When the Building Came Alive

Image
Kasturi Dhama Apartments — the play area where many evenings came alive. The lights would go out without warning. For a brief second, the entire building would fall silent. Then, from somewhere in Kasturi Dhama Apartments, a chorus would erupt. “Yayyy!” It is difficult to imagine children celebrating a power failure today. But in the Bangalore of the nineties and early 2000s, a power cut did not always feel like an inconvenience. Especially in the late evenings, it felt like permission. Permission to stop whatever we were doing, leave the darkness inside our homes, and step into the building outside. Before Kasturi Dhama became home, we had moved through a few different parts of Bangalore. My family had begun in Srirampuram and Vyalikaval before gradually cementing ourselves in Malleswaram for the next few decades. My earliest memory is of living in a vatara —a Kannada word loosely used for a building or a cluster of homes—on 15th Cross, near Karur Vy...
4 comments

Visualizing the moment

The days fly by so fast these days that it's so hard to keep track of them.  Every other day is more or less the same, and the differentiating factors are governed usually by the daily monotonies.  "Oh, it's a Tuesday.  I have to take my son to the swimming class." Every day has a set routine.  Monday to Friday is fast, and the weekends go by faster.  Our days are dictated by our kids.  One of them is shouting and the other is running around.  Or, it's both shouting and both running.  Let's make it even better.  It's the four of us shouting and running around.   My wife and I would literally be at our wits end.  It's not easy managing two kids.   

Friday was a slow day.  Mom was late from work.  Dad was busy playing with the kids in the backyard.  After finishing our dinner, we were just hanging around.  I was sitting on the couch with my laptop.  Akhil came and sat next to me.  

"Appa, what you doing?", asked Akhil with absolutely no regard to grammar or to anything in life at this point.

"I am going to play some songs by MS Paati.  Do you want to listen?"

He nodded quite unsure of what exactly I was hinting at.  

So, I played my usual favorite, Bhavayami Gopalabalam and this Annamacharya Kriti can bring even the notorious stoic to display emotions.

Akhil sat in silence absorbing the music around him.  I put my arm around him as he snuggled comfortably looking intently at the laptop.

"Who is this paati?", asked Akhil.

This is MS paati, I reiterated.  (paati means grandma)

Then, we moved on to Brochevarevarura, which is another classic. 

My wife was at the dinner table looking at both of us, wondering if she was in some kind of an alternate universe.  Being at peace at home is not something that happens even occasionally.  Here we were, not only sitting quietly but also appreciating some heavenly Carnatic music.

When we dispersed for the evening after the renditions, I was somehow overcome with emotion.  I told me wife, "If I have to visualize life with family and kids, this is the moment.  A quiet evening with father and son bonding over MS Subbulakshmi's wonderful Carnatic music, mom watching from the sidelines and little sister in a blissful sleep, is a moment that will forever be etched in memory."

If there is something called as simple happiness, this is what it would be, I thought to myself.

There was something beautiful in those moments.  I am sure this is just one of many.

Comments

Post a Comment