The Elements In My Life

This morning, suddenly, sounds of the Shanti Paath (The Prayer Of Peace) flowed into my mind.  It is a prayer that I heard first when I was eight, and some essence of it has always remained with me.  "Peace to the sky and the ethereal space.  Peace to the earth.  Peace to the water.  Peace to the herbs and all that grows on the earth.  Peace to the Universe.."  And so on.

I began thinking of how I relate to the elements around me, beginning with the silent space that sometimes envelopes me (as I write this, my environment is filled with loud, grating construction sounds, but you know what I mean).  There is a space and a silence to which we can all retreat, even (and specially) in the midst of chaos and cacophony.

The silence is best interspersed with music.  The music I like most is the song of the birds and the chirp and hum of nocturnal insects and animals as they go about their lives, unknown to us.  Water, as it moves - humming, gushing, swishing and gurgling to itself.  And the breeze at night - I tell my son that it is Byngoma and Byangomi (the legendary, wise, human faced birds of Bengali fairy tales) coming to whisper their stories to us (if we will only listen).

There are many other forms of natural elements that I love-

The vastness and limitlessness of the sky that always amazes me and gives me a feeling of unfettered freedom.  My son looks up and points out the animals and birds that he sees in cloud form and imagines jumping from cloud to cloud.  I am just amazed at how different the sky looks at each moment and how empty yet full it is.

My son and I envy the effortless soaring of the birds and try to imagine the feeling of flight.  We rush out as evening falls to catch a glimpse of the orange-pink-gold streaks of fading sunlight and to watch the soundless flight of bats and the eventual emerging of the moon.

I relate to the earth in the form of my garden and all the plants that I can nurture, and many that step into my space uncalled- hardy weeds, of which dandelions are my favourite.  I love wood in many forms, but most of all in the form of ancient trees - filled with the wisdom of things beyond my world.  I listen to the creaking and rustling sounds they make when the wind blows through them, and try to imagine what they might be saying.

Though I am often wary of climbing, I am filled with awe at the sight of rocks and other natural earth forms - shapes melded and cooled to form irreproducible structures.  They emanate a certain resilience and stoic strength that seems oblivious to tremors that may occur beneath and around.  

I relate to water in many ways, but most of all when I am swimming!  Its immense, buoyant energy always beckons me and I like to surrender myself to its drift and flow along.  

I relate to fire mostly in my kitchen.  Steaming - simple and flavourful.  Sizzling - in seasoned pans with dramatic sounds.  Simmering - slow, delicate and aromatic.  Baking - soft, buttery batter set in the warmth of the oven to rise of its own accord.  Cooking fills my days with chemistry, craft and contentment.

I also love log fires, though there have only been a few occasions when I could sit next to one.  I still recall the glowering logs and the occasional shower of sparks they would send out; the comforting warmth that is of a very special nature, different from what modern heaters can provide.

I am delighted when I get unexpected guests in my garden - a slow hopping toad, perfectly camouflaged chameleons, a bunch of butterflies, a hornbill (yes! once!), a baby eagle learning to fly, a barn owl oblivious to the fact that we had no barn.  And I am thankful for my usual visitors, especially the bulbuls who sing so sweetly and effortlessly, the kites who are trusting enough to stop for a drink of water on my terrace, the hummingbirds, content with tiny water droplets that fall on my ginger lilies and feathers that seem to fall from the sky.

For these, and other gifts of the natural world, I am truly thankful.

Our Musical Journey

 On this occasion of Teacher's Day, I sit and recall some of the life changing teachers I have encountered, notably my Yoga teacher and my Music teacher.  In this blog, I will focus upon the musical journey that my son (Nayan) and I embarked upon that began a little over two years ago.

I never planned to learn music.  I had always hoped I might as a child, but there was no opportunity.  I was quite sure, however, that if my son showed the slightest inclination towards music, I would find a teacher to help him.  

When Nayan was about five years old, he attended an ‘Introduction To Music’ course conducted by the Bangalore School of Music, that taught children basic elements of Western classical music. He enjoyed the music immensely, but didn't like being part of a large group with lots of sound and movement that distracted him from the music.  I realised that group classes were not the way for him and a change would be required.

A few months before the course ended, Covid struck and everything was shut down. The music school had no plans of restarting anytime soon, and at this stage, my husband and I felt it would be nice if our son could be exposed to the richness and diversity of Indian music.  Thus began our search for a suitable teacher.

I searched for a couple of months, asking a lot of friends and calling several musicians and music schools, but nothing suitable worked out.

Then, unexpectedly, once when I called my sister-in-law, just to check how she was doing, at the end of the call, she said (as sometimes people say), "What else is happening?"  

What else?  In quarantine times, there was hardly any news.  So I said, "Nothing much.  I have been trying to find a music teacher for Nayan with little success so far."

"Let me send you some numbers," she said.  "Is piano and singing happy songs good for you?"  

I said, "Not really”.  It was not at all what I was looking for.  “I am searching for an Indian music teacher who can teach children.  Nayan is about six and a half now." 

"I have an old number," she said.  "I don't know if it still works.  Try it.”

I called the number.  Someone answered.  They said they would call back the next day.  I hung up with little hope.

The next day, the phone did ring.  It was the music teacher.  He was based in Delhi.  Online classes would not be a problem, but could he see my son first?  A ray of hope went through me.  He was the first teacher who had wanted to meet my son.   

We had our first video call.  My son was busy watching cartoons at the time and I didn't know if I could even get him to take the call.  But when he heard it was a music teacher, he jumped up and answered the call.  

"Soo- do you want to learn music?" the teacher asked.  "Ye-es!" yelled Nayan.  The teacher nodded, "Yes, I can make out from your face.  I think this will be a good thing.  So, when do you want to start?"  And that was that.  I tried to explain that I didn't want any pressure, just a relaxed class where Nayan could enjoy learning, but words were hard to come by, and I finally decided to let go and see how things emerged.

When the classes began, they flowed in a torrent and not the gentle drizzle I had expected.  At the end of the first class, Nayan had a list of songs that he was to watch online.  Before the class ended, the teacher asked me to sing.  Sing?  I was taken aback.  Surely it had been made clear the class was for my son, not for me?  

"You must be knowing the basic notes," he said.  “Everyone knows them.”  

"No," I replied.  I most certainly did not know the basic notes and I had no intention of singing in front of anyone.

"I am asking," he explained, "because it will help your son tremendously if you can support with him with some singing and if there is music in your house.  So please try."

Put like that, it was churlish to refuse.  I heard him singing.  I tried to imitate the sounds, feeling like a baby bird chirping for the first time.  "That's fine," he said, "Now your homework is..."

Thus began my music class, unintended, unasked for, but a gift for my son and more than ever, for me.  It has made a difference to the continuity of Nayan's music.  It has made a difference to my life.

We have barely begun but we seem to have been introduced to so much, so simply.  Soumitra Paul (aka Shomitro Sir) has a gift for teaching, especially children.  It is done rigorously but so gently and joyfully that children don't know how much they are absorbing.  

He is trained in Hindustani classical music- singing and the tabla (a percussion instrument).  Both areas meld together beautifully when he explains notes and rhythms, the teaching is highly personalised and spontaneous.  He is a professional table player and has played with many renowned musicians.  But teaching is his first choice.  

Each class brings something new and unexpected - new insights into previous learning combined with the introduction of a new raga or bol or song.  In fact, they are introduced at so rapid a pace sometimes that I struggle to keep up.  "Two hours, ten minutes of practice every day, Madam", he reminds me.  In my chaotic life strewn with unexpected events everyday, two hours (and ten minutes) are hard to come by.  I struggle and cannot manage but I am learning to stay relaxed even if I am not ready for the next class.  I sing for myself and am learning to enjoy every moment of it, steering away from judgement and doubt.

For Nayan, the routine is completely different.  "Fifteen minutes of whatever you want to play (or sing) is enough."  Nayan has become enthusiastic about the tabla.  "I didn't know I had a gift for the tabla.  But it's so simple and so enjoyable,"- he says with frankness and a disarming naïveté.  

We didn't know either that he had a gift for any form of music, we just sensed that he responded well to it, like so many children do.  We often wonder how our music teacher recognised Nayan’s gift so early on.  According to him, it was glaringly obvious.  But it was not obvious to anyone else.

Whenever we are in Delhi, Shomitro Sir makes it a point to come home every day to teach us music in person.  The classes extend forever, time is forgotten, or just held in abeyance for a while…. It’s a wonderful experience.

Teaching a child to sit and focus on music for close to an hour at a stretch is not easy (especially online).  But, music interspersed with conversation - not just talking to the child, but listening to him, makes all the difference.

"So, are you tired today?  How was school?" Shomitro Sir begins.

“I missed my football game because it was raining,” says Nayan, a bit put out. 

"Maybe we can play a football tukda on the tabla today.  Would you like to hear it?"  Nayan nods.  He is curious.  Soumitra Sir demostrates.  

"See, it is a spherical composition.  Did you understand?"  Nayan gives a thumbs up.  It is perfectly clear to him.  

"Did your mother understand?"  

“No”.  No I definitely did not understand how a composition can be spherical but it is perfectly clear to both of them.  In fact they have gone so far ahead musically that sometimes I can only sit back and marvel.  

"Would you like to play it?"  Nayan begins playing immediately, each note sharp and clear on the tabla as it is in his mind.  They continue in this manner, all fatigue forgotten.  

"Next time we will do a hockey tukda," announces Shomitro Sir.  

"Is there really such a thing as a hockey tukda?" I ask curiously.  

"Now there is," he grins.

"I have composed a tukda also," pipes up Nayan.  

"Let's hear it," says Shomitro Sir.  And effortlessly, the class has shifted from understanding and practicing to composing.  A subtle but noticeable shift.  Nayan's energy and excitement are high now.  The compositions are not random notes or lines picked up from different sources.  They are unique creations that follow the rigour and pattern of the rules of classical Indian music.

Nayan's composition to a beat of four

I am also encouraged to compose.  I don’t find it that simple or spontaneous.  However, in the midst of my practice sometimes, when my mind is still and receptive, a series of notes make themselves known.  It’s a very different experience for me, a bit like writing using notes instead of words.

We also learn folk songs and several songs composed by Rabindranath Tagore because of the haunting lyrics and melodies.  A song about inner longing on seeing the beauty of nature, a song about clouds shifting on a holiday and what the children could do amongst the fields, lakes and forests on such a day.  Ekla chalo re - if no one heeds your call, then walk alone- written by Tagore for Mahatma Gandhi during the freedom struggle.  Whimsical songs - admonishing a sulky cockatoo, songs to bulbuls and other birds (we love to sing this when bulbuls perch outside our window).  Miscellaneous tunes that we are attracted to.  “Okay,” says  Shomitro Sir, “We will learn them all.”

It is the ‘we’ instead of the ‘you’ that makes all the difference.  We are moving along this path together.  I find myself searching for songs I want to learn instead of waiting for instruction.  In this way I have heard an enormous range of music (at the cost of my two hours ten minutes of practice).  It has helped me pay attention to notes and lyrics.  We deconstruct each song, play it on the harmonium and then find our own way to sing it.

Shomitro Sir explains how he approaches each song.  “It’s not just about getting the right notes.  You must put your own inner feelings into it.  It's about sending a vibration,”  he says.  

Song for Nayan- link

Thus, I am introduced to the concept of the energy of music - something I had noticed but not really dwelt upon.  “Call upon each note as you would a friend.”  I realized that each note indeed had its own energy.  Rounding off notes, singing in between notes and interspersing music with moments of silence created different effects.  As I practiced this with some focus, I could sense the amazingly varied energy of music. It could calm me down and ease a lot of troubles away.  It could make my heart race with anticipation.  Sometimes it triggered my imagination.  It often helped me sleep better and if I awoke in the middle of the night, I would find notes playing on in my head, lulling me back to sleep.

Song for Sujata - link

In this manner, Nayan and I have embarked upon our musical journey.  It takes us to unknown places along unchartered terrain, but is always enjoyable.

Ginger Biscuits and Allspice Tea

 Today we are making allspice tea, with leaves from our garden.  Nayan has baked ginger biscuits, just perfect to dip into the tea, especially on a rainy day like today.  

We have just returned from a walk – an unplanned ramble on a rainy day.  There was no one else around – just us and trees bursting with birds – barbettes, humming birds, bulbuls and all kinds of tiny ones whose names we did not know, hopping from branch to branch, shaking themselves dry and singing away, unconcerned about us or the rain or anything else around them.  

Nayan and I sang the unforgettable children’s Bengali song “Bulbul pakhi moyna tiye” as the bulbul, moyna and tiye flew above and around us.  

Nayan took some pictures – the birds were too fast for him but the rain drenched plants stood patiently, waiting to be photographed.

It was like being in a treasure hunt.  We chose a path, looked around for the place that seemed to beckon us towards happy adventure, and then waited for wondrous things to reveal themselves.

“We can choose one of many paths,” I told Nayan.  “Each one is right for that moment.  And going along the path is the exciting bit because it can lead you to many treasures if you use your inner compass as a guide (Nayan has recently dismantled an old clock to try and convert it into a compass so he knows all about these things).  That warm, happy feeling means you are going in the right direction and good things will show up if you are ready for them.  The not so happy feeling means you need to change your direction a bit.  Even if you can’t see exactly where you are going, but if you like the way the flowers smell or the birdsong you hear or just the thought of what might lie beyond that little hill that is inviting you to climb it- that’s a path worth exploring.”

Today our path led us to the feel of the wind, the touch of the rain, the sound of the birds and then back to our garden where we encountered the allspice tree.

“How tall it has grown!  Not a berry in sight but so many leaves.  I wonder if we can use them for tea...”

“Yes, let’s!” said Nayan the intrepid adventurer.

But I needed to check with Google first.  Certainly, allspice leaves were used extensively in Caribbean cooking.  And they seemed to have all kinds of beneficial properties.

So, we made ourselves the perfect Sunday morning breakfast – poha (light, beaten rice) flavoured with curry leaves from our garden and fresh lemon juice from our lemon tree, allspice leaf tea and homemade ginger biscuits.  The tea was so incredibly delicious, I wondered why we had never made it earlier.  The tree has been standing outside, patiently, all these years, we just had to find our way to it.