Nishanth S Coontoor

 

“Y’all sing well, bless your heart. Y’all could be heard nine miles yonder.”

“Oh shit! Oh, well.”

*

When Shreyas, a friend from sunny Cali ringed me up one day to tell me he wants to come visit Cincinnati, my response was, “Why?” Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not a placist. I love all places irrespective of their geography. I spent 3 years in a small town called Peru, Indiana contemplating my life choices living alongside the Wabash river with an occasional deer for company. I was concerned for him. Will a Californian be able to survive the mid-west?

“Listen, nammooru (my city) is not big. You won’t get to explain complex directions at a stretch.” (Per Saturday Night Live’s sketch titled The Californians, I am to understand that Californians spend time explaining highway routes?)

“I can show you Cincy in half a day. Do you like Patel Brothers?”

But he was adamant. “Okay, in that case, let’s go to Nashville, the music city?” he suggested.

“Nashville? Oh. Hhmm…Music?”

“Why, what happened?”

I hesitantly agreed that day. How could I tell him my secret, deep, unresolved childhood music issues I had been hiding from myself and the world? A recent post on Facebook by a friend showed him singing on stage at a downtown bar. Is this what I will end up doing?

Music city Nashville reminded me of the childhood ‘incident.’

It was a rainy day. There was thunder and lightning. Suddenly, the power went out! I heard a distant cry…no, no wait, that’s a different story. Sorry about that. The head is tired. This is past my bed time. We will come back to it in another piece. There was nevertheless an ‘incident,’ but my love affair with music started as a happy one when I was in Class 5.

My sister and I joined Carnatic music class along with other kids in the apartment block. 3 days a week, every week, we diligently went to class to sing the Sa Re Ga Ma Pa. I was good. I was very good. I was very, very good. I never sang solo, so don’t know how I sounded, but it’s the self-belief that counts, right? We all sang in unison during class.

Soon, we moved on from Sa Re Ga Ma to SaSa ReRe GaGa MaMa. Then to SaSa MaMa ReRe GaGa. And then to geethas. I still remember the day we started off with Lambodhara…I had eaten Bisi Bele Bath for lunch.

Around this time, I got an opportunity to take part in a music competition in school. I could neither make it to the school choir nor the kho-kho team for reasons I simply don’t understand, but I was determined to find my calling. I enrolled myself. There were no entry requirements.

I went to music class that evening to share the news. I was going to make my guru proud.

“What shall I sing in the competition tomorrow? Can I practice the song in front of you?”

“Sari (Okay). Let’s finish the class. You can sing this one-see, this one, here, at the end of the class. We have been singing this all year-you know the lyrics well. Sari-ya? (Okay?)”

That was the first time I waited for the class to end. (End of class meant homework time. And who wants to go do that Algebra homework?)

“Okay, give us a preview of what’s to come.”

And that’s when I sang. I sang my heart out. I sang as pleasantly as the cool, early morning Bangalore air, with an occasional bus coughing up black smoke. I sang as balanced as the Shavige Bath you just made – until you eat it – and you realize you haven’t evenly mixed salt and there are lumps of plain cooked shavige here and there. I easily put those local Mumbai train singers singing “Pardesi, Pardesi…eh, eh…Jaana Nahi” to shame. I got this.

Two girls in class began whispering to each other. My ‘friend’ sitting next to me pretended to adjust himself and distanced himself. Three others were covering their laughter. My singing must have moved their hearts. Those are happy tears. My mother had a blank expression on her face. Her eyes now wide open in a pleasant (?) surprise. The music Maami was avoiding eye contact and looking at the tubelight (?) (Salman Bhai fan?)

A possibly spellbound on-looker disturbed the shruthi box. It fell to the floor with a “thud.” The shruthi (music) died. And along with it my musical.

I think I heard a ‘Ayyo shivane!’ (Oh Dear God!). Yeah baby, thank the Gods.

There was pin drop silence. I was waiting for my applause.

The music Maami and my mother exchanged glances. Their non-verbal communication ended with a nod.

“How was it Maami?” I asked.

“Kids, the class is over. Go home. Practice this week. Tell bye-bye to Nishanth.” Bye Nishanth.

The teacher and my mother had a ‘meeting’ in a distant. Parent-teacher meetings are never good news. But I was not worried about this one.

On the way home, my mother brought up the fact that I should learn the tabla.

“Why?” I asked, my hands full with butter biscuits in one hand, and hot puff in the other from Variar bakery.

“Just like that. You have learnt enough music. Tabla has more scope in the future.”

“Okay – but music classes along with Tabla classes? I won’t have time for tuition classes.”

“You know what, you are right. I did not think about it. Let’s drop the music class. You will have some time to play then, right?” she reasoned.

“Duh? Sometimes I don’t think you are smart amma (mom).”

“Yeah, I know. Are you still taking part tomorrow?” she asked, referring to the music competition.

“Yes, why not?”

It took me 3 minutes – the duration of the song, the next day to realize that my mother was the smart one. 15 seconds into the song, in front of an audience of 500 students, I remember coming to an abrupt pause.

Is that how I sound? Is that my voice on the speaker?

Yeah. It was all me baby.

The whispering, laughing and stunned look on everyone’s faces from the evening before finally made sense. We should have solo performances in class, I told myself. The ‘Gumpal Govinda’ (blending into the crowd) strategy did not help me.

*

When we stopped for brunch at a Waffle House near Tennessee, I hesitantly asked this Cali guy if he plans to sing some country music while in Nashville. He was overwhelmed with the Waffle House menu to immediately respond.

“I reckon you will throw a hissy fit. We don’t got no gluten free, y’all,” the server responded. “Here’s the water.” Bam!

“I have bigger concerns man. Look at the menu,” he pointed, clearly frustrated.

“And by the way, we don’t call California ‘Cali.’ And I am from The City (referring to San Francisco). We don’t do ‘directions’ either. That’s all SoCal.”

Nashville is called the Music City. It is known for Country music. The city has the famous Grand Ole Opry, among other landmarks. We chose to start with a tour of the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum.

The museum explained Country music evolution in generations. Ever since the ‘incident,’ my music knowledge plateaued at MS Subbalakshmi. Country music was far from my imagination.

This record label poster will make a good profile picture. No, this guitar will make a better one. Maybe I should check-in to show I have diverse interests? My head was swamped with very many thoughts.

My friend however was lost in the world of Country music. He even had his pen and notebook out.

“Listen to this. This is called ‘hillybilly’ music released by Columbia Records.”

“See this picture. This is the Carter family.”

“See this music clip in Black and White? These are Barn Dances. That is the Grand Ole Opry.”

Bill Monroe and The Blue Grass Boys, Honky tonk, Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline later, I was inspired. Wow. Country music wow.

The last leg of the museum had a dummy recording studio where we could experience recording a song. It was small closed room with sliding doors and see through windows on all four wooden ‘walls.’ It was equipped with headsets and a monitor where we could read the lyrics. Think of it as a Karaoke. The only difference being there was no loud music. Music was being played through the headsets and limited to only those who wore it.

Freshly inspired by the legends around us, we decided to try ‘recording’ our future ‘hit.’

3…2…1, we hear music through the headset, the lyrics to the song appear on screen, we sing. Simple instructions to play the game.

“Let me slide the door shut. This room is sound proof, right? I can’t sing. Let me rephrase that. I am not allowed to sing in public,” I explained. I looked if there was a gap in the door. It seemed air tight.

I waved at the ‘recording studio’ adjacent to us. There were other tourists. I mouthed a ‘good luck.’ No use saying the words out loud-they can’t hear us.

I heard a faint ‘Good luck’ in return. Wow! How?

I could still hear some faint footsteps and noises but there was no one around us. This isn’t a real studio-it cannot be totally sound proof. I brushed it off.

Alright, let’s get started.

Music begins. Lyrics appear

Almost heaven west virginia

Blue ridge mountains

“Sing! Sing with me!” exclaimed an excited Shreyas.

“Wait, I am getting a hang of this.”

Shenandoah river

“Sing!”

I tagged along.

LIFE IS OLD theeeeeerrrrreeee OLDERthanTHEtreeeeeeeessssss!!!!

“What is your Shruti?!”

COUNTRY ROADS TAKE ME HOME! YEAH! YEAH! OH I MEAN tooooooooo THE PLAAAAACCEEEEE I BEEEEEELONG!!!!

“Wait, wait. Pause, Pause. I got this one. Let’s try again! The door is shut, right?” I recalibrated my voice. I wanted a do-over.

ALMAST HEEEEVEN West VIRGINIA!

BLUUUUUUUEEEEE REEEDGEEE Mountain….Mountaaaainnnsss

SHEN…what…what is that word…Shendoah river!

Life is OOOOOOLLLLDDD there. Oldddddeerr than tree. Aaaaa….

“This was a mistake. Stop. STOP!” Shreyas paused the video.

“What’s the problem?” I asked, now disappointed. “I was on a roll there! I’m awesome!”

“We should leave. There are people gathering around us. Look.”

“Screw them! We are rockstars! We are gonna make so much money out of this! This is our first recording!”

“Ha ha ha! What are you saying!” he asked back.

“YEAH! No one can hear us dude. It’s okay. This room is sound proof. See the door is shut.”

We did 2 more takes after this. Many had gathered around us which is odd because no one can hear us singing, right?

Remember those faint talks, footsteps and noises? They were now distinct and clear. But, how? This room is sound proof.

At that moment, I looked up to thank the heavens and noticed the room has no ‘roof.’ It was open at the top. It was a ‘studio’ without a hat.

I froze. That explains why I could hear noise from the outside. That led me to seek an uncomfortable answer to the next question: So, people around heard me sing?

Stop, stop. I immediately advised my friend. “We have got to stop,” I hushed, pointing towards the heavens. He got it.

We paused the video. Pulled the sliding door open. Stepped out of the ‘studio’ with the most sophisticated look we could put up. Yeah nothing unusual here. Nothing to watch here. Yeah, keep going on with your mundane life folks.

Maybe no one heard us. All’s well.

We took a few more steps toward the exit. It’s all over, I told myself.

“Hey!”

“Y’all sing well, bless your heart. Y’all could be heard nine miles yonder,” someone shouted at us.

(You all sing well (bless your heart = sarcasm). You can be heard 9 miles from here.)

“Oh shit! Oh, well.”

The whole room burst out laughing.

Glossary:

Y’all: A southern ‘You all.’

Placist: one who discriminates places based on their geography? I don’t know. I made it up.

Sa Re Ga Ma Pa: Selective notes that add up to make an octave.

Geethas: a Carnatic music form.

Carnatic music: a system of music from India.

Raga: a melodic mode in Indian classical music.

Kho-Kho: a tag sport.

Shavige Bath: a noodle/vermicelli dish

Pardesi, Pardesi…eh, eh…Jaana Nahi: an old Bollywood song. Typically, at least a few years ago, beggars in Mumbai trains would seek donations while singing poorly.

Salman: Actor Salman Khan and his new movie Tubelight.

Shruthi box: An instrument used to continuously provide a drone while in music concert or in practice.

Tabla: a musical instrument