Me and Food of Love

The other day my grandson had the impudence to ask me, "So, Granpa, what new hobby have you picked up during this lockdown?". He is sixteen going on seventeen. Fortunately for him, he was not within my kicking distance. He was on the phone from Secunderabad.

I can't blame him. Everybody is telling every other body to do something of that sort. Particularly the celebrities. And ladies and children listen to the so-called stars. Just because they have a good face or body, their upper storey and the grey matter therein is not questioned. Let us forget that.

The fact is, my grandson came very close to catching me, wanting to learn a new hobby. Not the least due to the unusual inactivity the world is undergoing. It is a longstanding desire. You see, I always loved music. As I always said and said elsewhere in a blog, I had two things against God. One, he didn't construct me tall. And, two, he didn't provide me with a singer's vocal cord, the Provider that He is.

I tried various exercises to increase the length of my spine (not strength, thank God it was and still is strong) in my teens, all to no avail. So, that was a dead end. As for music, in the early years, my mother (who could not sing) and later, my wife (who could sing some), asked me to shut up every time I expressed my joy like a lark. So, I had to shut up—irrespective of the language of my song. But then it was nagging me. And I was not one to give up just like that. If I can't sing, I will play. If music is the food of love, I will play on.

During student days, frequenting Marina Beach was a done thing. Once I heard a fellow playing lovely popular tunes beautifully on what I learnt later was an "ek tara". He was selling them. Since it had only one string, I thought that should be an easy thing to play. I bought one. Needless to say, my efforts to play it was a disaster. It was just that, mother didn’t take it and snap it on her knees! On the beach, mouth organs were also sold in similar fashion. So, that was my next attempt. But then, no song came out of it.  My next attempt was the flute, again procured from the beach. That was not an easy instrument, I knew. So, when various non-musical sounds came out of it, I was not unduly disappointed.

Once during my training period, I tried on the guitar of Fernandes, my junior, the intro of “These boots are made for walkin”. Surprisingly it came out right. Fernandes smiled and nodded in approval. I must learn the guitar; I decided and kept the thought alive for a convenient time. Later in Jodhpur, we had a civilian group who used to entertain us in our Mess parties. The leader of the group, such a youngster he was, could play many instruments. I told him to teach me the guitar. He agreed. The fee was to teach him to speak in English. Good barter, I thought. But, since he was busy performing everywhere, that also did not fructify. Perhaps it was good that my tutorial skills did not get exposed in the bargain, not to mention my musical skills.

I have a course mate, who answers to Machado. He is a genius with western musical instruments: stringed, winged, whatever. He plays the mouth organ divinely. He also sings with his gruff, deep bass voice. I tried to coax him into teaching me the mouth organ. He used to give his disarming smile, chuckle at times and in general, nothing happened. With his ear for music, he must have realised that I can not even get my toes wet in those waters. He must have been too polite to say as much.

Later in Delhi, by which time I had two kids, I found an excellent harmonica in a shop. You guessed it right: I bought it and still have it. But as most of the good things I possessed, it is inexplicably with my daughter. My poor son. He seems to get nothing of his parental heirlooms! It is this daughter’s son who had the audacity to ask me the question, which prompted this piece.

Both my grandsons are into music. The elder, the questioner, is a Drummer, plays the Cajon too, and his younger - by two years - brother sings in acid rock fashion, plays the Keyboard, Guitar and the Ukulele. I have seen them researching on the net for various lessons and songs. Recently one day, coincidentally during the lockdown, and I repeat, not because of it, I also happened to see a site for learning harmonica. My heart leapt! I told you I am not one to give up easily. I started reading in detail. I focussed more on Indian rather than English teachers, for better affinity. Slowly the enthusiasm ebbed. It appeared not so easy, as I understood that I had to be note-sensitive, if not note-perfect.

My mother and my wife being my nemeses (I won't say the same about Machado) for my musical forays, I might try my grandchildren next. After all, my granddaughter, the eldest - by two years again and hence acts senior even to me - of the grandchildren one day told me, while I was belting out a romantic song at the dining table, "Gampa, you sing in “swar (or was it shruti, what is the difference?), but your voice is not good". So there is something in there that both my mother and wife missed. There is hope in harmonica. My musical appetite surges in the company of grandchildren. Hope they don’t kill it like their foremothers. Instead, I hope to qualify to be in their band. Some day.