Music, quite as much as books, has been an integral part of my growing-up years. My father lovingly amassed staggering portions of classical music – Hindustani, Carnatic, and Western – and these as well as my mother’s versatile singing form an indelible part of my childhood. Extremely versatile, the mater – she sings with equal skill everything from bhajans and ghazals to Connie Francis and Harry Belafonte to Geeta Dutt and Sonu Nigam. She’s also learnt all the ragas that I learnt over five years of singing lessons! Further, I still remember with what glee I introduced to her the lyrics of humma humma from the movie “Bombay”, after hearing it in the school bus! Having attended primary school away from India and not being exposed to popular music of my generation, I was completely unaware of the happening songs till I returned to India in 7th grade and was treated to the school bus driver’s most interesting selection! Humma happened a few years later and Mama was greatly amused to be instructed in the correct rendition of this sophisticated number!
I also have fond memories of hearing Vande Mataram on the radio – synonymous with waking up at 6 a.m. on a schoolday – followed by M. S. Subbulakshmi’s Venkateswara Suprabhatam on an audio cassette. In addition to lullabies, bedtime ritual in my early years included a melodious chanting by my mother of the 12th chapter of the Gita and a number of bhajans and later, when I grew older, a Subbulakshmi audio cassette of bhajans. For this reason, perhaps, I have always liked singing bhajans to the children at bedtime and have a special fondness for the legendary MS. Singing bhajans at bedtime calms their overactive little heads and induces restful sleep. On one memorable occasion, the children were wakeful and joined in the bedtime singing. This led to a discussion on the difference between “singing from the stomach” and nasal singing. To demonstrate the difference, I sang K. L. Saigal’s so ja rajkumari complete with nasal tone and…good grief! The children were in splits! They requested encore after encore with delighted cries of “Mama, sing through your nose again!” They slept rather late that night!
Both Juhi and Aniruddh are happy to listen to any kind of music, of any generation, and are enthusiastic budding singers. They have lent an eager ear to Antonio Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” and learned the classical aaj aaye shyam mohana with gusto. They merrily croon along with Cliff Richard while both Kishore Kumar’s ek chatur naar and Papon’s yeh moh moh ke dhaage are hot favourites. Aniruddh has a good ear for tunes and a phenomenal memory for lyrics that rivals his father’s. A little to my amusement, the little chap leans towards soulful/emotional/tragic songs, which he warbles with great focus on melody but at rather a low volume. Juhi, in stark contrast, belts out all kinds of songs at top volume!
A funny incident comes to mind from when Aniruddh was around 4 years old. I was absent-mindedly singing the old Geeta Dutt song na jao saiyan, chhuda ke baiyan, unaware of big, flapping ears in my vicinity. For many days after, whenever I moved away from Aniruddh he would emit a short shriek and start singing frantically, na jao saiyan, chhuda ke baiyan with appropriate woeful expressions, and then giggle for all he was worth!
I do believe music is a very important part of the daily routine. Much has been written about the healing power of ragas and the link between Mozart and mathematics. While I unfortunately missed being present when Tansen reputedly lit a lamp with Raga Deepak, summoned the rains with Raga Megh Malhar, and calmed a wild elephant with song, I have certainly witnessed a small miracle at home – the rebirth of a flower through song! The incident is from my teen age, when I used to potter around the garden at home, doing a spot of weeding or generally messing around. My brother and I in our role of 
dogsbodies were frequently packed off by the head gardener (our father) to collect cowdung from a nearby road that was a thoroughfare for bovines. This we did, but as a matter of principle with much fuss and turning up of noses. (In fairness, the pater himself collected cowdung too!) I’ve warned Juhi and Aniruddh to prepare themselves for the cowdung-scooping experience once we have our own garden – the little brats are vastly entertained and describe with enthusiasm the intricacies of the nifty mechanism they’ll devise to scoop dung for fertiliser!
Returning to the story, I had once planted some phlox seeds. I watered them solicitously but was dismayed to find one of the plants coming up weak, small, and miserable. I’d heard that one should talk to plants – I began to sing Mohammed Rafi’s deewana hua badal to it every day, all the while caressing it, smiling at it, concluding with a few encouraging words to it. To my great wonder and joy, the weak phlox slowly grew healthy and strong and eventually outstripped its siblings in size and beauty! I’ve narrated this story to Juhi and Aniruddh so many times as an example of the power of music and the importance of loving encouragement that, when I’m under the weather, they rush to play this song and give me encouraging hugs “so that Mama feels better”!!
Starting with Juhi, their oldest grandchild, my parents began a tradition of hosting a geetanjali (offering of songs) to celebrate the arrival of each of their four grandchildren. The songs offered, mainly bhajans, had my mother officiating as chief singer and she also composed and sang a special song for each grandchild. I returned to my childhood home for both my deliveries and my mother and I rehearsed the songs (selected by my father) that we would sing for the geetanjali. Imagine my wonderment when, during practice, I felt the unborn infant show a distinct fondness for my beloved M. S. Subbulakshmi, stirring whenever we sang her bhajans and kicking in time to bhavayami gopalabalam!
For the fourth grandchild, my younger nephew’s geetanjali, the family turned out in full force! My mother, sister-in-law, the three older grandchildren and I – all of us rehearsed the songs together, and of a completely new variety! My father located for us a delightful treasury of Indo-Celtic classical music in the 39 nottuswara compositions of legendary Carnatic composer Muthuswamy Dikshitar. While Indo-Western fusion is nothing new, it came as a surprise that this music dates back to the 18th century! Sanskrit lyrics set to Scottish and Irish-inspired melodies?! Here is a sample of Dikshitar’s genius, a Ganesh vandana: shakti sahita ganapatim . We rehearsed a number of these songs – they are remarkably catchy and the children simply loved singing them quite as much as the adults!
So stuff your children with song and fill their soul with harmony! For, in the words of the Bard:
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.
Ha!
Shivani Adib 
Melodiously written Ma’am! However, it is sad that lives of Indian children in most of the places are devoid of music. Music or indulgence in anything “out of course” is an anathema to the rote learning driven pedagogy, of which parents are ultimate dispenser.
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Thank you for your appreciation! It is unfortunately true that the pedagogy of which you speak has been the norm rather than the exception for many decades. I am, however, optimistic that the alternative teaching methodologies popping up in the newer schools these days are a harbinger of great change in the system. As far as music goes, you must allow me to differ. Music is an intrinsic part of India, whether we speak of devotional music, folk songs, movie songs or “loris” sung to children. It is a rare Indian household that will not have some form of music!
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In deed Ma’am, some form of music exists in every Indian household but it fades from children’s lives with the onset of school education. It is assumed to be too trivial to be at par with grades-ridden education system. Alternative pedagogical methods are positive signs of much needed change. I hope they become economically viable too in coming future.
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