Are you living to live? - Part 2 (Rewind)

I was 12 when I first went to a recording studio, that belonged to a relative of mine. I asked him what they did there. He said his employees did regional language dubbing of films and Hindi character voices for kids channels. I was fascinated. Having thoroughly enjoyed singing along to TV and radio jingles all through childhood, I remember thinking “This sounds like so much fun!”. 

At 15, I had made the decision to become a singer. I started dreaming of auditioning for musicals, because the acting bug had bit me bad post a couple of theatre stints in school. One afternoon, a relative with a longstanding career in Bollywood asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up.

“She wants to be a singer!”, Dad declared.

“Oh, that’s great beta. Where’s your interest - Indi-Pop or playback?”, she asked.

I was confused; I didn’t realise those were my only two options.

“No aunty, I sing in English. No Hindi music for me!”

“Beta, then you can only maintain it as a hobby because English music will never work in India. Playback is a must. You must try for playback. Try singing in Hindi!”

How do I just TRY singing in Hindi? I hardly ever think in Hindi. You sing what you feel, and you feel what you think, right? (Till date, I might've written close to 200 songs in English, but perhaps only 1 in Hindi)

I guess that was the day I mentally stopped dreaming to be a singer. It wasn’t a viable career option, and people aren’t really wrong when they say that. I come from a highly educated, middle class family. Who'd here support a struggling-something to make things happen in an area they don’t understand, all the while cementing my role as a hopeless case.

Suddenly, I was left ambition-less, at a very wrong age. I didn’t know anything else besides music. Some idea of engineering had “struck” me like every other person around me. But later, convinced I wasn’t made for it, I contemplated studying the German Language and Law, but who was going to help this confused teenager get clarity. Forced into engineering, and embarrassingly so, I performed stellar in an otherwise awful college. Ah those 4 years of my life worth erasing, barring a few beautiful friends and my band. To make matters worse, I unwittingly came across the “fact” that a fairly pretty, talented, no-nonsense and intelligent Delhi girl in Faridabad *had* to be a slut. One 2-month rebound-fling with a loser didn’t help things either. 

I was surrounded by people who were neither rich in their existence nor brought up with ideals, ideas and thoughts that matched mine. The dream of MBA from a great college seemed to be the only way to kept afloat. If it wasn’t my engineering text books, I was buried in novels or CAT prep. Unsurprisingly, MBA entrances tanked just the way engineering entrances had. 

The thing about under-confidence is - it never allows you to get anywhere.

Are you living to live? - Part 1 (The seed)

Nine months ago, I encountered quite possibly the biggest existential crisis of my life. The problem was, I got too much time to think and reflect, being on my wedding leave for a month, and basking during my honeymoon in sunny South Africa. I watched people enjoy their lives, make merry every day, focus more on family and friends than money and I asked myself “Is it possible to live this way? Am I just running because everybody else is?” 

It took me a few days to figure out that I needed to dig deep to find what really makes me happy. I decided that I would love to teach kids music - singing, songwriting, maybe even the piano.

The more I thought and talked about it with my husband, the more it made me happy and sure. But I knew I was living in a bubble; I was, like everyone else, going to get back to my job and get absorbed, only to have these thoughts again at the next international vacation money can buy.

Except when I did get back, I found myself more helpless and frustrated than ever before. I woke up depressed, cried every evening and slept cribbing. “Sure this can’t be the way you’re gonna live for the rest of your life, yes?”, I asked myself. I was (am) newly married and I couldn’t start a relationship on a bad note. I couldn’t imagine being a 40 year old mother to talented kids, bitter and unfulfilled. What example am I going to set for them - kids, please don’t live your dreams because mommy didn’t and it’ll hurt her too much to see you happy doing yours? That’s classic Low-Self Esteem. 

At work, I felt invisible and challenged in an area that was neither in my zone of interest, nor in sync with my skill sets. You can even say I was trying to *become invisible* - maybe I could continue to make money while nobody cared whether I was working or not. (There are tons of people like that, I fooled myself into thinking I could happily be one of them.)

Teaching wasn’t going to work out. I had no idea how to design classes. I had been out of music for too long myself. What were my creds? Some washed up, has-been, singing-to-my-bedroom-wall musician? I couldn’t even hit notes I could 3 years ago. I quit piano lessons because my highly-accomplished teacher was pushing me too hard! Like hell I was going to convince parents to send their kids to an under-confident musician with only a Berklee College free course as a “degree”! I almost grudgingly accepted to be part of a band, hoping that my love for music might be tickled, hoping it hadn’t left me completely.   

If this was not the time to make some major changes, I might as well just have considered euthanasia at 30. I would’ve been the first case of “Kill-me-because-I’m-already-dead”.

The Lamp

Something moves in this house every day
the lamp, a few centimeters to the left,
the vases, appear and disappear
the salt and pepper shuffled
the book shelf, a little off centre
and I spend my time putting them back
in their right place
which I decided in the first place
out of boredom or compulsion,
or because how will you follow rules
without rules?

My peripheral vision is strained
Ears have had enough of my groans
who's this ghost playing this joke on me?
Who do I ask, of occurrences so trivial
and yet so wondersome (perhaps only to me)
Why is it necessary, I wonder,
to always have things the way I prefer
to always have them the way I feel comfortable
Is this a sign to irk me,
to make me revolt,
or resign to this nuisance?

Have I been living in a box for so long,
that everything in my life should imitate it?
Why shouldn't the lamp choose a darker corner today?
Why can't the vases just take a bath once in a while?
Why wouldn't the book shelf want to be closer to the window?

One day, not too far from now,
I will pick up the courage to budge myself,
a few centimeters to the left,
to see
if the world looks different from that angle,
and to hear
all rules suspend.