The Living Sounds

Ripples of waves travelling through a medium seemingly so very empty; basic yet prevalent. Nature speaks through sounds, all sorts of it. Long before the dawn and long after the dusk of mankind sound will linger. Instruments will be conceived, notes written, music produced; sounds will endure.

One of the fondest childhood memories revolve around a particular kind of sound. I used to live in Laxmi Nagar in those times. During the summer times, all sorts of merchants used to visit the lanes and bylanes. They all had their own characteristic voices, styles of luring their customers. The flute sellers were characteristically melodic in this respect. On a bamboo, they’d sort of place the flutes as if they were quills of a porcupine. With this bamboo placed on their shoulders and a flute to their lips, they’ll move around the lanes; the Pied Pipers of their own little Hamelins! Some would play Bollywood tunes, others just some other tunes; both had quite a hypnotizing effect on me as a kid.

I had purchased a flute from one such seller. It was a wonderfully colourful little instrument. I never got good at playing it! Yet whenever I see a young one struggling with one, it never ceases to bring a smile to my face!

I also own a wonderful little harmonica to call my own. Again I never got to learn how to play it as all around me, I could only find wanna be guitarists struggling; not as much with the instrument, as with impressing girls with their skill. The day I bought it, I couldn’t stop playing it. Sucking in and blowing out through the holes produced a whole spectrum of sounds. It sounded so ‘holy’, so warm! I felt so calm, so uplifted, so happy! That is the power of sound, of music! Music, again is not just notes, it’s everywhere; all around. Instruments are just means to producing/reproducing sounds.  I am a big music enthusiast and hence an obsession with sounds can be termed all right! A quote to sum up my addiction will be a fitting climax:

“If in the afterlife there is not music, we will have to import it****”. ~Doménico Cieri Estrada