Ik Laadki (Fusion)
It's fascinating how music often reminds one of someone; the harmonies,
notes, tremors, highs and lows and what not. Diving deep, personalities then
seem divine orchestrations where the ensemble consists of a wide range of
instruments - grand pianos, guitars, violins, drums et al.
This, is an interpretation of one special person in the said musical light.
It began on a gentle note, as one produced by a soft touch on the xylophone. Her first words fell with a delicate elegance on my ears. However, one could not possibly confuse this with frailty as the notes (thoughts) were clear, coherent and holding. Pondering more over how her thoughts shape up, I heard the latent rhythm, as base notes on a piano. Over the next conversations of childhood memories, I detected a beautiful melancholy at times, as the strumming violin which adds just the right amount of dolefulness, giving depth to the whole. Weeks had passed, listening to these notes but the beats were still as those produced by a ghatam, a hollow sound, captivating, and yet, something felt missing. Then, the track shifted gears and enter percussions.
Conversations also come in phases I believe. The first phase is knowing the person, listening to all their stories, what they’ve seen and been through in life. The next phase is when you talk about worldly matters and analyze how their experiences have shaped up their opinions. Here, her silky notes got backed by sure footed, impactful percussions. Not the doomsayer pandemonium you get to hear so often these days, or mindless, relentless pounding, but clear concise beats behind every note; sheer force of conscience driving her thoughts. Further, these convictions weren’t based on a narrowed mindset; you could hear the western drums and the Indian dholak working in sync.
One day, I discovered her blog, and that was when a new sound hit me, a sound of quaint poignancy, of shehnais, clarinets and flutes, a regality which I had failed to recognize in our casual chit chats. It seemed as if her entire thought process is a dance, conveying a story through different forms and it didn’t surprise me when I heard anklebells. Yet all of this was still a single coherent piece. I was blown away, mesmerized; so engrossed I was, that it did not occur to me there still might be something else in store. Or rather, I didn’t believe it was possible.
Here we are, growing up, moving out of college, settling into a new job and an independent life. A time full of parties, celebrations and weekend blowouts. That’s when I first heard the zany guitars. An electric sound from the leads, coupled with heavy base and this time, the new sounds knocked me out of my mind in an unpleasant way. So strong was the feeling of bizarre, and so focused I became on the electric twangs that I could not hear the ensemble anymore. When I couldn’t hear it anymore, foolishly I assumed, that this was all that was left. Disillusioned, disgruntled, I started stepping away from the sounds, then misjudged as cacophony owing to the incoherence and instability in my own mind. It was then, an instrument played which is almost never appreciated – silence. I stood there, watching her, and a silent tear fell down her face, pained by this misunderstanding and separation. In a crescendo, we moved towards each other, hugged each other tightly and everything fell back into its place. In a rush all of it came back to me, the entire ensemble and this time, I could hear the single coherent piece – music which my ears weren’t worthy enough to appreciate before. Music which she chose to share with me, even after all my discordant tantrums. The sense of privilege that was lost in our daily parlance, came back to me. Such an honor, such music rightfully demands a price.
I’m sure it’ll raise her brows when she reads that last line. “Price? Are you mad?” No, I’m not. After a long time, I’m in my senses. And the price is simple – just listen. Listen and be inclusive to every note and instrument you hear. I may not like parts of it; I may disagree with some of it but then taking a step back and I have to take it all in because that’s who she is. Magical. A perfect fusion.
This, is an interpretation of one special person in the said musical light.
It began on a gentle note, as one produced by a soft touch on the xylophone. Her first words fell with a delicate elegance on my ears. However, one could not possibly confuse this with frailty as the notes (thoughts) were clear, coherent and holding. Pondering more over how her thoughts shape up, I heard the latent rhythm, as base notes on a piano. Over the next conversations of childhood memories, I detected a beautiful melancholy at times, as the strumming violin which adds just the right amount of dolefulness, giving depth to the whole. Weeks had passed, listening to these notes but the beats were still as those produced by a ghatam, a hollow sound, captivating, and yet, something felt missing. Then, the track shifted gears and enter percussions.
Conversations also come in phases I believe. The first phase is knowing the person, listening to all their stories, what they’ve seen and been through in life. The next phase is when you talk about worldly matters and analyze how their experiences have shaped up their opinions. Here, her silky notes got backed by sure footed, impactful percussions. Not the doomsayer pandemonium you get to hear so often these days, or mindless, relentless pounding, but clear concise beats behind every note; sheer force of conscience driving her thoughts. Further, these convictions weren’t based on a narrowed mindset; you could hear the western drums and the Indian dholak working in sync.
One day, I discovered her blog, and that was when a new sound hit me, a sound of quaint poignancy, of shehnais, clarinets and flutes, a regality which I had failed to recognize in our casual chit chats. It seemed as if her entire thought process is a dance, conveying a story through different forms and it didn’t surprise me when I heard anklebells. Yet all of this was still a single coherent piece. I was blown away, mesmerized; so engrossed I was, that it did not occur to me there still might be something else in store. Or rather, I didn’t believe it was possible.
Here we are, growing up, moving out of college, settling into a new job and an independent life. A time full of parties, celebrations and weekend blowouts. That’s when I first heard the zany guitars. An electric sound from the leads, coupled with heavy base and this time, the new sounds knocked me out of my mind in an unpleasant way. So strong was the feeling of bizarre, and so focused I became on the electric twangs that I could not hear the ensemble anymore. When I couldn’t hear it anymore, foolishly I assumed, that this was all that was left. Disillusioned, disgruntled, I started stepping away from the sounds, then misjudged as cacophony owing to the incoherence and instability in my own mind. It was then, an instrument played which is almost never appreciated – silence. I stood there, watching her, and a silent tear fell down her face, pained by this misunderstanding and separation. In a crescendo, we moved towards each other, hugged each other tightly and everything fell back into its place. In a rush all of it came back to me, the entire ensemble and this time, I could hear the single coherent piece – music which my ears weren’t worthy enough to appreciate before. Music which she chose to share with me, even after all my discordant tantrums. The sense of privilege that was lost in our daily parlance, came back to me. Such an honor, such music rightfully demands a price.
I’m sure it’ll raise her brows when she reads that last line. “Price? Are you mad?” No, I’m not. After a long time, I’m in my senses. And the price is simple – just listen. Listen and be inclusive to every note and instrument you hear. I may not like parts of it; I may disagree with some of it but then taking a step back and I have to take it all in because that’s who she is. Magical. A perfect fusion.
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