I finished eating the roti and subzi that Nani had just cooked for me and placed the plate in the sink. Remembering that Nani had asked me to give her a live performance of the Tabla (Indian Drums), I walked towards the music room, and she followed my trail. “Meanwhile, think of a song. I will show you how to play the Tabla on it,” I told her. “For all these years, in India, you’ve only been watching videos of me playing, but since you’re visiting us now, I will give you a live performance!”
She turned towards me, a small smile lightening her face and accentuating the wrinkles on her cheeks. Her salt and pepper hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, a new look for her. “Okay, Beta, play the taal on Chanda Hai Tu for me. I used to sing you that song when you were younger,” she responded.
I thought back to when I used to lay in Nani’s lap only a few years ago, her slender arms resting over me as she would gently hum the song, and I would drift away into a deep sleep.
I sat down at my Tabla, and Nani gestured at me to pause the electronic version of Chanda Hai Tu I had started on my phone to play along with. “I will sing, turn that phone off.”
I nodded and turned off the music. She started singing, and I began to play the Tabla, shaping my palms into a ‘C’ and struck the edge of the goatskin stretched across the surface of the Bayan and Daya––the two drums of the Tabla––with my fingers. Dha Ge Na Tin Na Ka Dhin Na I repeatedly played on the Tabla, creating the taal resounded through the room. Her sweet but raspy voice occasionally croaked with the higher notes, and she started forgetting the lyrics, but I tried my best to match the melody of her voice. I closed my eyes and imagined myself once again in Nani’s lap.
After a few minutes, Nani finished singing, devoid of her usual smile, and pointed at me. I furrowed my brows and asked what she was pointing at. She didn’t say a word back to me, so I asked, “Kya hua, Nani? Is everything okay?” She probably didn’t like my Tabla.
“Do you have another Tabla, Beta?”
I knew it. “Yes, I do. But is there anything wrong with how I am playing?”
She gestured for me to retrieve it. I walked over to the storage room and pulled out my old Tabla set. The Bayan and Daya were coated with dust, and I found my notes, crumbled at the bottom of the bag from when I first started learning Tabla. Taals and ragas were underlined and highlighted. Stars dotted the most important parts my instructor wanted me to memorize for recitals. I started going through my old notes when Nani called me back into the room.
I rushed back into the room with the Tabla bag in hand, and I kneeled to where she was sitting. I took the Bayan and Daya out of the bag, blowing off the dust, and placed them in front of Nani. Not knowing what she wanted, I asked, “I think you want me to teach you, right?” I took her hand, full of calluses and marks of discoloration, and started to form the stroke for a Ta with her fingers. Separate the thumb, middle and ring finger, and the pinky and strike the edge of the Daya with the index finger, I remember my instructor telling me years ago. I replicated the same with Nani.
As I was shaping her hand, “No, mere Beta,” she said. “I want you to see this.” Resigned, I let go of her hand and watched her bow down into a Namaste before the Tabla. What was going on? She shaped her hand into a “C” by herself and started playing the same taal as I was just a few minutes ago, her nonchalant demeanor unusual for her usual self. She then started singing Chanda Hai Tu. How did she know how to play the Tabla? She never told me this before… But, how…? She stopped playing after the chorus of the song and bowed down in a Namaste once again. This time, I had no words for her.
Judging by my dazed look, she reached over to her purse and pulled out a small photo book with black leather stretched across the covers. Gold-embroidered letters reading: “Anjali Jain” were written along the spine. I’d never seen the book before. She opened the book and a plethora of laminated pictures fell onto the floor. I watched her as she spent a few moments sorting through pictures, their dates written on the back of the 3x5 cards. She shuffled through pictures of her dressed in multi-colored Saris singing or playing Tabla at local concerts. “Annual Tabla and Singing Competition, Delhi, 1980” the signs in the pictures would read with my Nani at the center of the stage, the only woman amongst a myriad of other men musicians.
“Can I take a look at these?” I asked her.
She nodded and handed me some of her pictures. I sorted through a few of them and noticed her wedding photo, dated 1982. No other pictures of her playing the Tabla or singing were dated after her wedding photo but rather pictures of her with her family. Pictures of her running around with her kids in her backyards. Pictures of her cooking roti and subzi for her kids.
I handed them back to her but still had her wedding picture in my hand.“I never knew you played Tabla! But, how come you stopped playing Tabla after you got married, Nani?”
“Well, mere Beta, as much as I wanted to continue playing after I married your Nana, I had to determine what my priorities were,” she explained to me. “I had to stay home to take care of my family.” Nani went on to tell me how since she had completed all her priorities of raising a family, she could go back and reignite her passion for Tabla and find a way to share it with me, even though it was nearly over forty years later.
A feeling of pride filled me up. I realized that I was sitting in front of strong woman, whose callused fingers came from years of cooking and caring for her family, who could also use those same hands to play the Tabla with me.
PS for Narrative:
Something new I tried in this piece was using flashbacks and finding ways to look into the past while staying in the moment. For instance, when Nani first starts singing Chanda Hai Tu, I am reminded of the time I lay in her lap, and I think incorporating this flashback helped develop the important relationship I have with her. Additionally, another challenge I found was in the ending, showing how Nani had to stop playing Tabla to focus on her priorities. I addressed this challenge by adding the scene about her wedding photos and it provided us a way to look into the past through looking at the picutres and that’s when I found out that Nani had to stop playing Tabla to address her priorities. My impression of her changed with time as we looked into the past together.
In the narrative, I am particularly most proud of the ways I can capture the moments I share with Nani, specifically where I assume Nani wants me to teach her how to play the Tabla, but rather she shows me she already knows how to play all the taals. This moment is particularly meaningful to me because it is the first time, I realize that I have someone in my family that I share the passion of the instrument with and furthermore, I am able to realize why Nani had to stop playing the Tabla through the moment where I look at her photo book. The way I was able to portray the “reignition” of her passion with me while sharing a moment of singing a song (Chanda Hai Tu) which held value to both of us, is also something I am most proud about. When Nani points at me, in that moment I didn’t know what to expect and neither does the reader when they read the story. So, that sense of not knowing what Nani was going to do adds on to some sense of mystery in the plot, which ends up in me finding out something about her I didn’t know before.
In the writing process, the details I selected to flesh out and focus on in order to bring light to the message I was trying to convey was something that changed from the beginning to end. For instance, in my rough draft, I had a whole section at the beginning where Nani is cooking me food, offering me desert, and then we go into the music room. Bur rather, I cut out some parts which were unnecessary and kept parts which I felt helped to develop the relationship between me and her and create the change in impression. Another example of a detail I added was in the ending. In the rough draft, I had effectively written a summary where I was completely telling the audience what Nani wanted me to take away from that experience and how she had to fulfill familial stereotypes etc. Bur rather, adding the image where I am able to question more about her past through the pictures, I see in the photo book adds more of a personal connection I am able to make with her, highlighting an important part of our relationship.
In the moment I spent with Nani, I understood the struggles she endured by being one of few female players to play Tabla and having to pause her passion to take care of her other priorities. However, after spending this time with her, I ultimately came to the realization that a passion can always been continued, after priorities are fulfilled.
If I had more time, I would find to reduce self-reflection at the end and rather find an image which ties up the piece as a whole and leaves the audience with a clear, lasting impact. I found it a little bit difficult to find an image which does this and perhaps if I had more time, I may have eliminated self-reflection from the piece completely, even the monologues which I have in the middle of the piece and rather show the development of characters and plots through actions and images.
The conversation I had with my peer editors, Aavik and Leela, as well as Ms. Cadwell, were all very helpful in revising this piece. I was able to understand the difference between relevant and redundant details in this piece. Also, I was able to learn where I can avoid direct “telling” or providing a summary and show the scene as a whole through an image. This not only develops the relationship the characters but also makes the piece more of a “story” rather than a sefl-reflection. Recognizing the difference was valuable to me, and in the revised version, I tried my best to incorporate this feedback wherever I could.