If Music Be the Food of Life...

I was at the Taj Mahal Tea House for breakfast this time two years ago in Bombay. As a trained Hindustani classical musician, the faint snatches of Aarti Ankalikar's aalap reached my ears soon as I entered the eatery. I was floored already. From my vantage, I also spotted what was neatly labelled as Ustad Zakir Hussain's tabla.

Now anyone who knows Ustad saab's playing would know a pair would not even cut it. In a faintly populated 25-table restaurant with patrons ranging ages 25 to 50 years of age, I wondered how many people spotted this inadequacy, impeccably designed as the interiors are of the Bandra reclamation tea lounge.

One person on my table thought the restaurant wasn't even playing any music until well towards the end of his Spanish omelette. This sparked a series of questions in my head:

Does Indian classical music still wield a magical effect on the listener?
Is it still considered therapeutic?
Does it still inspire the individual to aspire for a higher plane of existence?
Or has it turned into something of an unwelcoming war-waging mechanism against masses, in that, assuming a rather in elitist reputation, almost bordering divisive?

Why does the millennial perceive classical music with either indifference or misplaced reverence rooted in the utter lack of evolution as in the case of my last Shanmukhananda Hall experience?



Is it so dryly cerebral that it lacks any visceral or emotional appeal?
Is it too lengthy for a 140-character Tweet or 25-second Vine generation?
Do the ancient lyrics rooted in historical regions hold little to no meaning for our Hinglish mores?
Is it so contrived that the mediocre struggle to copy the bourgeoisie in an attempt to conform?

What constitutes the modern experience of such a constantly evolving art form?
What would bring it back to the recreational space?
Is collaboration the answer?
Are educated listicles and infographics the solutions?

It is time for those who appreciate classical music (not just Hindustani or Carnatic, even Western) to humanise this otherwise unnatural entity called Hindustani classical music. To what end, you ask? To begin with, for anyone who would like a less uptight approach to raga, listener etiquette, appreciation and avenues, perhaps. In a time when we live by stories and content, classical music suddenly seems so prosaic in its approach.

Why isn't a bunch of 20-somethings sitting around a campfire exchanging notes on what their teacher taught them without any sense of superiority or inferiority? Music academicians would serve a greater purpose if they helped listeners appreciate Ananda Shankar, and then drew parallels and pointed out differences between the Sitar Rockstar hippie and his Rock & Roll brother. Hell, it could just be a podcast in which a popular but trained (whose ear is tuned) musician would play snatches of the age old signatures (s)he learned and then just rant about why something perceived to be so disciplined and cut and dried is really so fluid.

Many years ago, when I first began training in Hindustani Classical vocals with Sheela ma'am, to teach me sur and taal, she would often ask us to listen several times first and then try to reproduce.  I remember singing several raaga bandish repeatedly to not only remember the song, but also graduate to the nuances while listening to the self.

As Sheela ma'am would say, "Taansen बनने से पहले कानसेन बनिये!"

MAYhem

I've maintained even in a previous post, May is a shit month in India.That shit is quick to hit the ceiling - of course, before that, the temperatures soar - and then humidity takes over in preparation of the rains that hit Kerala and the North East by June 1.

My May may not have been a grand departure, but here's a little glimpse of the roller coaster!

So in April this year, my four-year-long chapter in Bombay finally came to an end.

I left two amazing flatmates and a crazy cat behind (who, incidentally seemed to be waiting for me to leave so she would grow significantly in a month!)...

And decided to take a little break before I started my spanking new life in the cliched Rape Capital of India, Gurugram (you can Anglicise the name anytime you like but you can't change Gudgawaan).

My first stop was going to be decidedly Pune, since that's where the boy and a couple of dear friends live. Having lived in Pune before my arrival in Bombay, this seemed like a fitting revisit.

Several evening walks around Koregaon Park's labyrinthine lanes and a lot of indoor time helped me muster some courage to stretch myself some more. I booked myself return train tickets to and from Hyderabad. 

Clearly it had been a very long time since my last visit (2012), because I'd forgotten what bitchass weather was awaiting me. Between the platform and my cab, I spent a baking 10 minutes out in the sun and simultaneously questioned my intelligence and cheered about being able to add a three-digit temperature filter on my Snapchat (for the uninitiated, I'm a big fan and post inanely via bombaychuddies on the ephemeral photo-blogging platform). I had also forgotten how well-versed the locals weren't anymore because Hyderabad was now like any other communally charged city in India. So despite a universal force tying us (a la Uber), I was still hitting my head against an invisible wall with the driver, who managed to arrive after I was legit Baked PUtato.

I did the mandatory trips to my alma mater, EFL University and met both, my prof, and my friend who teaches at the campus and is closing retirement.

Staying with Karthik (that's him in the next picture. I still can't stop laughing at the unintended photobomb) helped because we had some serious catching up to do! It was a strange yet intimate feeling of being with a friend again, who had anchored me. His parents were only warm and caring and adorable. And it tore me to leave. :(

But not before I did the things I had to and wanted to do! I met dear dear friend, photographer and chowkidaar of the online photojournalism magazine, Galli (go cheggit!).

And convinced him to stay on for a play that a bunch of kids from EFL performed in the evening. I had forgotten that this was Hyderabad and on-time meant at least an hour's delay. But the production was surprisingly well put together and the performances were riveting.

Given these are possibly the country's most progressive bunch of humanities post-grads in the making, of course the subject was as sensitive, and handled delicately.

Of course I had to have logistical debacles, but that's my general state of being and Karthik's folks and dog were generously forgiving!

I arrived (with the first sophisticated instalment of suitcases and half a dozen cartons a few days in) in the middle of Gurgaon's April summer onslaught. But Hyderabad had prepared me, or had it

Thankfully, I took a few days to acclimatise to the bhatthi weather again and then start work (by which time it began raining? And dust storms made sure if i was home alone in the evenings, I was positively terrorised).

Soon after was my first real initiation, though. I ended up crashing a pre-wedding party of a friend's friend at a club one night. And that's when I discovered there's a higher chance of encountering better male dancers in this city than women.

Orientation:: So day 2 in #Gurgaon was spent sleeping through the day and partying by night. I suspended my judgement of Bollywood music and decided to just have fun with a bunch of people I was meeting for the first time thanks to a close friend. Turned out it was a gathering for a groom-to-be and I was clearly crashing the party. These people were only welcoming, chivalrous and outstanding fun. Most importantly, this was just the #induction I needed to be ordained into this fearless yet cautious clan of #womenofgurgaon! #gurgaonparty #latergram #instaframe #bollymusic #welcomtogurugram

A post shared by PriyanCa (@bombaychuddies) on Apr 20, 2017 at 8:41pm PDT

And mother nature's bounty is infinite. I had found not only a flatmate, but also a kind, generous, thoughtful and intelligent companion in Swati.

She made sure my first steps in this new city were sure, not uncertain. She has now assumed the role of utmost authority and i try constantly to replenish my respect and adoration for her (apart from filling all the water bottles soon as they're empty and cracking depressing puns with Rahul, her friend seen in the picture above).

There was no question about it. This was to be my summer romance. I mean, what's there not to love in that Laburnum? Or the several tree-lined roads of Lutyen's Delhi? Or the wide pathways to the Parliament and the India Gate? Or the golgappas and samosas in every market. Sigh...

The boy too made a quick visit before getting on the plane for his holiday and we met his spunky ex-colleague from here at the butter chicken haven, Gulati's at Pandara Road.

                     

And very soon after acquaintances emerged from every corner of G-Town! I was amazed at just how happy they were to absorb you into the bunch.

And finally I met this child after an entire decade last week! Aastha and I were roommates along with Tweshaaaa at EFL. She works with special children now and continues to retain that streak of spontaneous madness to this day. Considering she stays right around the corner, I look forward to taking up the offer of a nightover soon!

And of course, this poster in Hauz Khas village outside Elma's reminded me of what I've left behind. 

But warmth and sweetness this fine also gives me the hope that I might just last it!

Precious III: Lawyer Lawyer Lipstick

May 2014 spelled a new phase of my life in Bombay. Suddenly, the focus of my social existence shifted from Engineers, MBAs and PR people, to Pilots, Doctors and Lawyers. I seem to bump into a hell of a lot of the penguins especially.

A few weeks after a most surprising and enjoyable first rendezvous with a couple of them at a dance after-party following a singles meetup (I was signed up for it, for heaven's sake! Really, you think I went to one of my own volition?!), I ended up having a most engaging conversation with yet another at a gymkhana gathering to which I was invited by a friend. Amidst all the chatter about football, common friends, and a LOT of swearing, this gentleman - let's call him The New Precious - mentioned arbitration. Now unlike all the arbitrary cock (ahem) and bull that goes around on all our screens and stages, this one actually made some sense. Drunken stupor and Friday evening notwithstanding, I finally met someone who was as passionate and proud of what he did as the people I adore the most.

Precious-the-Latest (PtL, going further) has changed the course of his career more than once.

While he began with banking - selling accounts to HNIs across the length and breadth of Bombay, he moved to selling tin plate as partner in a friend's firm and even corrugated cardboard products and packaging soon after. Needless to say, success was his to play with. But among the many things I've known about PtL in the past (close to) two years, it is not repeating a pattern that excites him. Ambitious to the point of seeming to spread himself thinner than he can afford, PtL wants more constantly.

He can appear almost jobless (like the first time I met him and lived in the assumption for the next three months), because that's the way he's wired. He thrives on the challenge of citing precedent, while his thoroughness with the law books comes handy.

In a recent meandering post-dinner chat with the young advocate at a south Bombay restaurant, the conversation veered to the skyline of this enchanting part of the city. If you climbed to the terrace or even a high enough storey of any of 'Bombay's' buildings, you'd witness a cluster of some of the most remarkable edifices and a host of shimmery lights. And whether you have Eros Cinema, Flora Fountain, the Oval Maidan, or the Ravissant in your purview at the fore, a significant part of the backdrop is the Bombay High Court.

Much like this hogging of the skyline, practitioners of law cannot be ignored either, wherever you go in ‘town’. The phenomenon is fed by the presence of the TADA Court, Custom Excise & Service Tax Appellate Tribunal, Special Court, Bombay High Court and City Civil and Sessions Court buildings dotting the stretch from Worli, right up to Fort.

As if to mirror this concentration of law professionals in the vicinity, lawyers themselves lead a rather immersive existence. You’d imagine their lives end at knowing the law in theory – at most the years and years of applying those laws. However, as is the rue of many who come at cross hairs with crime and punishment, the law is open to interpretation; the words, yielding to the user’s purpose. As PtL puts it, “The amount of reading is exhaustive. Even a measly order can serve as a significant precedent. A lawyer can never know it all, yet must endeavour constantly to get there.”

Since there is no way for lawyers to publicise their wares, the best law practitioners are known first by their 'hit' rate. But that't not all that they're known for. While previous generations have produced polo champions, social reformers, freedom fathers, ecology conservators, ace pianists and Everesters, along with courtroom drama of the triumphant, PtL also regales me with stories of how he unwinds. Recreation to the him is as immersive as his occupation.

A man of varied interests, one spots him at his childhood friend's apartment complex dribbling a ball to its basket, or at another pal's beating or beaten to a high octane virtual game of FIFA. In the maximum city, where glamour rules the roost, he is not untouched by films, for he much spend at least a third of his monthly wages on late-night shows to the latest releases. He is happy to tag along to catch the latest in the art district with the girlfriend, and excited about a new eatery in town.

And when popular culture gets his goat, he suggests in his powdery baritone, "Let's catch a play this Sunday?"