The Hindu goddess Saraswati is depicted with a veena, a stringed instrument prevalent in Carnatic music, in her hand. A gentle twang of the veena reverberates in the mind and in the soul. It is a symbol of how music, when rendered in a manner similar to the goddess herself, can touch hearts for many years to come.
My Carnatic music guru stopped telling me the story and sighed. “Music is a quilt which the musician must skilfully stitch to create warmth,” she said. I merely smiled in response to her.
The more I reflect on my musical journey, the more her words ring true. I have sought adeptly crafted music to get me through long nights of electrochemistry calculations. Hedwig’s theme from the Harry Potter soundtrack never fails to elicit childhood nostalgia. The refrain of Enrique Iglesias’ “Bailando” instantly lifts my spirits. My experiences with music are a testament to how I have found myself in the embrace of good music. However, true excellence eludes me as a musician.
My journey as a musician began when I was four years old. I started with the basics of Carnatic music, the swaras, followed by the ragas, which convey the tonality of a piece. I had to keep taal, or the beat of a piece by tapping my right hand on my right thigh. I was also forced to use a shruti box to maintain pitch. Each layer of this quilt had to be carried out with utmost precision. I was frustrated by the nuances. Music strangled me instead of holding me gently. But I did not give up. After long practices, each taal that I tapped out stung my thigh and the monotonous drone of the shruti box echoed in my head, but it was not enough to deter me from striving for musical distinction.
In middle school, I took on the viola. This presented a new set of challenges. Reading music in the alto clef took days of staring at sheet music until the
In middle school, I took on the viola. This presented a new set of challenges. Reading music in the alto clef took days of staring at sheet music until the ‘aha’ moment rolled around. While around seven years had passed since my last foray into a new style of music, my impatience to learn more complex techniques did not subside. Playing in pizzicato, or plucking the strings, made me feel childlike and unmotivated. It was at this moment that I remembered my guru’s words. The quilt was not going to take form by itself. I gritted my teeth and got through the rudimentary groundwork. Next came bowing. Up. Down. There was a pattern to it. It made sense. I worked through music page after page with a smile. As my attitude towards the instrument changed, my chair position changed, finally culminating in the first chair. In high school, where there was no orchestra, I was a member of a string quartet. Our first performance was a rendition of Tchaikovsky’s “Waltz of the Flowers.” As our conductor counted us off, I closed my eyes, telling myself that I have merely consumed music for far too long. Now was my turn to envelop the audience in an embrace- the music that I had worked tirelessly to perfect. And with my eyes closed, I played. The staccato parts went perfectly with the beautiful legato sections. My spirits rose with the crescendos and the many vibratos pulsated in my heart. When the piece ended, there was a brief moment of silence and I slowly opened my eyes to thunderous applause. This was what my guru meant. I had evoked emotion from the people who consumed my music.
My quilt is not complete yet. Not by far. I intend to pursue both styles of music even further. I know that it will not be easy and that the challenges down the road will make my prior difficulties seem trivial. It is still not enough to dishearten me from continuing my journey. Getting consecutive bars of sixteenth notes perfectly correct still brings me a sense of satisfaction. The buzz of the Shruti box has won me over. My quilt is coming together thread by thread every day, and until it is complete, I will continue to subject myself to the caress of other musicians’ quilts.