a couple of days ago, i was asked to write an essay on the topic of 'reminiscence'. i wasn't sure about what i was going to say. i thought...broke my head, made a few paper balls and still kept thinking.
finally...my thoughts drifted and went back to my very first teacher. the teacher that i will remember for life.
i would like to share a story, one that is pretty important to me.
a story that changed me. i started singing when i was 13 months. before i could walk, talk or sleep, i could sing. it was a gift really. everybody around me felt the need to put me in a class that would bring out my voice and i obliged, assuming that i was going to be trained alone. of course i thought that, the spoilt little brat that i was. i only say this because i have heard my father sing, and it's not pretty.
i was a stubborn child, and would sing only if my mood permitted me to. no one could ever force me. although, when i did unleash my vocal chords, my little skit would go on for almost 10 to 15 songs at a stretch. i would glare at people if they sang along with me, get angry if anyone missed a beat. i expected everybody to applaud at the very end of my "baby-performance", as i'd like to call it. some of these small things about me are still a part of me when i sing. i am so partial to my music, that it can’t be anything less than perfect.
i would tap my feet and hum tunes almost all the time. i would sing all day and night. when i found out i was going to be trained with others, imagine the drama! i whined and cried and refused to go. but everybody convinced me to go. heck, i didn't even have a say..and can you blame me? i was four.
when i entered that music school, i really thought life was going to be piece of cake and that i could sing whatever i wanted. my teacher was wonderful and she told my mother almost immediately that i had a great eye for music. if only life were that perfect. my teacher had a husband, who was not involved with music. he was in the army. his role there was so irrelevant, except that this 60 something man (then) became indispensable to 4 year old me.
finally...my thoughts drifted and went back to my very first teacher. the teacher that i will remember for life.
i would like to share a story, one that is pretty important to me.
a story that changed me. i started singing when i was 13 months. before i could walk, talk or sleep, i could sing. it was a gift really. everybody around me felt the need to put me in a class that would bring out my voice and i obliged, assuming that i was going to be trained alone. of course i thought that, the spoilt little brat that i was. i only say this because i have heard my father sing, and it's not pretty.
i was a stubborn child, and would sing only if my mood permitted me to. no one could ever force me. although, when i did unleash my vocal chords, my little skit would go on for almost 10 to 15 songs at a stretch. i would glare at people if they sang along with me, get angry if anyone missed a beat. i expected everybody to applaud at the very end of my "baby-performance", as i'd like to call it. some of these small things about me are still a part of me when i sing. i am so partial to my music, that it can’t be anything less than perfect.
i would tap my feet and hum tunes almost all the time. i would sing all day and night. when i found out i was going to be trained with others, imagine the drama! i whined and cried and refused to go. but everybody convinced me to go. heck, i didn't even have a say..and can you blame me? i was four.
when i entered that music school, i really thought life was going to be piece of cake and that i could sing whatever i wanted. my teacher was wonderful and she told my mother almost immediately that i had a great eye for music. if only life were that perfect. my teacher had a husband, who was not involved with music. he was in the army. his role there was so irrelevant, except that this 60 something man (then) became indispensable to 4 year old me.
the rules were compulsory. we had to wear pavadai chattais, beaded necklaces, bindi's and camphor on our foreheads. if we didn’t wear any of that, we were asked to hold our ears and squat ten times. apart from singing, which was what we initially went there to do, we were asked to make 15 cups of coffee or oats for all the guests that came in. we had to come in early to water the plants and sweep the floors. we were trained from 9 in the morning to 1 in the afternoon, and again from 4 to 8 in the evening during summers.
the funny part about all of this is that i never felt bad to do any of these things. i knew my music teacher was wonderful, but it was her 60 year old retired husband, that made me realize the importance of punctuality, opportunities, practicing, winning and loving the art of music itself. it was a beautiful time, when things were easy and simple. i have learned to love music from that unbelievably wonderful couple. they are so old today, and unwell too..but they have taught me lessons that will be imbibed and etched in my heart forever. my happiness as a child is partially dedicated to them and my memories from that music class are by far the most special times in my life.
god bless childhood.
the funny part about all of this is that i never felt bad to do any of these things. i knew my music teacher was wonderful, but it was her 60 year old retired husband, that made me realize the importance of punctuality, opportunities, practicing, winning and loving the art of music itself. it was a beautiful time, when things were easy and simple. i have learned to love music from that unbelievably wonderful couple. they are so old today, and unwell too..but they have taught me lessons that will be imbibed and etched in my heart forever. my happiness as a child is partially dedicated to them and my memories from that music class are by far the most special times in my life.
god bless childhood.
