A Cultural Oddity
During the morning hours whenever i used to walk to the bus stand from my house in my street, a beautiful moment awaits me. In the restless morning hours, there, almost at the end of the street one could hear
a soothing flute, Raag revati or mohanam will waft through the air at a high pitch coming from a possibly amateurish player. I used to cross the place cherishing the music. Within 20 feets or so there would be another music from another home, more of a percussion. It may be tabla or mridangam or drums (multi talented).
I listen to this rhythmic treat and wonder about the individual who does all these(later found that the person was of my age) as i turn at the farthest corner to a narrow short pathway to detach from my street.
I may sometimes have to miss this musical treat if i catch a sight of a 6 foot man coming from that same house where that flute is played. I will take a shot detour by turning right instead of strectching till the end of my street to evade this gentleman.
Or sometimes i walk quickly past him as if i didnt notice him, since he is so quick i should from the start be in a hurry to not show any wrong intention. Or will cut short his conversation by telling that i am in a hurry.
This man used to come to our house on almost all sundays. Doesn't shy away from having our coffee or turning on the fan at his will. Though i didn't like him coming to our house quite often initally, I slowly found him
quite an interesting person. Though his talks didn't raise beyond normal happenings or triviality, his positive energy and spirit, for his age was quite incredible.
So from avoiding his conversations i started to engage a bit,inorder to respect his age more than anything else. There was a time when my father was quite ill from an infection that most people avoided us.
He was the only one even then came to our house and was wishing my father speedy recovery. This particular thing really moved us. My father too was happy to talk with him, as time progressed we took turns among us to accompany him.
There was one interesting moment with him one day, when he was talking about music to us. Our family is quite good at it. So the natural snobbish vein was tickled. I was at the kitchen to take something when he was talking about the power of music in healing and such and such theories.
And to all surprise he suddenly burst into singing, a song on some female hindu god. The confidence in him to pull it off was greatly appreciated.
Days passed, his frequency to our house reduced and to my surprise i found him asking to my father what to do if one has too much stress. My father was doing his chores and missed noticing this.
I was surprised, here was a person who was so happy and positive always, brimming with sprit, never once a dip in his voice or attitude asking about stress. I was hearing all this and was looking from my room.
I talked about this to my father after he went and my father was oblivious to it.
That's the last time we saw him. Later when enquiring about him we were said his hearing ability had diminished a lot due to recent diwali. And another fine day we heard the inevitable news.
Now, one could easily understand that this is some normal old aged man (should be in 70s,or early 80s) who didn't have any job other than whiling away his time, so ended up at various places and talked to people.
To the most part this is the case. But then every one in our street and generally our area will be knowing this guy very well and each one will have his own little story to say about him fondly.
And in this age of cynicism genuine well wishers without slight pretension is a rarity.
We never knew anybody else in his family apart from rare glances at each other. It's been 2 years since and we sometimes think about him in the sunday mornings. Now when i walk in my street towards the farhest end i don't get to listen any bansuri, perhaps the flautist is another bartleby or my memory of the man drowns the music.
Only the drum beats continue to signify cosmic rhythm!
P S : Its real story, in case if you are wondering