Living in a sparsely populated, really quiet town far away from immediate family meant that every vacation and short holiday was spent in Mumbai initially, and Pune later, visiting family. My maternal uncle- Mama was old enough to be my grandfather, and just like his father, had very strong leanings towards music. My mother's family was into music in a big way. They read a lot. Discussions about music, art, literature, history and spirituality were always on the forefront.
This was in stark contrast to my father's family who read all the time, anything they could find, and then had heated exchanges over world politics, history, current affairs and industry. No music there at all! No films and theater either. They came from a very affluent family who thought music was to be listened to in the background and nothing more. Impeccable tastes were developed because they always bought the best, but they didn't believe it was important enough to talk about, and nobody could really sing.
So my earliest memories of lullabies, apart from my mother singing them, are of those sung by Mama. After dinner, as he had done with all his nieces and nephews, who were a lot older than I was, he would carry me around the huge balcony of the bungalow at Walkeshwar, in the Raj Bhavan compounds, with the cool sea breeze blowing, and sing what I thought at the time were lullabies. I think this was his way of unwinding after a long day at the hospital/office. He was at first the Dean of Grant Medical College and then the Director of Medical Health services for the state of Maharashtra. The reason for writing that is to convey what his profession was, he was a doctor- the best I have ever known.
I remember falling asleep to 'Don Ghadicha Daav, Yaala Jeevan Aise Naav' (Life is nothing but a two minute game). What a beautiful song that is! However, I never really thought about it's meaning at the time. I was at an age where I could be carried around, so I guess I'm forgiven. When I would hum it later, it was always the way Mama sang it, in his exquisite, unblemished style. I had no idea the song was from the film Ramshastri, and two very young children have sung the original. Much later, when television arrived in homes, I got to see the songs and to my surprise, this one was sung in a simple but melodious way. How he embellished it! A little taan here, a little harkat there, never the same every day. Many years later, when I was talking to his grandson, and mentioned the song, we realized we were both in the long chain of children in the family who had been blessed with sleeping to that 'lullaby'!
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Later, our routine visits during vacations would pass reading books and playing in the garden. My grandfather once decided he would teach us some classical music. He taught my sister a small composition in Raag Bhoop and I got to learn 'Ha Takmak Paahi Surya Rajanimukh'. I found the first line funny but loved learning to sing the song. Back at school, my sister decided to sing her new song at a music competition and bagged the first prize for her class. I decided I would not follow suit and be laughed at by my friends for the word Takmak, because no one understood the language and I did not want to be embarrassed. It just goes to show how foolish one is and sometimes priorities are so wrong at that age. I insisted I wanted to learn a new song, not knowing I was sidetracking a beautiful Yaman Kalyan from Sangeet Manapamaan, written by K.P. Khadilkar, composed by Govindrao Tembe and sung by Bal Gandharva. My mother finally relented and taught me 'Tejonidhi Loh Gol', which I was happy about because I knew it from the vinyl record of Katyar Kaljat Ghusli we used to play often. I was about 9-10 years old then. That juvenile rendition got me a prize, so the episode ended well. However, till date, I feel bad for not learning more from my grandfather, who passed away the next year at the age of 87. That is one regret I will always have, I wish I could undo that time, spend a little less time in the garden and more by his side, picking up some valuable lessons in music.
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There was no formal music teacher in the town we lived so my mother did her best to teach us little nuances. She would often site examples of well written songs, emphasizing on lines that were important, and on little harkats the singer would decorate the song with. My informal education continued. My father who I thought was next to none other than God himself, saw the whole exercise as futile would often tease my mother about poetry, especially ghazals- men first put their women in burqas, then either rejoice and write poetry when they see her fingernail or toe, or write sad poetry when they don't see her at all. I found that argument very valid and decided it was useless to try and understand that kind of poetry. Discussing films and music was also considered a waste of time. Listen to all the music you want on the side, was what I took away from the situation. I loved doing that, all kinds of music. In fact my father bought very good music from all over the world for us to appreciate.
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At this point now, when I see people earnestly discussing music, I enjoy listening to them, reading the articles they write and taking away something from it. However, I have realized that I am better at appreciating music rather than discussing it.
