Flute Maami

The first few hours of practicing new instruments have to be the most exruciating for both the person playing the instrument and to any non parental ears. It ranks right up there with fingernails on a blackboard.

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I was 14 years old, when i first picked up the bamboo flute. An 18th century explorer would have described my initial efforts thus.

"Day after day, the young boy holds a small wooden hollow bamboo stick against his lips. There are 8 round holes on the stick. 7 of them are spaced roughly an inch apart from each other. The 8th hole is placed further apart from the remaining 7 and it is through this hole that the young boy tries to expel wind. The sound that emerges is best described as "Phoo, Phoo, Phoo". Clearly this effort has significance as for some reason his mother and grandmother watch him admiringly from a distance, nodding encouragement. It strikes me that the ritual must date back to the times when coal was the primary fuel for cooking and blowing wind through a hollow tube was a means of stoking the dying embers."

My cousin, considerably older than me, was kind enough to serve as my first teacher and gently lead me from the coal blowing stage to a point where a layman without any recourse to ear plugs or cotton could make out the base 7 notes . That took around a year before my impending 10th grade board exams allowed me to excuse myself from any further practice.

(One of the joys of being raised Indian if you could call is that, is that academia pursuits always trump any other field. Irrespective of the level of talent i may have displayed, nothing could take precedence over the 10th standard board exams or for that matter the 12th standard board exams.)

I renewed my efforts at it once i entered my 1st year of college. Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to state that i was made to renew my efforts at it.

I was 17 years old. I had moved on from emitting involuntary "Phoos" to voluntary "Phooees".....the dismissive sound employed the world over by teenagers with their parents. I expressed my displeasure in no uncertain terms when my mother suggested that i take up my flute training up again. But my cousin, had in all his kindness already arranged with his flute teacher to take me under her tutelage. It was agreed that she would stop by my house twice every week for lessons. My mother bore my many tantrums on the subject with the same saintly patience she had exhibited before and has exhibited since.

My flute teacher or "flute maami" as i called her was a wizened old lady in her later 70's and extremely passionate about her work. Most of the time she would teach at home, but for a few chosen pupils, she would make the trek to visit their houses to teach them. My status as one of the chosen was more a testament of my cousin's goodwill and the passion he had displayed with her.

After every lesson, she would give me detailed instructions on the length of time that i needed to practice before her next visit. More often that not, she would catch me hastily practicing 5 minutes before her next visit. On the rare occasions that my mothers exhortations prevailed, i would sit down to practice, only to find that it served as a trigger for my next door neighbor to start his practice sessions. In one of those coincidences that can happen only in real life, he not only played the flute but also was an "A" grade All India Radio artist. His practice sessions were impromptu concerts, that were an exhibition of his extreme mastery. All of us would simply stop whatever we were doing to listen. My practice sessions in relative terms was an exhibition of my extreme mastery of charcoal blowing skills. Lets just say he did not help my cause.

Flute Maami was extremely patient with me, but it must have taken all her resolve to not whack me over the head during our lessons. She tried everything to evoke more discipline. In one of her lectures, she told me that even if i could not appreciate it now, i would find appreciation for it later in life. My response as usual was

"PHOEEE"

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Over the course of two years, i had tried every excuse to rid myself of the lessons. But now i was about to enter my final year of college and had finally found a seemingly impregnable excuse to end my lessons. Ignoring my mom's entreaties, i decided to broach the topic with my teacher as we sat down for the lesson.

ME: "I have my final exams coming up in March. So i think we will need to stop these lessons in December"

Flute Maami: "Why wait till December. We can stop right now".

And with that she picked her little cloth bag with her notebooks and her flute and walked out of the door never to be seen again.

It was the month of June, 1995. I had just had my last flute lesson.

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Over the last 17 years i have carried my bamboo flute everywhere with me. It has resided in suitcases, on mantelpieces, on my living room sofas, collecting dust but more or less intact. A few weeks ago, i picked up the flute again and started playing it. I have one captive audience in my 9 month old daughter who does seem to appreciate my most recent efforts at charcoal blowing. She shakes her head from side to side, when i start playing and then continues pottering about with her toys. When i stop playing, she stops doing whatever she is doing, looks up at me with her cocked to one side and...emits a loud "Huh?"......seemingly asking "Why did you stop" .

Thank you Flute Maami, wherever you are. You were right. I do appreciate it more now.