sharing information more then the fact that it was great chilling with buddies, laughing and yes, indulging in an impromptu round of Antakshiri. Hey, we're all musical...we love to sing...sue us *shrugs*.
I got to bed at 3:30am, exhausted and wiped out but thinking to myself...bring on the next and final day.
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