Linda: Joys too Numerous to Recount March 20

Joys too Numerous to Recount

Every day brings a new joy, a new story, a new friendship. The days here at the Center are quite full, especially with our daily visits to the hospital for Eleanor’s massage treatments for her knees, and there has been little time to recount the days in writing. (These sessions at the hospital were a source of joy for both of us. She received her 30-40 minute massages which have helped her knees tremendously and we both were able to have long conversations with Sarath, whose companionship has become, in a very short time, a precious gift.) So, many moments, so many kindnesses, so many evenings, so many interchanges will remain treasured memories to share with family and friends, as the conversation flows once we return home. Every person has a special quality, a special vibrancy and genuineness – from the tailor, to the people at the hospital, to the families we met, to all the people who work here, to the shopkeepers, and to the teachers, who share their love of their art and the hearts with us. Could we come back? Would it be the same? Nothing ever is, but there is much here yet to explore. We shall see.

Starting on a note of hilarity were the local cricket matches that began shortly after our arrival – much to the joy of the visitors and the staff. One must realize that cricket is THE GAME in India. It is played everywhere, all the time. It is quite serious and competitive, and much loved. You will see more children playing cricket than I ever saw playing baseball or basketball – even in the days when children actually played outside! I was only able to play in one game here – I seemed to often have other commitments during game time – so perhaps Eleanor will relate the spirit of these games in more detail. I, however, am obliged to tell you of my first attempts at bowling! Bowling in cricket is analogous to pitching in baseball, except that you have to throw it with a straight arm instead of a bent one. The other difference is that every player has to bowl, or pitch. There isn’t one superstar pitcher on a team – every member has to be a decent batter, a decent bowler, and a decent outfielder. The idea of bowling is NOT to pitch it to the batter for the batter to hit (or better yet, to miss). The point of bowling is to hit these three sticks stuck in the ground behind the batter called stumps, which has a small piece of wood placed on top called a wicket. If you knock down a stump, the batter is out. The object of the batter is to protect the stumps. So, it doesn’t matter if he swings and misses. All that matters is that the stumps are protected. Then, if he hits the ball hard enough, he and his partner can run to opposite stumps (it’s optional) – hopefully before the outfielders throw the ball and either tag the runner or knock over the stumps before the runner is safe. So … my turn to bat. The skills learned at Tracker School once more come to save the day … almost. I take a few steps back, wind-up, and throw the ball, just like I learned to throw hunting sticks long ago, thanks to Eleanor’s reminder: the tell-tale pointing of the finger toward the object you are trying to hit just as you release the ball/stick from your hand. Lovely. Straight, straight, straight to the batter. Slow, slow, slow. I have absolutely NO POWER! It certainly was straight, but that throw wouldn’t have knocked a fly off course! I couldn’t have given that batter a better chance to hit a ball. TWACK!! That ball flew out of the field … and the batter scores 6 points. Three times he hits it out of the field before my turn to bat is over, which, thankfully, was quite soon. (I only had to throw 6 good throws, which I did in good order.) In a short time, the other team had chalked up 18 points off of my bowling! Thankfully, the game was in good spirits … and we were still slightly ahead. The next bowler was an Indian and a good bowler. Admittedly, I was quite relieved when the batter hit that ball out of the field as well. Alas, on the next bowl, the batter was out – which happened to be the end of the game, and we won by only a few points. It was all very exciting. We had a break for tea, and afterwards, a new game resumed. I, however, went to the room for some reason, so I missed out on Game 2.

There were a few stories I want to recount, three of which are stories my singing teacher, Santosh, told me regarding some of the ragas I was learning. The first was a story about Narayan, one of the great, great sages of music from the times of legend. This great sage of music was so renowned that he frequented all three realms, playing for the gods, for the rakshasas (jinn), and for humans. He played the most revered instrument in Classical Indian music, that instrument of Sarawati, the goddess of music, herself – the veena. He was, however, also quite arrogant. It seems that on his travels, he met up with Hanuman, the legendary monkey warrior who accompanied and fought with Rama. Hanuman, the archetype of devotion and obedience. The two met, Narayan placed his veena on a rock, and they spoke. The conversation was, however, quite one-sided. Narayan did all the talking and the “conversation” revolved around how good he was! At a certain point, Hanuman picks up his own veena and begins to play and sing. While he sings, all of nature becomes silent. The animals stop their chatter and come to listen. The rock upon which the Nayana’s veena was placed melted. When Hanuman finishes, the animals go back to their lives and the rock hardens, trapping the veena. The sage touches Hanuman’s feet in supplication and thanks him for teaching him a lesson. His arrogance is gone – forever. He humbly asks Hanuman to sing the raga once more. Hanuman sings … the rock melts … and Narayan is able to get his veena from the rock’s embrace. The second story was simply the knowledge that one of the ragas that I learned was composed by Krishna, who first played it on his flute while sitting in a tree, looking down on the gopis. The third story came after asking my Santosh about the power of the ragas to heal. This is a question I’ve explored in times past and it is one Eleanor is considering for her own future exploration. I was trying to find out if enough was known today to actually pursue a study. (The answer was … yes.) This story followed. Long, long ago, a man was traveling with his wife and small child. By the time they came to a village, it was late at night. It was very, very unusual for someone to travel late at night and the people of that time would never open their doors at night for fear of thieves. The man knocked on many doors – to no avail. He went to the temple, but that door, too, was locked from the inside. He told his wife to wait with their child. He would climb the wall and unlock the door from the other side. Alas, after climbing the wall, he fell into the well on the other side … and drowned. When the town’s people arose the next day, they were very, very dismayed that a man had drowned in the temple’s well! This was doubly bad, and they were partly to blame. At that time, one of the great musician of all time, Thaygaraja, came to the village with some of his disciples – who were great men in their own right. He asked what the matter was, and was also very concerned about what had happened. He then sat in front of the man’s body with a vessel of water nearby. He sang the raga Najeevachara, long and lovingly. After finishing the raga, he sprinkled the man’s body with the water, and the man awoke, is if from sleep. So goes the story. It certainly is inspiring when one is learning a song in that raga!

On another day, my singing lesson was interrupted by loud drums. A street procession was passing by! Now, we have seen many street processions. Some were for burials. Some were to carry a deity through the streets during a festival. I’m not even sure what some of them were for. Hearing drums on the street had ceased to be something to run and go see – especially during a lesson. But this, it seems, was different. The lesson was stopped and out we went. What an amazing spectacle. The first thing one saw were large, brightly tinseled things that looked a bit like Christmas trees “dancing” in the distance. As they approached, one could see that they were on top of men’s heads, whose dancing motions underneath animated the “trees”. There were several rows of these, followed by Indian drums and a wild, wild woodwind instrument that was haunting and drawing – the sound just pulled you to the music and the mood. Then, a whole troop of about 30 drums followed, by more “trees”, more dancing, more instruments and another troop of 30 drums. Interspersed amongst the musicians were men that had to be guided. They were in a semi-conscious state, induced through hours or days of prayer and fasting. They were “walking” to the temple, but they were not quite there. It was a riveting spectacle – one reenacted, perhaps more than once a year. 10 minutes later – back to class. Truly, it is amazing how many days bring such a ray of wonder, such a different world – different even for the people who live here. The ways of all the sects and temples and religions are so vast that many people witness them in appreciation, from outside. It is an acceptance and respect of diversity on a very, very grand scale.

Besides the daily events, there were also opportunities for concerts and events on some evenings and during the weekend. This was quite lovely, as we were able to see the concerts and performances in their own setting – in the temples and not in a concert hall. We were able to see one Kathakali performance at a temple fairly close to the Center. This was a real dance, not given for audiences but as a devotion to the gods. It began at 10:00 and lasted until at least 5:00 in the morning. We had already seen a demonstration and short piece of Kathakali in Kumily. It was fascinating in the detail of expression, but I was not sure I was going to stay awake for the long renditions of events – inviting someone to come into your home is a dance sequence that could take 45 minutes or more! We arrived at around 10:00, but the artists were still putting on their elaborate costumes. Each costume has layers and layers and layers of clothing with elaborate decorations and details. Putting this on requires the help of at least one experienced person, and this is done after the 3 hours required for putting on elaborate and precisely symbolic make-up. No wonder it starts at 10:00. While we waited for the performance, we walked around the temple which was remarkably Japanese in design. The roof structure, the white walls and brown roof, the carved screens, and the elegant simplicity were very Japanese seeming. It would be interesting to trace back the origins of this influence, for it is quite common here. The performance began on Indian time, about 10:30. There were a few people in the temple besides us, and most of them were asleep. Truly, this whole elaborate spectacle was to be done as a gift, a devotion to the temple sponsored by a family and performed by these temple artists. This was no ordinary concert and it was not about the expertise of the performers. It was a gift of gratitude to heaven on the parts of all, and it didn’t really matter who saw it. We stayed until about 1:30 and I was fascinated. It was quite different from the demonstration on a stage. The music, the performers, the night, the temple - they all swirl in my memory creating a vision that is not quite real, not quite in this world. For a little time, once again, we were a world apart – neither here, nor quite there either. Somewhere in between, frozen for a few brief moments in a world of beauty and wonder.

We saw two performances given by my singing teacher. The first was next to a small temple in a town fairly close to the Center. This was the premiere concert for a tabla player (drum) of around 14 years of age. Santosh was the vocalist, and had to modify his improvisation to fit the skills of the drummer. There were about 30-40 people in attendance, all under a starlit sky – including the proud family and a video recorder with a strong light! The second concert had Santosh as the featured artist and he was able to give free rein to his skill and musical decisions. Interestingly, the pieces to be performed had not been finalized even two days before the performance! Santosh was still thinking about what specific selections he might do and when during the concert he would perform them. There would be no rehearsals, no discussions with accompanists. Every artist there is well versed in the ragas, in the art of playing with others, and in their capacity to improvise, so decisions such as which piece to perform could be left to the last minute discretion of the artist. And, on a bittersweet note, this concert will be on the last night of our stay in Kerala. Nostalgic singing under a starlit sky with the temple as a background – a perfect ending to a magical stay.