The Composition

On a certain friday was our Annual Day at the school last year. I had been allotted a slot for 20 minutes to present an orchestral performance by the students of the school, trained by me. I’ve been doing this slot for the last two years, so I was not really very apprehensive this time, as compared to my first year. If I was to believe the Principal of the school, in his words, my slot was a breath of fresh air in an otherwise routine annual day celebration. So with all my modesty, I must admit I was quite confident. And it was honestly up to my students, I am always backstage. So once I was done making the composition, I really did not have a lot to perform, apart from guiding my students to play the composition in the way it is made.

Kashif, a prodigious talent, from the 8^th standard was my ace of spades. He was learning Sarangi from the tender age of 6, and already by now, he was well accustomed with most of the Raagas and the improvisations they lead to. His guru, his father himself, Ustaad Shareef Khan, is a descendant of the rich heritage of Sarangi players of the Sabri’s from the Maihar Gharaana. The first time I heard him last year when he played a dhun in Bhairavi, I was extremely moved. It is difficult, to say the least, to find such a young boy play a composition in a Raaga, understanding the Raaga’s personality. More often than not, even the very good musicians at this age would play a composition exactly the way it has been taught. Kashif was not one of those. He had an intuitive understanding of the mood, and hence he would play a note with his own understanding and maturity, prolonging or twisting the note just enough to evoke catharsis. I really believe, he is a prodigy. I do not use the word too often, but he is one.

As the corporates say, a smart boss would always use his brightest employee in a way that magnifies the boss’s reputation. I did the same with Kashif this year. Integral portions of my composition would be played by him, also because the composition was set in Maand. I believe Maand sounds best with earthy instruments, specifically on something like a Sarangi, giving it the adequate flavor of Rajasthani folk. Chhote ustaad, as I would call Kashif fondly sometimes, played my composition with utmost ease. I must mention that he had also added a few phrases which he thought would go well with the piece, and they were indeed beautiful! The rest in the orchestral group were all catching up with him, always. They had crossed the stage of being envious of him. They were now in awe of him, realising he is a talent. This is a hard stage to reach, even for Kashif. I remember I wasn’t even close to being someone anybody would be envious of. I could see the unease Kashif had dealing with this stardom. He is a teenager after all. He couldn’t fathom how to take complements, or answer quintessential questions related to any composition. He is a fine musician, but people forget he is still a kid. His concept is intuitive. He is still figuring it out in his head. But I must also add, he is not pompous, yet. He is not overconfident, yet. He is not a star in his head. Yet.

He had asked me if he could miss the rehearsal on thursday, a day before our annual day performance. Although I wasn’t too pleased with the request, I could not refuse him. I was certain he would play the way I expect him to on the day of the performance, even if he misses our final rehearsal. I was actually uncertain about others who were playing with him, because they were merely memorising the composition, unlike Kashif, who always, even on stage, would let the composition breathe on its own. So during the final rehersal on thursday, I sang out aloud the portions Kashif would play, for everyone to “memorise” one final time where they need to stop and begin again. On the day of our performance, we all reported at school 2 hours prior to our slot. There was a short sound check shortly after which the guests were allowed to come in. The football field was full of chairs covered in a white cloth, the ones you would see in a North Indian wedding in Delhi. These were perhaps from a wedding last night, for many of them had stains of gravy dropped on them while hogging the age old stale recipes, the likes of paneer makhani and dal mutter, or is it paneer mutter and dal makhani, whatever, I couldn’t care less. It all smells the same. I am also more certain since it was winters, and all Annual days and weddings are scheduled in winters in Delhi.

Kashif did not show up for the soundcheck. He was infact missing almost till five minutes before we were about to get on stage. I had lost my temper by now. I was shouting randomly on students who I thought could get in touch with him and find out his whereabouts. I did not have the balls to tell our Principal to postpone our slot a little, he seemed extremely busy attending to his chief guests. I had to find a way to execute our performance without Kashif, in case against all hope, he doesn’t turn up. But he did turn up, almost in the nick of time. I did not have the time to even inquire him about his disciplinary lapse. As soon as he came, we almost immediately had to rush to the stage and set up the instruments. I was helping in placing the microphones in front of the significant players. Kashif needed an independent microphone. When I reached him, I saw him sitting with a harmonium he had borrowed from another student.

“Where’s your Sarangi?” I asked. He kept looking at me, his eyes brimming with tears. I had to place more microphones quickly so I moved ahead. Kashif played the harmonium almost with the same ease. He played his improvisations too, but something was missing. May be at his age and calibre, even some of his improvisations are rehearsed. I do not know how to put it, but it did not sound organic. For someone like me who knows him so well as a musician, it was apparent he was struggling to be at his best. Something was bothering him. Well, and if you ask me about the orchestral performance, it did not sound the way it did till the second last rehearsal. Taking nothing away from harmonium the instrument, it could not add the flavour a Sarangi would have. There was a huge cheer nonetheless, after the performance got over. Apart from me and my orchestral group, no one realised what the piece would have been if Kashif had carried his Sarangi.

“Where is your Sarangi?” I asked him again once we went to the music room after our performance to keep all the instruments.

“My father did not allow me to bring it” he replied with a broken voice, trembling with fear and embarassment.

“Why?” I asked

“He did not want me to play today with the school orchestra” Kashif said.

“Why? All of a sudden?” I enquired.

Kashif stayed silent for a while, which completely flew the lid off my temper I was trying to control for so long.

“You think this is a joke? Why did he not want you to play today after so many months of rehearsals?” I shouted at him.

“He did not like your composition” he replied so softly that it was almost inaudible.

“What?”

“He did not like your composition” he repeated, this time I heard it clearly.

“When did he hear it?” I asked.

“He wanted to listen to it, so he asked me to play it yesterday at home. He said this is not Maand.”

Kashif replied, now without trembling .

“What is it then, if this is not Maand?” I asked as if a child has ridiculed my musical knowledge after years of training and practice.

“I don’t know sir. He said it is a bad composition, and I do not want you to play something like this in front of people.”

It took me a while to assimilate and absorb what Kashif had said. I wasn’t expecting anything like this as the reason of his almost missing the performance. I gathered myself again to ask him “How did you come then at the last minute?”

“I ran out of the house without telling him. I did not want to spoil your orchestra at the last minute because of me.” replied a mature 14 year old boy in a fix between his father-guru and his school music teacher. He continued after a brief pause, “I will not play any more for the school functions from now, my father does not want it. Sorry sir.”

There was silence in the room for a few minutes once Kashif said this. He kept looking at me, expecting something from my side, either a disapproval or an angry comeback, anything. I had a lot to say but it was not meant for him may be. So I had to chose whatever I wanted to say very carefully. I was aware he is a child and is powerless in front of his father’s wishes.

“Kashif you are doing what your father has asked you to, and so you are helpless. But will you remember one thing forever if I tell you now?”

“Yes sir”

“Never do this with your son or daughter when you become a father. Let them perform at functions you think are unimportant or not worth it. The recognition amidst their peers is important for their development. And for all you know, it may not be worthless for them after all.”

Kashif touched my feet and left the room in tears.

He kept representing the school at inter school competitions, and then eventually at state level competitions. He won a lot of them. But he refused to play for the school functions despite immense coaxing from the Principal himself. I met Kashif’s father once at the parking lot when he had come to drop Kashif to school one day. He greeted me with folded hands and said “Kashif speaks very highly of you.” I smiled and told him his son is a very bright talent and it is a pleasure to have him in the school. I felt nervous in front of him. I was intimidated by him to be precise.

He awkwardly then mentioned the annual day incident, “I believe Kashif has told you what I thought about the composition. I hope you didn’t mind.”

I had done my research on the composition I had made by now, after discovering it is not set in Maand. I said, “Yes Kashif told me, but don’t worry, I didn’t mind. He was confused with what all I had said about the composition when I was teaching them. He is a child, so he only remembered the Maand bit. I had made the entire composition in Khamaj, with shades of Maand in it.”

He replied “Oh, no wonder! I kept thinking how come a music teacher in school made such a mistake. I’m really sorry.”

I had just managed to redeem myself.