Musing in the night

Today Vishal got the Sarod from Calcutta. It’s been a long time since I learned or played Sarod seriously. There used to be a time when I would spend hours playing the Sarod – I used to call it – playing with the Sarod. And today my heart stirred again when my java hit the strings and my nails pressed the strings to the shiny metal plate. There is a magic in Sarod. And, a magic in my playing with it. Somehow, I just seem to melt away in the music that surrounds me. I know that I have not advanced beyond a level in playing the Sarod, and that there is so much more to learn. Yet, whenever I hear the sound of my Sarod, that exact note in all its melody, I forget the world around. Ah, how much I wish I start learning Sarod again.

Of course, Sarod isn’t the best news for everyone. For one, Deepika is already feeling a little annoyed. What with all my writing and reading and TV, she could have done without another distraction for me. So, here she is, sitting by my side, surely wanting to draw my attention. It’s a different matter, of course, that her eyes draw me more than anything else in the world.

Coming back to Sarod. There is something regal about it. The polished wood, the shiny metal plate, the white skin drum. And, the sound of course. The strength with which it emanates sound, and yet in that there is a melody that is ever so sweet. It is so easy with Sarod to express absolute rage with one stroke and touching love with another. Just like Raag Darbari – strong, sweet and majestic. Like fire that rises in the midst of the night, raging as it soars towards the sky, chirping away as it burns the twigs – and like the dying embers that remind one of the cold night that surrounds once again.

Now, it’s 11:07 in the night, and Deepika’s read what I have written in the second paragraph. Might as well let her know that I really meant the last line in it.