Oh, oh. Did you guys know that some sort of nasty bug
is going around? Yup, so far two people
I know have come down with what I guess one could call a “summer flu”. Take care of yourselves and if you see
someone who seems to be sick, sequester them immediately.
Yesterday was music class. Have I mentioned before that I sing? Have I mentioned my family lineage in
connection to music? I know I have. So I’ll not waste characters on the page to
reiterate. It’s going onto 5 years
almost too since I took my first North Indian classical vocal class. One would think by now I would be somewhat
good at it but I’ll tell you here and now…not at all.
That’s not to say I’m bad. I can hold a tune, I’m not tone deaf and dogs
do not start to howl in the distance when I bust out into song (although I have
had smart butt friends who have imitated dogs, jackasses). That’s okay, I’m confident enough in knowing
that ears do not bleed upon listening to my caterwauling. If that happened, it is possible my father
would disown me. He’s a musician, you
see, and not just any normal one at that.
He’s an ‘Ustad’ of music which basically means the same as Guru and I
believe most of you have heard that terminology before. My grandfather (Ustad Kader Baksh) was also
well known and quite revered in India. I
can sort of imagine his spirit coming to haunt me while demanding to know how
it is that I have his blood line and not be able to carry a note, had I sucked. But I digress (oh shocker)…
I went to class feeling nervous,
as usual. There is such a thing as being
dedicated to one’s art. I admire hugely
those who are. I am not one of those
astounding human beings. I am…lazy. I’ve always been. I equate any success in past artistic
endeavors as either simple dumb luck or genes, both in equal parts to be
honest, lately though probably more of the genetic stuff than anything
else.
Let me sort of describe how one
of our (my cousin N takes lessons with me and at the same hour hence we are
sort of a duo, or at least morphed into one) classes go so you can get an idea
of my ‘dedication’:
We (N and I) call each other on
our way to class complaining about how we didn’t practice and that we will get annihilated
or in the least Dad will drop us as students and finally wash his hands of our
untalented asses. We would not blame him
in the least.
We hang up the phone hurriedly so
that we can spend the rest of the drive listening to the audio recording from the
prior week, manically trying to recall what the heck was learned. Keep in mind no two recordings are ever alike
because my father is alllllll about improvisation. Yes, he gives you one piece and by the next
week, surprise, surprise, it’s changed.
When you ask him about it, he says, “You should be flexible”. Ah, said with such ease, almost flippantly
while I’m thinking, “Um, no, because I suck hence litheness is not probable”. I do not tell him this, he may throw a hammer
at me although he won’t because he’s not violent like that but the look he
gives over his eyeglasses is about the same.
We get to class at one of his
other students home, a couple who have been kind enough to open their gorgeous palace
of a place to us silly giggling girls. If
we’re practicing for some upcoming program dad will go straight to that piece
otherwise we’ll practice the latest Raag (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raga)
that he’s decided to torture us with.
Keep in mind it may have been weeks, even months, since we’ve been
learning the same thing hence by then some of it should come naturally. This is not the case. With the first note, each of us required to
sing independently of the other, its complete and utter silence. If we manage to get a note out, or a few notes
strung together, it’s like another surprise package of amazement. It’s akin to climbing K2. Such fails otherwise.
And so he will sing the note and
we will repeat, on and on it goes, N and me taking turns, ending the class
feeling giddy because he didn’t actually drop kick us to the curb, which we
fully expect nearly every blasted week.
He takes his moment to look at us over those glasses perched at the end
of his nose, wag a finger at us, and say, “Girls, you need to practice…every
day…for at least an hour or more. You
cannot learn like this!” And every week
there is a renewed sense of energy. We
fall all over ourselves promising and swearing that by the next class we will
blow his mind. To date, we have not been
able to do anything of the sort.
I’ve already mentioned that I’m
lazy, hence whereas I could probably be much further along than I am, I am not,
and also that genetics has played a huge role in helping me out, the other
reason why our classes is such a clusterF is because I take it with my
bestie. N and I are cousins, on my dad’s
side, but we are total partners in crime and when you put two people who are as
close as us together for an hour…well insanity does tend to abound.
Not long ago, the Aunty who owns
the house we practice in was sitting and listening to us preparing for an
upcoming program. Something happened,
some note was sung way wrong which prompts N and I to burst out into
laughter. My father has often joined
(heck he’s the catalyst at times too) the joviality but he tries to rein us
in. This doesn’t always work, I do
admit. Regardless, during that
particular evening, by the time we left we were so not prepared for the
following week’s performance. Both N and
I had looks that closely resembled panicked hunted animals in our eyes. Aunty simply shook her head at us giving one
of those, ‘you girls are totally hopeless’ looks. She even muttered, “I don’t know how you will
be ready”. That made 4 of us.
Fast forward to a minute after
our rather successful song and aunty approaches us once more shaking her head
but smiling. She says (and an
appropriate amount of awe in her voice) something to the effect of, “it’s
amazing, I always think you two are never ready and what will you sing once you
get up onto the stage but somehow you manage to pull it off. How do you do it? Do you go home and practice like crazy?”
Oh but only if she knew. I looked at her deadpan and responded with
one word, “genetics”. Enough said.
Look, I know that lots of my dad’s
students struggle learning, I mean really struggle. Trying to master any craft is not easy and it
shouldn’t be otherwise everyone would be walking around with the same set of
skills and how flippin’ boring would that be?
But they don’t take their musical education for granted or their artistic
struggle. They for the most part put in
effort and time (not that I’m saying all of them do) and what comes out at the
other end is an advancement of the skill from scratch. This behavior is admirable, truly. Dedication is astounding to me. And maybe the reason I look at it that way is
because I also believe its bunk that just because I’m genetically inclined, I
can get away with not practicing and still come out sounding as if I had. Do I take advantage of this fact? HECK YES!
(I don’t actually believe I have a point in this whole paragraph, if you
find one, send it my way.)
 |
| In case you were wondering, this isn't me. I'm not this graceful nor awesome nor pretty. I stole this straight off the net and I own no rights to this pic. *shrugs* |
And this natural inclination
towards music has been around since childhood.
No matter what I picked up and tried to do, I did it well with very
little practicing involved. I learned
Kathak for 9 years and was good. Yes, I
admit that freely. I was damn good and
was even asked to perform a lot. And I
loved, loved, loved that medium of
dance. I adored all parts of it and
rarely came down with a bought of stage freight (now I quiver in my skivvies
each time I so much as contemplate a performance). Kathak and I were best friends but did I ever
strap on the bells to my feet and cause utter chaos in the basement of the
house while practicing? I can actually
recall twice and those two occasions were prompted by my mother who threatened
to tell my teacher I never ever practiced.
I think I may have sat on the floor with the bells in front of me
striking them repeatedly while reading a book.
Okay so maybe I actually never practiced.
Then there was the western
flute. Oh boy, if I could remember one
occasion in which I sat in my room practicing, I’d probably fall over in a dead
faint. IT NEVER HAPPENED. And yet with each practice/rehearsal/class I simply
got better than the time before until I was selected as 2nd flute 2nd
chair for the Junior Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. What the hell?? How can you explain that phenomenon if not
for genetics?
Yea, I so need to shape up,
really and truly. It’s not that I want
to be some amazing classical super star traveling the world, performing in
front of live audiences and recording.
My innate lazy nature wouldn’t stand for that anyhow. Really I have no such aspirations. I just want to make my dad proud. There are glimmers of moments when I hit the
right note and his eyes close and his brows scrunch and he emits a soft sound
of appreciation and to me that’s analogous to receiving a Grammy. And for that alone if I have to step it up,
actually bust out the harmonium to practice, then I will.
That was my lesson BTW, that I
need to learn true dedication and not take for granted or use as a crutch, the
genes that were passed down to me.
Oh, you also may be wondering:
she sings and observes fast? Isn’t that
sort of contradictory? Some in the
religion would agree, some would disagree, obviously knowing that I take class
and did not give it up during this month is a clear indication in which camp I
fall. If you think I’m a hypocrite, that’s
fine. I will do what I need to do, I ain’t
asking for you to support me.
Ramadan is nearing an end. The next few days will be interesting. Thursday is the Night of Power
(Laila-tul-Qadr) which will lead to a very busy weekend of preparing for the
holiday and spending tons of time with family and having fun. I don’t know what will happen with the
blog. I promise I will try my best to
update but honestly y’all can’t complain that I haven’t been doing a pretty
good job of late, that too for a person who has historically pulled a
disappearing act for months at a time.
Be prepared for shorter entries post Thursday. Just consider this a friendly warning.
With those excuses firmly in
place…Happy Ramadan-ing!!!!
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