No thank you for the music

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

NOTE: I cannot be held responsible for symptoms of sleep induced by this post.

Before you kill me I must tell you that I have nothing against music. I too am a music lover. Music is my life. But then why the title you may ask? Well, it's a long story.
It all began on a bright summer day when I was playing in the garden(DON'T STOP READING!!!). A car drew up outside my grandmom's house and out stepped a girl who changed my life. Had I known then the consequences of her visit I wouldn't have let her join me in throwing GI joes into the well.But I did. As usual the whole family and the guests were at the peak of their conversation when the girl's parents mentioned that she learns music. They made her sing. Ah! What a beautiful voice it was! Applause followed the song. They had succeeded in showing us that their daughter was talented. Now it was my parent's turn.Were my parents supposed to tell them that I was potty trained? I don't think so.Were they supposed to say that I enjoyed hanging GI Joes from the ceiling fan? I really don't think so.
After the guests left, my family conspired against me. They decided to send me for music lessons. The tragic tale begins.
Anyone who knows me well, will also know that for me to sit still for more than 2mins is as good as saying that Hitler can belly dance. I also spoke quite softly(back then).Sometimes I could hardly hear myself. And this was the person whom they decided to send for Carnatic music lessons.
The classes began. So did the torture. I still have that blue diary in which the teacher wrote the songs for five years. Five very slow years.Five VERY, VERY ,VERY slow years.
My music teacher was a nice lady.She believed I could sing(till the end). Let me rephrase that first statement. My music teacher was a deaf lady. The class consisted of about seven of us. Most of the girls were pretty loud therefore making it easier for me. Lip synchronization became my newly acquired skill. I became a professional. As they lost their breath trying to sing the high notes, I screwed up my face in agony to make it look I like too was going through a lot of strain in order to hit that high note.
I had classes two days a week. My dad would drop me and pick me up for every class. On the way there I would by-heart the lyrics(I think they are called) at full speed. Sometimes I think that I could have become a rapstar for I had learned to speak that fast. I would mug up all the 'sa's and the 'ga's and the 'pa's. By the time I reached there all I could remember would be the 'ni's and the'da's. After realizing the futility of her efforts, the teacher finally decided to make me in -charge of the harmonium.My music teacher obviously over-estimated my enormous strength. A cow could have taken flight and crashed into the utiltity building but I could not have played that harmonium. After playing for five mins I would demand for an oxygen mask and strangely this demand was always met with a glare.When I played the keys I would forget to pull and when I pulled I would forget to play.To conclude, I sucked.
Finally after five years our family decided to go to Dubai for a vacation. After that I never returned to the music class. I guess the teacher must have presumed that I died eating a poisonous shavarma or got run over by a camel.Any which way I did not go for music classes after that. My life was normal again. I was a normal child once again.
My grandma did try to put me in for other classes to prove that her grandaughter was indeed talented(she continues to believe that...sigh!!..when will she ever learn???). But I sat her down and explained to her the fatal consequences that I could meet with if I joined karate classes. Dance classes were ruled out for I could hardly move a hand without giving someone a black eye .And thus my life was free from all those painful classes that the present day kids are forced to go to. Of course I still have that blue diary. I fondly call it 'The blue book from hell'