Sapno ke ghar ki..Chapter 2

Chapter 2


He taught me to find myself in music. He said that people hear an occasional devotional song in a Hindi film or a 'classically tuned' film song and think that’s classical music and that that is all to it. He wished people were inspired to give try music; in any form. Life is time consuming. There are chores to be done, people to be met and places to be seen. Accordingly to him, Music helped you do all that from the comfort of your living room. He taught me to perceive music. He taught me history and science – history of music & the science of music (pitch/intensity /frequency) and its parallel in the music world called “tone”. He helped understand “octaves” and “swaras”.He thought me that music has tones ordered horizontally as melodies and vertically as harmonies. He taught me that Rāga refers to melodic modes & that it is a series of five or more musical notes upon which a melody is founded. In the Indian musical tradition, ragas are associated with different times of the day, or with seasons & that Indian classical music is always set in a raga. It was fascinating to discover the nuances of Hindustani classical music. Little by little, I felt things around me changing. On my birthday, my friend gave me a CD of “Sound of Music”. Imagine my surprise when I heard Julie Andrews replacing Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Dha Ni Sa, with Do Re Mi Fa So La Ti Do. Lo and behold! Music was everywhere – from the chirping of the birds to my milkman’s coarse voice, from harmonicas to musical glasses, from east to west.

I was humming the other day while doing my home work. Apparently, I also had a smile of my face. My aunt had come into the room sometime ago, I don’t know when. When I looked up and saw her, I noticed her eyes were wet. She gave me a light hug and said, “I know I have nothing much to do with the change in you, but I am so glad. I watched over you, every time you went out towards the bench. In case you were wondering, I did make sure you were in good hands.” I felt betrayed, how can she befriend my friend? No. No. This is wrong. I asked her suspiciously, “Did you tell him about my parents?” I did not want my friend to pity me. She replied, “No. It’s your truth to tell. However,I did tell him how we are related.” For the first time in a very long time, people had treated me like an adult. I guess it’s hard for you to understand. When you lose people so precious in your life, something in your being just changes. It’s like a switch goes flip. I felt responsible. I felt vulnerable. I knew I wouldn’t have a mother to guide me about the ways of the world when I became a teenager. I knew dad would not be around to help me decide on what I should be choosing for a career. But what I also knew was nobody was going to be around to fuss over me, make me my favorite sandwich, listen to my school time stories, and …and.. and.. Even now, every day, when I left home to catch my school bus, I could almost see my mom, wave at me until I disappeared from her sight. That was my most favorite memory of her. My dad was an Economics professor in a government college. For somebody teaching such a boring subject, he was curiously artistic. Mom hung his paintings all over the place. Most of all, I remembered him for the lullabies that he sung to me.

Life continued on like that - school, music , my friend and now a family.

Finally, it was time to leave Ooty and go to a boarding school in the north. It had almost been a year since I first set foot in that quaint town. I did not tell my friend that I was leaving. I was not going to cry, not now. Or for that matter, have someone cry for me. As usual, I went to meet my friend near the bench on my last day in ooty. It had gotten quite late, since I was busy packing. I told him, I was going to leave the next day. He was quiet for a bit and then asked “Have you had dinner?” I replied in affirmative. He then asked if finished packing and I said that I had. In a rather low voice he said he wanted to sing a lullaby for me. Very unexpected. I said a rather feeble “ok”. And so, he started…

“Sapno ke ghar ki chat pe hein tare
toffiyon ki deewaro pe latke goobare
haathi ghode bhalu sher cheeete saare
badalon ne kaise-kaise rup dhare

ghar ke ujiyare so ja re
daddy tere jagein tu so ja re

dhundne se khushiyon ki rahein nahin milti
maangne se man ki muaradein nahin khilti
mile jo na tujhe des mein hamare
de jayenge nindiyan ke andhiyare

sapno ke ghar ki…”
(from the movie, daddy)

I cried. And cried for what seemed like eternity. It was my favorite lullaby that my dad sang for me since I was little. It was my dad's favorite too. He always told me that the lullaby was his way of telling me to dream the impossible. To explore my world. Through this song he meant "Dream and then work hard to achieve your dream, my angel. I will be there for you, always.". I hugged him and poured my heart out. I told him all that happened. I told him about my longings and I told him how much I missed my parents. I also told him how much I was going to miss him.

My friend said he chose this song because this was his favorite lullaby that he sang to his daughter. He had a 2 year old daughter (named raaga) whom he would bring to the park every day. On that fateful day, raaga had demanded candy from the candy cart standing outside the park, near the bench. In the time that my friend let go of her hand to search for change in his pocket, raaga had started walking away from the bench and towards the road. She was run over by a reckless driver. My friend never forgave himself. He came to that bench everyday looking for forgiveness.

I told him “You saved me.” With those 3 little words, we both made our peace with God that day.

end of story


The Song & what it means to me:
This song has a lot of significance in my life. It's a song that always brings tears to my eyes whenever i hear it. It's the voice. It's that feeling when you know somebody will be there for you, come what may. It forces one to stay awake to listen to this lullaby when you are dead tired after a hard day's work and all you initially wanted to do was to just fall asleep.

I practice this song, almost everyday, in hope that someday i will sing this song to my daughter, raaga. :). Ofcourse, I will replace the "daddy" with a "mommy". No, i don't have a daughter, yet. But I, well, i just dream on.

Sapno ke ghar ki...Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I was a little girl, back then. I climbed down from the train into this new world where I knew no one. My parents had died in a car crash 2 weeks ago and my aunt and uncle brought me to their home in ooty. Through the eyes of this 8 year old, ooty was a quaint town with very quaint people. Nobody spoke a thing. It was quiet and gloomy. People kept to themselves. Maybe, it was just my perception. I had not cried a tear since the police came to my house that day. I learnt to keep to myself, cursing God for every moment of my life. As time passed, I became indifferent. To God and all his beings.

I spent most of my time gazing out of my window that overlooked a play ground. I was not staring at the children or the swings on the play ground, I was staring at nothingness. Space. Empty space. There was a bench right in front of the park, on the road. Sometimes, when I looked out from the window, I would see an old man sitting on the bench. And before long, I was back to nothingness. It wasn’t that my new family was not caring and understanding. Somebody had moved my cheese and left me searching. Like every other child, I went to school. Did math and science and English. And moral science. Somehow my teacher at school seemed to think that God was fair. I was perpetually perplexed but I never explained my confusion to her. She wouldn’t understand. What does she know?

One day, as I religiously perused my daily ritual of gazing outside my window sill, I heard a very sweet voice. It seemed like a lullaby. The old man on the bench was humming a tune. Something in that voice made me walk towards him. I sat down on the bench next to him but did not say a word. The stranger smiled. He began humming again, this time with a smile on his face. I sat there for a while and then went back to my room. A few days later, the old man appeared again. This time it was a different tune but his voice had the same melancholy in his voice. It seemed like he was yearning for something. Or was it just me again? I came out and sat with him on the bench, yet again. We did not speak a word. He sang, I listened. With each passing day, I gathered a little more courage to sit a little more closer to him. Many months hence, I was about ½ the bench length away.

Then one day, he sang “sa…”. He waited. He sang “sa…”. I looked at him and he sang “sa..” again. In a rather weak voice, I responded with my “sa..”. He continued, “re…”. At that moment, I realized it did not feel awkward to sing on road, with him. This time, it was a much stronger “re..” from me. The old man’s eyes seems to gleam very brightly as he moved on to “ga..ma..pa..dha…ne…sa..”. And that’s how I began filling my world with music.

Chapter 2 to follow shortly