Her name is Ru. Right from her birth, she got introduced to the magical rhythm of tabla by an uncle next door. She used to fondly call him Bajumama ( mama means maternal uncle in Bengali). They were all distant relatives staying in adjacent houses who were once uprooted from Bangladesh during the Liberation War of 1971 and has taken refuge in the city of Agartala in the northeastern corner of India. Finally, they made a home in the same city, and gradually those families started thriving together.
Ru got accustomed to falling asleep while listening to different Rythm(Taal) being played by Bajumama’s magical fingers creating music and even wake up listening to it. During rain, the 'Dadra', 'Tri Taal', ‘Keherwa’, ‘Rupak’ of tabla used to get fused with the drops of rain and attain a different motion with the magic of the music. The infused smell of the wet mud and the pouring rhythm was a part of the rainy season as important as those crystal clear pouring droplets. Summer, winter, autumn, and spring had a different rhythm, variable notes as expressed by the recital of his tabla.
Just as different essence of life and part of growing up, gradually those ‘Bol’ and ‘Taal’ of the Tabla, Bajumama, many other neighbors became feeble existence in Ru’s life as she became busy in her new life and studies. She had to go, dancing classes, singing classes, painting classes after regular school hours. In summers swimming class and visits from her cousins and visiting cousins used to keep her busy. While in the fourth standard they moved to a new house in the same lane and hence she got completely disillusioned from that part of her life.
It was several years after that. She was in the tenth standard gearing up for her secondary exams. One morning she wakes up with the hush in the house and a gloomy mood all around. When she went to the verandah, she could spot the neighborhood full of people. Everyone was busy in some discussion and it was quite obvious that the topic is something severe. After several inquiries, her mom spilled the bin. She was in utter shock from what she heard. That day Baju mama was being sent to a mental asylum as he was acting insane for the last few days. It seems he was already under medication. Recently things move out of control when he started acting violently. He was agitated with the entire society and especially with his parents. Since his parents lost complete control they decided to hand him over to the asylum.
The flashback of those bright eyes, the wide warm smile of assurance and affection for a little curious kid and magical finger creating music started pouring back in Ru’s mind. There are so many talents who are getting lost unacknowledged. There is not enough provision for those talented people for jobs and to carry out a livelihood. After a certain time, they all face the reality of earning alms, fulfilling societal terms. Unless and until you are exceptionally brilliant in performing arts with good connections with the affluent and influentials, your talent gets lost in the crowd. Some people find out an alternative and settle down with some adjustments. Unfortunately, few like Baju mama who used to live in Rhythms and talk through the beats of tabla get frustrated and lose hope after a certain time. Only a few smiles, little encouragement would have made his life worthwhile.
Ru started wondering as she heard once that music is the healer of every wound …what if music is the cause of your wound?? There must be many such unaccomplished singers, artists, and musicians who are every day losing the fight and deciding to quit. She started weaving a dream that one day she will try to create some platform for those talents so that they can bloom a little in a worry-free life... She wanted to scream and let the world aware of their existence.
No comments:
Post a Comment