Aiming to Perfect

Life's beauty comes to us often and in varied forms: in words, images, music, all of nature. Whenever we're willing to listen, life gives - it is up to us to put ourselves forth as receptacles. I've been thinking more and more about what we do with these gifts of life. How do we tend to them suitably so as to preserve them in fullness and pass them on? Like a book that we buy first-hand, read, and sell again. We could be careful and attentive while we read, so as to preserve the pristine condition in which we made the purchase, or we could be careless and leave it dogeared. It is a decision we make, at some layer of consciousness.

As I try to apply this analogy to my life, I realize that I am constantly being touched by life's beauty in these times. As I travel more and more, I find myself repeatedly enraptured by the beauty of the place, the people, the history, the culture... the list has no end. My camera and I are thus made inseparable, for I am continuously inspired. And inspiration is so valuable - so much comes out of it. I am happier, more at peace, and no doubt I transmit some of that peace, if unknowingly, to the outer world as well. But inspiration is energy, and it could be preserved in fullness, packaged, and passed on in convincing chunks, or it could be allowed to dissipate such that it is too diffuse to carry the impact much further.

Perhaps all of this sounds a little 'out there', but it filled me with a feeling of responsibility, an onus to give back (this inspiration) as fully as possible, as close to the form in which I have been recipient of it. This means one thing alone - that I have to give myself to my expressions in entirety. When I write, I must write with the dedication of an activist who puts mind, body and spirit into her cause. When I photograph, I must photograph in full presence, in ways that I may best inspire the person who views this photograph. It isn't easy, but isn't it the only way? The only worthwhile objective to pursue? Do we even have a choice? It is an onus indeed, and not one we can do justice to in the matter of days and weeks, but as a life goal perhaps?

And this is not to say that we attach ourselves to the receipt of our art, in whatever form. It is futile to imagine that we could dictate ways in which our expressions may be received or appreciated, but in that the intent is purity itself, the goal - I believe - is met.

In the words of...

Sheila Dhar:

Hindustani musicians undergo rigorous training and possess incredible skill and control. However, the central object of their labours is not the cultivation of a 'beautiful' tone but the development of an almost limitless capacity in articulation. The physical sound of the music is, in ideal circumstances, only a medium and not the end product. To the connoisseur, a voice is only as beautiful as what it conveys.

The physical body of the music is to the musician what a writing tool is to the poet. The listener is trained to tune in to the lightly charged state of consciousness of the performer rather than to the physical condition of the sound that carries the music. Consequently, Indian ears are somewhat indifferent to the outer perfection of musical sound. Some of the most revered musicians have been and are people in their seventies. Their glory is in the truth of their experience and though their voices might have lost superficial lustre, the purity of their intention still shines through and is always the focus of attention for the initiated listener.

I read these lines minutes after I met Ustad Fahimuddin Dagar, and the words resonated in entirety. If you ever get a chance to read Sheila Dhar's writings on music, do. You won't regret it.

Struck by Virtuosity

It was time again to meet Ustad Fahimuddin Dagar ji today. I knew there would be a second time, and I am glad that it took its time. When I suggested I go this Thursday, it was done.

Meeting Dagar ji was like a breath of fresh air. He is 80+ and a child at heart if I've seen one. Words can hardly do justice to the aura I felt in his presence today, the aura that spread the perfume of purity all around. A man of small built, hair all grey, he is soft-spoken and gentle. And with one look at him, the word 'guru' attains definition. The notes that flow out of his lips are perfect indeed, but even the words have a glow to them one must experience to understand. Need I add I was swept away?!

When I walked in, he was teaching two young shishyas, and I sat behind them. I took the empty spot next to I, and immediately found my home in the meditative atmosphere that had been set. The teaching and the learning continued, and as in meditation, my only effort was to remove every other thought from mind and become one with the sound. Every now and then, Dagar ji would correct their posture, explain how the position of the spine was important for it was like an antenna that had to be in place. Or he would break into bouts of philosophizing, as any dedicated guru is wont to, while I breathed in every word. Har lavz sar aankhon par...

A half hour later, he realized he hadn't acknowledged my presence yet. I explained to him who I was and why I was there. After a few tries with my name (he thought I was Nirma!), he finally registered it, and swiftly reverted to his teaching. Students trickled in, as time went by, but the class continued - with him exercising an acute ear and tremendous patience.

For me, this meeting amounted to more than just two hours of my life. It was a listening and a realizing. Perhaps the realization that hit me the hardest was that I had thus far been interested in music, certainly, but with the sole interest of singing rather than learning. As a brand new yearning found its way in today - to learn rather than to sing, to start with the sa and meditate upon it for years if necessary, a strayness found its way home.

The pearls of wisdom that Dagar ji shared were precious. He equated music with pavitrata, or purity, stressing the need for exercising caution - so as to find the right swara and laya. He also spoke of shraddha and prem, and their power to transform into beauty. While mentioning prem, he went on to talk of that emotion that we feel for our parents when we are born, so that we may feel it also for the people around us, and in turn feel it for God. And God himself had no religion with him, as he directed his students - in one breath - to sing Om and meditate upon Allah. A young student repeated Ni-Sa 108 times, as Dagar ji counted on his japa mala.

The singing became so intoxicating, no doubt he too wished for it to be endless, as he continued to 'tune' his speech to 'sa', while he told one of his students to give up on adding sugar-free to his tea because he didn't know how to. It is these little things that made him so endearing, that made him so perfect. Before me, there was not a highly acclaimed maestro, a carrier of the famed name of Dagar, an artist of stature. Before me, there was music, and no one else. The ego seemed to have vacated its place eons ago. Music had left little place for any other existence.

As I yearned to stay there, a strange thing happened. I realized that the encounter was beautiful because that yearning was so deep. And there it ended. There was no desire to linger on to keep that yearning fulfilled for the little time possible. It was a gift, it had been taken and imbibed. Time it was to let it out again. Here it is, then.

[NB: This meeting took place on the 18th of June, 2009.]

the things we take for granted

(sigh. i typed out a whole post and it was deleted by airbears. oh well, here's a second shot:)

i realize as i immerse in the glorious music of today that the instrumentation is so often so easily overlooked on a cursory listen. on my earphones, i rejoiced in listening to the subtle percussion of horse with no name, the tremendous guitaring in jolene, the piano in ordinary miracle, the flute in moondance, the fiddle in promentory. and as i listened with effortless enthusiasm and increasing awe, it suddenly struck me that there was something that appealed to my sense of wonder before all of this, and that was the flawless perfection with which each of the artists hit each of their notes so absolutely on key. perhaps it goes without saying, but does it really? i mean, i sing (or try to), and knowing how incredibly hard it is to sing one song at a single stretch without going off on a single note, how is it that i do not first fill with wonder at the fact that i have before me piece after piece performed perfectly in tune?

the things we take for granted. i would really rather not.