BLOGGER'S FLASH
Stifled
Rhythms
“Go away, you are not welcome here”, screeched a
voice hysterically, as I entered the small stuffy room, which was engulfed in
semidarkness.
“Varun dear, it’s your uncle Praveen, I have come
all the way from Dubai only to see you, man!”
All my hopes were dashed when he replied, “I don’t
care who you are. Now clear out or allow me to leave the room.”
I do not
know how long I sat thereafter, alone in the basket chair kept in their
balcony. A whirlwind of emotions had blown away my thinking, at least
temporarily. I looked up finally when I felt a gentle hand patting my head
affectionately. It was Nalini, Varun’s mother, my cousin sister who was several
years my senior.
“Relax, Pravi”, she murmured softly, wiping away my
tears, as well as her own with the edge of her sari, “You know something Pravi?
It may be some small comfort to know that he has been relatively polite to you.
Varun always had a soft corner for you.”
“What has happened to our Varun, sis?” I burst out
finally, “He was never like this! Though you have been telling me about these
changes in him----- it is shocking nevertheless!”
“Shh! Not so loud please!” said Nalini, looking
quickly around to see if Varun was within earshot. “He has been like this since
more than five years now--- ever since—“
Nalini’s voice trailed off as I nodded knowingly and
gestured her to silence.
I closed my eyes and tried to recall the Varun I
used to know so well, the shy, handsome youth who had magic in his fingers.
Suddenly, my memories came alive as I recollected the mesmerizing beats of
Varun’s Mridangam, his fingers flying in perfect rhythm, leaving the audience
in a trance. That was over nine years ago---
***
The
fragrance of scented sticks wafted gently in the air as I approached the music
platform within the Ganesha temple. I loved these music recitals in the temple,
in the evenings, after the worshippers had left and only the music lovers
remained. This day was all the more precious as my dear nephew Varun was to
play the Mridangam, first to accompany the vocalist and then as solo. Varun
gave a gentle smile of welcome as I took my seat on the raised platform.
As
expected, it turned out be a feast for the ears. Though the singer was good,
his performance was outclassed and eclipsed by Varun. The vibrations from his
Mridangam sent shudders of joy down our spines and we were in raptures.
After
the program, I embraced my nephew and announced, “You are a genius, Varun. You
will be great one day.” Varun, smiled sadly and said, “What’s the use, uncle?
Mom and dad do not encourage me. In fact they are very much against my
participating in these events.”
“Why?
What do they want?” I asked, surprised that they were not proud of his talents.
Varun shrugged and said, “They want me to be an engineer and go to the USA to
earn pots of money”
That
piece of information didn’t surprise me very much because I knew the present
day aspirations of most Indian parents, especially the ones from the South. It
was almost a formula: Ensure an engineering or medical graduation and pack them
off to the wealthy West!
But
Varun was different! He was born for music!
Varun was exceptionally good at playing any
percussion, particularly the Mridangam. I have heard his music Guru declare
once with tears of joy streaming down his face that he had nothing more to
offer his disciple.
***
I
sighed in great sadness as I rose to leave. It was probably too late now.
The unreasonable ambition of Varun’s parents
had stifled his magic rhythms forever.
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