IS IT MY SWAN SONG ?

        
          The  much familiar number on my caller-id sent a spasm of euphoria up my nerviest of nerves. Three months of trepidation and butterflies-in-the-stomach state was replaced by a highjump to the 'whoa!'-plane. In those three months I deliberately cogitated and scanned on my musical 'achievements' in the  thirteen years  since I got formally inducted into training for Hindustani vocal classical music. Not that I had never made any such review earlier . But it was more of the perfunctory , superficial variety which imitated to great fidelity, the ostrich-burying-his-head-deep-in-the-bosoms-of-earth proverb. What I am talking about is the mandatory self-analysis as regards my musical yen. During this period, my morale had been vacillating, covering the entire spectrum of moods from extreme exuberance to a down-in-the-doldrums state. Exhilaration, when my 'guru' and teacher would subtly pass a compliment about  my sense of 'ragas' and my ability to pick up arduous 'taans'. And frustration , everytime I reminded myself  'Hey dude, you still can't tell your 'dhaivat' (la) from your 'rishabh' (re)' . And my teacher, being an extremely collected, polite and rather abstemious person, would show her mild irritation by simply asking me (embellished with a chuckle,of course !) 'Is baar riyaaz nahi hua naa ?' This politeness would, more often than not dent my wafer-thin but huge-as-a-balloon sense of achievement. Paradoxically, being a largely self-motivated guy, I would go gung-ho and go in for dauntless 'riyaaz' sessions as if my next inhalation-exhalation cycle depended on it ! This was, of course, much to the chagrin of my pleasant-natured neighbours. They would .of course, put in politically right comments like ' Was it you ? It sounded like a recorded piece !'

          Getting back to my 'guru' on matters concerning music , she could be classified as someone belonging to a rare breed of immensely secure people. Someone who could be used as a prototype of the class of people who nurture simplicity but not ordinariness.Hugely talented, an exemplary artiste and amazingly sensitive teacher. And this is certainly a rare combination. I wonder how she remains almost unperturbed under all circumstances. Her very-rarely uttered hints at how her becoming a consummate artiste had not been a cakewalk, gave me a peephole view and a depth of understanding that simplicity could be attained only after traversing through a whole gamut of complexities. Darwin took eaons to hypothesize the Theory of Natural Selection. I took thirteen years to get a hint about the
concept of man's spiritual evolution, if I may be audacious enough to state so  ! The solace, of course, was that I didn't have to land up in Galapagos Islands and strike camaraderie with the
 creepy-crawlies and fork-tongued critters ! Getting back, in spite of being an ace classical singer, 'teacher' would never act as a zealot-like champion of it. Never once, had she derided film music. Her admiration for Kishori Amonkar was on par with her appreciation of Shreya Ghoshal's velvet-like voice or the stupendously sensational scale range of Lata Mangeshkar. This was something out-of-the-box for members of her species. 'Deprived' and 'bereft' of the mercurial mood swings of prodigally talented classical artistes, she rarely lent herself to the session- missing routine.

           I would eagerly await the occasion of 'Guru Poornima' to pay my obeisance to her. Considering the fact that I equate the act of 'Saashtang Namaskar' with the subtle act of pulling the carpet from under the feet of hapless victims, my subscription to the same on this rare occasion would have sent shock waves through the spine of all my near and dear ones (  if they had witnessed the 'holy' act, of course! ).For someone like me, who respects many, irrespective of the number of years they revolved around the sun along with earth, but holds no specific person as a role model, she worked as someone close to one.
 
          Hence, on one of those rare occasions, when , post our singing session, we just got to talking about what continued to push her into imparting music lessons to wannabe singers of all ilk, she mentioned that she had cut down the number of students to a bare minimum. And then, quite uncharacteristically, ( uncharacteristically, thanks to her general sedate persona ! ) she ruminated and than ruefully commented in a far-off-tone ,'These days I have to quench my soul and be happy with busy students ' There was not a hint of patent sarcasm. Being a person who reads between and often beyond lines, it struck a melancholic chord in me, though not immediately. It made me seriously cogitate on my worth as a 'shishya'. This would probably explain my aforesaid mentioned sense of trepidation, which was, of course, proved unjustified by THE telephone call !

          I was elated then. But now, after the euphoria has settled down, I ponder on what kind of longing for an appropriate musical 'heir', would a true-blue musician nurture !