Ultimate Reunion

Disappointments & Reassurances

Mukundo woke up at four in the morning as was his habit. Instead to going to the bathroom immediately as he usually did, he stayed put on the bed for a while and looked at his sleeping wife. He hadn't been sure about this marriage. But it was Pandit ji's wish. "You are the son I never had," Pandit ji had said, "She has my blood. You have my music. If you come together, you will carry my legacy forward."

This was one conviction of Pandit ji that Mukundo now didn't feel so sure about. How had marrying Aporna helped him in carrying the legacy forward? As far as he could see, he was doing in single-handedly. She had never been interested in music. She couldn't tell her teevra ma from shudha ma. She couldn't even tell sa from re. And Pandit ji, who used to be so strict with his students, had never as much as raised his voice at her. She was motherless and Pandit ji was acutely sensitive of this want in her life. To compensate for it, he had ended up spoiling her by letting her do whatever she wanted.

There was one thing that she liked about music. The glamour that came with it. It was probably to continue to be a part of that glamour that she had married him. The stage performances and adulation that followed had her beaming. She used to accompany her father in all his stage appearances and all his media interviews. She did the same with Mukundo after marriage. She would never bother to listen to him when he practiced, but she had her clothes and jewellery ready for every stage performance. She might not have time for him otherwise, but always had time to sit beside him during the interviews as loving and proud wife, adding her charming comments here and there.

In the beginning, his youth and his romantic and physical needs had made him seek her out. But over time that need had fizzled. The camaraderie that should have taken the place of youthful passion in the relationship had never developed between them. A strange resentment set in instead. Neither of them could have put their fingers on what exactly they resented about the other. But they did. Outwardly, one could point out that it was because of their widely different feelings about music. But Mukundo knew that it wasn't the case. He connected better with many friends who had nothing to do with music than he connected with his wife. Yes! That was it. There was no connect. Not through music, not through anything else. These days they hardly ever shared an intimate moment.

He was grateful to Pandit ji for a lot of things. But this was something he shouldn't have done to him. He had paid a huge price for his guru-dakshina. It had put an end to any possibility of him ever finding a partner, a soul-mate, or even some straight-forward romance.

--

"Baba," Sumedha, his eight-year-old daughter peeped out from the adjacent room, when Mukundo stepped out of his bedroom, "Can I join your practice?"

Mukundo smiled affectionately, "You are up already? Brushed your teeth?"

"No. But I can do that quickly."

"Okay," he looked at his watch, "You have ten minutes. If you can make it before five, come in the practice room. But if you get late, you must not disturb, okay?"

"Okay Baba. I will not be late."

His daughter was his sole comfort in life. She was already making good progress with her music lessons, and unlike her mother, she didn't mind discipline and hard work. These days, she was even trying to get up early to join him in the morning practice. The thought of her company during his practice was a pleasant one. And then there was someone else's company too! He sighed as he thought of her. What on earth had happened yesterday? Singing could put him in a trance sometimes, but that happened when he was alone, never when he was with somebody. Well, not until yesterday anyway.

She was already there when he walked into the practice room. She was more relaxed today, assured that she was there in time. She folded her hands in greeting and Mukundo nodded.

"Get the Tanpura," he told her, "We will start in five minutes. My daughter may join us."

She followed his instructions and sat down with Tanpura. She tuned it, then addressed him hesitatingly, "There was something I wanted to tell you."

"Yes?"

"Learning from you, even one lesson, is nothing short of a dream coming true for me. And I understand how big an opportunity it is for me to be here. I'm really sorry that I was late on the first day. But I want to assure you that I don't shy away from hard work and it won't happen again."

"Did you write that down and memorize it?"

She startled and fidgeted. He was right, but this wasn't the response she was expecting at all and was at a loss. Seeing her daughter had put Mukundo in a good humor, however. He had only meant to tease her and was amused at her discomfort. He chuckled, but before he could explain Sumedha ran in. "Baba. I am in time, right?"

"Yes, Shona. You are in time. Come here."

"Who is she, Baba?"

"She is Piyali. She is also very hard-working like you." Their eyes met for a moment, and Piyali could read reassurance in his. That relaxed her and she was ready for the practice.

"I need an alarm for six 'o clock," he announced, then turned to his daughter, "Can you get an alarm clock, Sumi?"

"I know how to put an alarm in your mobile."

"My mobile is switched off. Someone may disturb..."

"Nobody will call at this hour, Baba," she said and snatched the mobile out of his pocket. "I set the alarm. Will you start now?"

"Yes," he patted her head.

Seeing Sumedha take such liberties with Mukundo brought a slight smile to Piyali's lips, along with some memories. Of her father.

"Shall I follow you?" she asked.

"No. We can do that with others. Let me hear you sing Bhairava. I will be on tabla," he replied.

She closed her eyes, thought of her father and silently asked for his blessings. Then she started with aalaap.

"Do that again. Ni-Sa-Ga-Ma-Pa... You can improvise."

"Try dedh gat."

"Teevra... not shuddha..."

He helped her by correcting her, pushing her to improvise, and try difficult rhythms. She had been right in claiming that she didn't shy away from hard work. When she didn't get something right, or to his satisfaction, she tried and re-tried until she did it the way he wanted. Since he was not singing with her, he was aware of the time. At six he didn't need the alarm. He stopped her practice and had Sumedha unset the alarm before it rang. His other three students walked in just then and they restarted the practice together. Sumedha joined them while they practised simpler things.