The Distant Sound of Forgotten Music

It wasn't a tough decision to make. The reasoning was clear- if you were training for any classical form of dance, you'd opt for the Dance class in school; if you were uninterested in singing & music AND didn't know dance.. you'd select Indian music and make paper rockets(that don't fly) under the nose of Mr. Bardoliwalla for 1 hour, while he croons "Tu pyaar ka sagar hai" pensively playing his harmonium. There was a third option of Western music for ones who couldn't fit themselves in the above two categories. I remember ticking it after that little analysis.

We were a bunch of 30 who had taken the risk of facing Miss Herjibedeen's much-heard-about wrath. She was an old petite woman, very scrawny.. almost reedy in appearance. She had thin lips and her sagged cheeks would lift up radiantly when she smiled. She wore the most peculiar loose blouses over brown skirts..ancient stuff with lace, hook-pins,buckles and petal-shaped collars. Her fashion-sense was a major topic of discussion with the girls...some loved her antiquity, some criticised it. She, our Western music song-teacher, alongwith Mrs. Hufrish Bamji (who played the piano and so so beautifully) introduced us to music.

Anyway, so every year there'd be an interclass Western music competition, where each choir would present their songs and the judges would declare the winner. The songs, ofcourse, were chosen by Miss Herjibedeen...some old American folk songs like Old Black Joe, other old tracks like Land of Hope and Glory, Son of my Soul, True Love...sometimes even songs from classics like Fiddler on the Roof/My Fair Lady etc.

First we'd write the lyrics, while Miss H would articulately talk on its meaning and emotion, then we'd sit in groups and learn the words..whilst wasting a lot of the time alloted, because come'on who really "learns" the words of a song!
After which Mrs. Bamji would play the melody..and we'd fit the words into the music verse by verse. This trend continued for 4 years and we simply couldn't leave Western music..

Miss Herjibedeen was quite short-tempered, that we found out when we started getting better with our singing. She desired perfection..and at any cost. She'd wait with us after school-hours to practise for the competition. She'd make Mrs. Bamji play a verse 10 times till we got it right...and she'd stick her ear almost near to our lips to check if we were hitting the note correctly. "No No dearie....you are singing off-key. Hufrish play it again!" she'd say it in a rush.
Our early morning vocal exercises were the worst of the lot..we'd have to sing -la la le le loo loo loo( like Sa re ga ma pa) and Miss H would wack us on the bum if we screwed up! The Indian music people used to hide behind the door and snigger away...little rascals!

Anyway we got our popularity as well, the new play-shed always ringed with voices of the choir and often girls from other classes would sit and watch our rehersals, ofcourse savouring their short-breaks(which we missed almost everyday)
We didn't mind, you know. We loved our practise, especially towards the end when the entire crowd would applaud the choir and we'd take a bow...very pretty! :)

Miss H passed away 2 years after we left school. Mrs. Bamji left her job at school, she instead chose to teach piano at home. I think they were made one for the other..as Singer-Musician duo. I have seen very less of such unity and understanding.

Today, flipping through old photographs of the choir leaves me feeling creepy.. I mean what time was that! Was it the same lifetime as this one?

" Small faces. Wide eyes. Oval mouths. One girl with two ponytails on either side of her ears, was me"

:)

...

It was 28th July,2008 when she wrote me a long email about how horrible it was to return to an empty room everyday, and how she had grown fond of me in that short span. I think I did not even read the email carefully, because I was guilty to have left without even having met her for the last time. I had simply placed a letter and a gift on her bed, put my luggage in the car and drove off.

A month later she called me up to ask about how I was. I mumbled something and made sure that I ended the call in 10 minutes. It was the worst thing to do, but I had to do it for myself. I was not sure if I could talk to her just yet...the memories of that place were haunting me. It was only after 3 months that we interacted again. She'd always be "pleasantly shocked" to hear from me..and we'd spin a long conversation about college gossip, general stuff and updates about each other's lives. All okay..but I had to say a definite 'Sorry' and a 'Thank You' and I somehow always postponed it..but it never left my mind rather became a weird creepy feeling inside of me.

Today, I opened that email..the one written to me 6months back..and read it, fully. She had poured her heart out..almost narrated all occurences we had bonded over. It was too much to loose, I thought. I had to gather some courage and clear all the misunderstandings. I started a mail..and the typing speed increased as there was no 'thinking' for words..or framing the 'right' sentences..It was swimming in my heart for so many months, it better know how to shape up itself on paper..err computer!

I clicked on the send button and relaxed..Phew..cannot quite tell you how brilliant it felt! That last particle of 'badfeeling' disposed off. Strange bit about confessions is that after you're done with it, you don't care for the outcome. That relief is such a gift to the restless mind..

Just thought of recording this on the blog..it deserves a mention. Rohini Kamath deserves a mention! She replied in 5minutes sharp :)

Today

The sun was kind today, not too harsh. I stood near the barricade, gazing at the sea. It seemed in a very Sunday lunch'ey kinda mood as well...not its usual gust. It seemed rather silenced. Bejewelled actually, with it's skin shimmering with sunshine!

I was pleased that the wind wasn't messing with my hair...and the sunrays dropped gently on my shoulders. Who minds the winter sun? I smiled as I detected a heavy fog blurring my view...like all ambiguities, it seemed fascinating.

What a place this was! In the backdrop of the gurgling sound of the sea..and a long clean promenade with pretty flower baskets hanging from the barricade..clear view of the sky... a flawless picture that anyone would want to step into.

It is for times like these that you save your most interesting stories, isn't it?

Indian Children

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Permanence

There is family. I enjoy the permanence that comes alongwith set ties. Like one morning, someone cannot cease to be your sister or aunt, because they don't feel like. They may choose to not associate with you so much, but technically, legally they will still be cousin and aunt. I like that...