My tryst with music

Right from the childhood days, I had in me a burning desire to be a musician. I wish Almighty God paid heed to my prayer.

Where I grew up, it is commonplace for one to learn a form of art. My mother did not want to be the odd parent out and so decided to get me a private tutor for learning tabla, an Indian percussion instrument. I was so excited, finally, my dream is about to come true. I could see myself playing in concerts like Ustad Zakir Hussain. So I started learning tabla diligently. Each week I would get a new lesson, and I would tirelessly practice to impress my teacher next week on Tuesday. Given my proclivity for music, I thought that I was on a roll. My mother would have a hard time to get me off the tabla practice session to concentrate on studies.

In midst of my exciting journey to stardom, little did I notice that my teacher was turning a bit reclusive week by week. When I finally noticed, I believed in my heart that my performance was transporting him to a different zone. Encouraged further by this, I increased my hours of practice and played back with a lot of passion to the teacher when we met every Tuesday.

It was a little over three months, and suddenly my teacher stopped showing up. Concerned, my mother inquired immediately, only to find that the tabla teacher picked up a nasty drug habit about three months back and died of overdose one Tuesday morning, as if he preferred to die rather than to deal with one more Tuesday afternoon. I was so disappointed by the sudden hold on my musical journey.

However, I am not one who gets easily dissuaded by such impediments. I had a younger sister, who then grew up to an age when she was supposed to get initiated to learning an art form. My mother arranged for a private tutor who would come to our house every Thursday to teach Rabindra Sangeet (Songs of Noble Laureate Rabindranath Thakur). After a couple of weeks, I could not control my passion for music and ended up sitting beside my sister one Thursday to learn singing that genre of music.

I was not one who could be dissuaded from my desire to master music. Everybody gave up trying to instill a good sense in me, which means I prevailed. So I started to learn singing regularly along with my sister. Pretty soon, people from my locality would ask my sister to sing in cultural programs but I was left out. My mother would help me to deal with it by saying that I am like Ashoktaru Bandyopadhyay (who used to sing difficult but not so popular songs) and my sister is like Suchitra Mitra (a very popular singer). Nevertheless, I started to compete with my sister with regards to how many minutes I practice. My brutally honest grandmother even compared my singling with howling of jackals, but that didn't stop me as I recognized that all great musicians surmount a lot of roadblocks and humiliations in their lives to eventually reach their goals.

A year passed by very quickly, and then suddenly the unthinkable yet predictable thing happens. The music teacher stopped showing up at our house for music lessons. My mother again frantically tried to figure out what happened. To my great disappointment, we learned that the teacher started having heart condition a few months back and finally passed away due to a heart attack, leaving behind his wife and two kids. Knowing my mother, I know for a fact, that she felt guilty for the loss, having given birth to a musical genius.

Then it was that time, my mother decided to send me to residential school, where I could be away from all the people she deeply cared about, who I could hurt inadvertently with my passion. It was mandatory to go to prayer halls twice a day and everybody was supposed to sing holy hymns or songs. One used to get into trouble if he didn't comply with this requirement. I have been always a stickler for rules. Moreover, given my background, I am not one who would shy away from an opportunity to hone my skills regularly. People who sat beside me brought up to me the issue of mandatory, unbearable, loud presentation. I cared little as I thought that they were just jealous of my talent.

Little did I realize that I raised eyebrows of some of the hostel wardens. One fine Sunday, the chief warden of the hostel asked to see my parents. What I could figure out from a distance that the warden wanted to suspend me from the school because I sing in the prayer hall (which happens to be what is required of everybody), which causes disharmony. To make his case stronger, he slapped in a couple of other charges like I had been eating too much and I didn't study, instead, disturbed others. My mother most fervently prayed before me to never sing to save my life and then asked the warden for a pardon this time. The warden finally let go and on that day I stopped singing. No one would understand how I controlled my urge every day.

After years of silence, around the early 1980s, I heard rap music for the first time. I was elated and I immediately saw a ray of hope, maybe this is my destiny. Without letting anybody know, I found a friend of mine who had a similar uncanny passion for being a singer despite little support from God. We gave our best and very soon realized that rap music does require a sense of rhythm that both of us were not born with. Very quietly, with heavy hearts, we let go of our ambition.

Few decades passed before I came across a YouTube video of Mika Singh singing in a concert in Pakistan. Researching, I discovered the power of auto-tune. I located an open source auto-tune software and philandered with music again. To my utter disappointment, even auto-tune software fell short.

Yesterday, I came across this wonderful digital instrument, called Folk Bandura, in a website, that may be the answer to my prayer. I quickly shared with another friend of mine and we both agreed that we may finally be able to achieve our musical goals. We decided to create music next weekend. I will let you know how we fare in that brave initiative if you dare to hear.