The Music Brick
If there is one talent every child has to learn, it would be to play a musical instrument to broaden their skills away from studying Mathematics and Chemistry.
Most parents here seemed to be happy with their children playing a basic instrument, even a triangle would do. However Indian parents, specifically Maharashtrians require their children to play ancient and complicated looking boxes made of wood from the prehistoric era. Naturally my parents were no different and told me one day that I would learn to play the harmonium. It wasn’t a question, it was a command.
Growing up and going to Maharashtrian gatherings involved mainly watching people sing very serious songs on a stage. In the corner would be a person almost always with a giant, shiny harmonium flickering away at the keys, it was clearly second nature to him. I’m going to tell you right now that this person makes it look easy but never gives the impression that multi-tasking is hard.
My school friends were in their first or second year of playing instruments such as the clarinet or the violin, but I was swiftly sent off to harmonium lessons. I was convinced I’d be a child prodigy, after all I had seen so many kakas play it every other week; and even if that didn’t happen, my friends wouldn’t have a clue what a harmonium was so I hoped I would automatically sound skilled and cultured to them. I was ready to become a musical genius…or so I thought.
Lessons normally took place at a community hall and the first day I went, I peered into each lesson room to see very serious children playing sitars five times the size of them, or small boys with clear anger issues beating away at the tabla as if they were training for the next heavy weight champion of the world title. Still I had no doubts in my ability to be exactly like them (forgetting that obviously these children had been taught for years and spent hours practising).
The harmonium is almost human in a way, I didn’t realise I would basically have to use one hand to perform CPR and the other to play a tune. This instrument also weighs as much as an actual human especially to a nine year old. The first few lessons involved me learning about what seemed like millions of different raags while huffing and puffing away pumping air into this massive brick trying to get every key right with the other hand. The great thing about the harmonium is that it is quick to mask your mistake if you press the wrong key. Not a single tune is slow, and for a fidgety child like me it was perfect. My teacher was convinced that I had deformed hands because I made a lot of mistakes. He also seemed to forget that he had hands the size of saucepans which made playing a little easier and he had no difficulty pumping air into this instrument. I had hoped that learning to play the harmonium would change my life but I was just not ready to put in the ten hours of practise per day.
For my ninth birthday however, I was actually “gifted” a harmonium…this is a subtle technique that parents will use to show a child that work does not end when you come home. If you are a parent reading this please know that we have figured your ways out. Please also note that we will be using these tactics for our kids too.
It got to the point where I had to beg my parents to have mercy on me and stop these lessons and to my amazement they agreed. In my naivety I thought that my persuasiveness had worked until I realised that there were the dreaded “eleven plus” exams coming up so according to them I needed to spend more time studying hard. By “coming up” there were still two years to go of course, which meant I was already late with my preparation.
*The eleven plus exams are one of the many forms of torture or “entrance exams” (as they like to call it) for children. Typically, Indian children will probably start studying for these exams from five years old, but in my case, I took the express study path and started at nine.
Those harmonium lessons did however arm me with the skill of knowing that I could belt out Naach Re Mora, look calm, sit cross-legged, wear a stitched sari, and at least LOOK like I was able to play this incredibly complex looking instrument. I also as a bonus developed forearms like a bodybuilder from all the manual air pumping.
Maharashtrians don’t have gyms. We have harmoniums.
