The peacocks start calling around 6am. It’s nearly that time of year, when they summon all the eligible peahens in the land to witness the absurd beauty of their iconic mating display. The palm squirrels soon take over as the loudest in the dawn chorus, squeaking in mixed-meter polyrhythms as if to ensure no one miss their morning alarm. Motorbikes and the occasional woof from our three street pups join the ensemble and the haze of once-upon-a-time clean air welcome each Mysuru morning in. A perfect preamble to my coconut-oiled fingers beginning their work on the 72 Mother Ragas and their accompanying gamaka improvisations…
It’s hard to believe we’re already into our second month of living here in India, far away from home, while I take a deep dive into Indian classical music and the Carnatic violin. It’s wonderful and humbling to be in student-mode once more, realizing yet again how much there is to learn. Alternating violin lessons with Kannada (the local language here) classes, the humility is real when my brain can’t manage to remember the thing I just learned the day before. If only we could combine the mental plasticity of childhood with the processing capacity and self-awareness of adulthood…
When I lived abroad during my two other sabbaticals — Italy and South Korea, respectively — though foreign in many ways, I still landed in the developed world with customs, language, and culture I knew relatively well. Here, the culture shock of life in a developing country took a solid two weeks to settle in (as my friend Ewa promised), and there are still things that cause a double- or triple-take.
The sensory overload of sights, sounds, and smells is none like I’ve experienced before; downtown Bengaluru makes Midtown Manhattan feel like a quiet country village. Here, traffic signals are few and far between, lane markings seem to have no meaning, and car horns — used for takeovers, running through intersections, turns, collision prevention, and impatience alike — provide a constant cacophony. Cows have the right of way, and when they choose, albeit adorably, to cross a thoroughfare at cow-speed (often with goats in tow), it brings things to a reverent crawl. Pedestrian infrastructure is almost nonexistent and roadside trash piles often resemble small landfills, while power outages and the sight of men relieving themselves in public are a daily occurrence. The wealth gap is stark and visible, while the remnants of British colonialism — though I feel conflicted in the gratitude I have for English being widely spoken here — have left generational scars. The air pollution provides for curtailed morning walks, and dressing in long sleeves and pants (it’s expected that women don’t show their shoulders or knees in public) makes moving about in 93-degree heat a new learning opportunity. Thank goodness it’s not humid yet.
And, the people we’ve met have been deeply kind and warm; my teacher and his son have welcomed us as family, and we already have dinner parties with our lovely neighbors across the street. The food is scrumptious and wildly affordable; we already get cravings for fresh ghee pudi idli and I’ve improvised my own recipe for bisibelebath. The music is colorful, rhythmically inventive, and visceral; our first visit to an Ashram for a concert celebrating the venerated 16th-century Carnatic composer Thygaraja, was a feast for the senses. The street dogs — almost all of whom are vaxed and fixed, thanks to a national public health program — are crazy adorable and oh-so sweet. Rickshaw rides, which feel like being in a real-life video game, are abundant and provide for quick tos-and-froms – for pennies on the dollar. The abode we’ve rented has ceiling fans, a propane stove, and even an A/C unit in the bedroom, making daily life at home pretty comfortable. And, a weekend excursion to the Western Ghat Mountains to celebrate Valentine’s Day introduced us to local rainforests, wild elephants, silver-faced monkeys, and countless colorful birds.
As one might imagine, it was a jam-packed whirlwind before making the move here. The 16 days leading up to our departure included two surgeries (I got my heart fixed, JoJo his eyes), preparing the Cornell house for our renters, a Bartok concerto tour to Boston, another Minnesota Orchestra broadcast hosting moment, getting the NYC condo in order, finalizing visas, preparing tax documents, and packing for the half-year sojourn. I’m happy to report that hearts and eyes are in good shape, and since arriving, the schedule has been far more sane. Amidst practicing/studying, the occasional performance, and album editing (finally), there’s ample time for free reading (diving into some Jane Austen and The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga), early bedtimes, evening walks, and a daily dose of trashy TV. Thank you, Netflix.
Before leaving you with the usual photo collage, I want to close with a moment of gratitude and farewell to a very special woman and friend of our family, Mrs. Sungsook Kim, who passed away two weeks ago at the age of 80 after a lengthy battle with cancer. Her kindness, acumen, generosity, and warmth will be deeply missed. On Christmas Eve, my parents and I gave a small concert which was followed by a beautiful feast put on by so many of the amazing Korean mamas of our community in Mrs. Kim’s honor. It warmed my heart to see her singing along to our Christmas tunes and enjoying her favorite dishes, soondooboo and yakbhap. We took this photo at the affair, in her hospital community room:
♡ 김선생님, 고인의 명복을 빕니다 ~ 편히 쉬세요 ♡
And as always, some photos to accompany the stories from above…
And last but not least, on our last night in the Western Ghats, we walked back to our cabin to find a prescribed burn happening in the mountain just across the valley from us – a beautiful reminder for me of the work I’ve been doing with the Fire & Music Project out in California. Rob Wadleigh has worked on this beautiful 9-minute film while Ellen McGehee has written a thoughtful blog post, both elements having dropped last week. If you have another 12 minutes to journey into the ever-important world of land management, Indigenous American wisdom, fire practitioners, and how music can intersect these elements, please read and watch on…
From the Fire & Music Project of Northern California —
Film: “A Walk to the Fire’s Edge”
Article: “Navigating a Cultural WUI: Immediate Post-Fire Effects of an Artistic Journey”
And for now, signing off from Mysuru ♡