backlogged posts, still more

This post was originally written around february 1

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Day three of living in Amritsar. So many things to tell, I can hardly put any organization to it. I’m hesitant to build it up too much as a catharsis of the ridiculous and the sublime, though I go through both of those spectrums on a regular basis. For one, I am actually developing somewhat of a quotidian routine, which is a pleasant change from all travel and intensity.

This means there are definitely ‘down times’ in the day or, for now, lots of time for me to read (Sikh pamphlets, Indian history and music theory, plus the occasional travel novel), to take care of basic needs. One thing that concerns me a little still is how much I find myself sleeping, and still feeling tired during the day. Those who know me well have seen that I often prefer to minimize sleep and fill up time with other activities. Here, I am usually dragging by around nine or ten, get into bed, and not get out of bed until eight.

Part of it is that the sleep is not always restful (ambient noise and cold have something to do with that), and the other that I don’t really have that many things to fill up my night time except reading, and who wants to do that in a cold, dimly-lit room? But I feel like another part is physiological, the stress of having to be extra aware when I’m walking the streets – because of so many hawkers, pedestrians, and traffic – and then the poor air quality and sheer sound volume of the streets must take its toll. Finally, I acknowledge that I’m still a little homesick, and finding my feet in a place so far from those I know and love. Well, I have been assured the night-time cold will disappear within fifteen days, and hopefully by then my life will be full and adjusted and I can sleep just as blissfully, and efficiently as I do at home.

I am meeting people here, though. In addition to the folks I met during the aforementioned office adventure with Livtar, my host Navjit and I have grown closer. Yesterday, he took me on his bike to several shops looking to buy a mobile for my time here. I kept insisting on the cheapest model but, as has become somewhat regular on this trip, I was mostly excluded from the ensuing negotiations. Regardless, I ended up with a decent phone, that I can probably resell for at least half the value when I leave, and today I will get the SIM card and finally have working communication here. This, and the (hopeful) arrival of Internet in my room (which has happened if you’re reading this post) will finally keep me a little more plugged in to this world and your world.

There are many other categories of things to discuss, but I mainly wanted to get to the progress of my kirtan lessons with Ragi Gurbhej. Before that, though, one note about how I was befriended by my neighbors on this block. All the houses on this street (as you will see from imminent pictures) are built with large patios touching one another. While I’m sure it makes for cozy gatherings in the heat of summer, I had never seen anyone else from my patio. But I was surprised yesterday coming home from the market by four boys on the patio right outside my room (luckily I have a room lock which was in place).

Having just come from the street, I was in no mood to be indulging with people who proffered the customary (heavily-accented) “Hello?” and “where you from?” I brushed past them into my room as they were laughing to themselves. Once inside, however, I sat down for a moment, cleared my head, and realized I was not being fair, to them or me. So I went back out with a different attitude, engaged the conversation and found four likable young guys who all live in adjoining houses (meaning, yes, they had just climbed onto the patio from theirs). Between 15 and 23, taking high school boards to finishing medical school, I’m glad to know some people in the neighborhood. Already they’ve demonstrated to me that no one can come and go on the street without their every move being scrutinized – I guess it’s better not to be in the dark about that.

To the lessons, though. This is definitely the high point of the day. I thought it could be quite awkward, initially, due to the arrangement. Gurbhej lives in a small town about 20km away, and he rides his motorcycle in for the morning lesson (a lot like Easy Rider, except no flowing hair because of the turban). Since Navjit and his wife are away at work, the only place to hold the lesson is in my cramped bedroom. However, since this is all out of my control, I just made the best of it, put a mat on the floor with the harmonium, and waited. Well, if it’s awkward for him at all, he never lets on. He pulled up, came right up the stairs, and soon we were singing away at full volume.

I definitely lucked out. This ragi is a very likable guy. He is fairly young, probably late 20’s or early 30’s; his English is a limited, but he has a good capacity for communicating in combination of language and playing – despite the language barrier I think I learn faster from him than most people do from their neighborhood music teachers; his energy and enthusiasm match mine, as well as his ambition for what we will accomplish; there is a deep intensity to his features and his singing, but after a time a short attention span gives way to his much more playful and curious side.

We have started learning a shabad in a similar method as the ragi in Portland was teaching me, except with notation and writing in Punjabi here. Gurbhej, however, is impatient to get to the good stuff – improvisation (taans), tone color, the functional mechanics of the raag. The other method requires one to first the learn the shabad in the simple notation, and practice it ad nauseum. While I acknowledge this rote method is more standard, widely-practiced, and useful in the long run, I appreciate that Gurbhej as intuited my high objectives with a time restraint and his skipping ahead. Plus, he has already told me that he thinks I am “very intelligent in music.”

So I find myself immersed in Raag Bhairu (which, incidentally, is the one I’ve been listening to most on my iPod in Indian Classical recordings, where it is called by the Hindi name Bhairavi). He writes technical terms of Indian music in my notebook, many of which I’ve come across in my theory reading but, interestingly, also many I have not. On the first day we learned the notes of the shabad for the asthai (refrain) and antra (verse), and today I got the full text. It is inspirational, but also intimidating, to hear him riffing on the raag in my little concrete room – the full-throated tones echoing out over the houses in the morning light.