if music be the food of love, play on. however i have to confess at the very start that i am absolutely tone deaf and know nothing abt music's intricacies - i cannot tell a soprano from a contralto, C minor and D major sound like grades., musical scores r beautiful doodles and upar ki patti and neeche ki ditto r WHAT? but i do love music or songs, though my taste runs more to the plebian than Bach. i envy people who can sing or strum the guitar/sitar with such passion ( do they also treat their partners with finesse?) and am an unabashed bathroom singer whose enthusiatic yodelling probably drowns out the noise of the shower. my affair with sound was due probably to my mother who lugged around a HMV gramaphone through all our travels and travails. this was a square contraption with a transparent lid with a turn table and a playing handle. the needles playing the records were kept in a small tin box and had to be painstakingly fitted into position - a task which called 4 some amount of bodily contortions bending and squinting at the underbelly of the handel. the records either LP ( long playing) or the smaller version were discs clothed in paper jackets with a round hole cut in the centre where u could read the titles and the names of the singers. u slid out these discs with infinite care, dusted them carefully ( with a very soft cloth to avoid scratching them ) and placed them on the suede turn table. the playing handle was lifted off its hook and then a delicate maneuver, almost ritualistic in its movements , ensued. you brought the handle back and then, like shifting the gear stick, took it forward to place it gently on the outer rim of the record. during this process the turn table started turning automatically. the record spun merrily and you waited with bated breath for the needle to hit the groove (literally!!) and suddenly music was in our midst talat mahmood lamenting - " tasveer teri dil mera behla na sakegi" ( all bloggers take note), the nuns agonising over " how do u keep a wave upon the sand?" and the von tropp family trilling " do- re - me". and who can forget the heart wrenching romance of " u r sixteen "? we girls waited 4 someone who would offer to take care of us!
then came teenage and my very happening friend sarita brought cassettes of ABBA for us 2 agonise over. we wanted 2 b " dancing queens, young and sweet, only seventeen" or thrilled to the daring prospect of " does ur mother know that u r out?". our frumpy black, frog like phone ( with its joint wrecking dialer) never did " ring, ring, why dont u give me a call". OSIBISA was next with " sunshine days" and asked that we"stand up please and say u r free, u r always welcome home, welcome home". my fifty something father was then spell bound by "ouja e ouja." the oriya crowd woke up rather late but, not to b outdone by firang pretenders came up with gems like " londa mundiya drivero " and "rongoboti oo rongoboti ". as i matured musically, ghazals became a favourite, "seene me jalan, aakhon mein toofan" signalling the angst of growing up while "chupke chupke raat din aasoon bahana yaad hein" assuaged the pain.
post marriage jayant gave me a walkman , a treasure i carried with me 4 a long time, even after its battery flap broke off ( taping the cells in with duct tape) and the sponge on its earphones disintegrated. the japanese decided to make a microcosmic world and i hankered after an ipod, loathe 2 however give up my precious cassettes. and now utube has made it so easy 2 access any song and i am transported by " tocha chandrama nabhata" ( a marathi oldie) to an early morning train jorney wher a stranger whistled the tune while a full moon glided noiselessly along. rahman changed the scene completely with his scores and "kabhi kabhi aditi " appeals 2 both my daughter and me. then we have rihanna ( good girl gone better?) with her ella ( them old brollies make way- we have suddenly morphed into something sexy and fun ). and so this journey goes on , giving joy 2 unmusical souls like me and filling our lives with their magic.