Ready

While I'm in India, I constantly think about my music. I don’t know why, maybe my training in Indian classical music reboots when I touch down here. (I would go on to explain Indian classical music but it’s better if you look it up on your own. I can’t do it justice.)

I have to say that over the years I’ve really neglected it. From the classical training, my love to sing Western music evolved and soon after, I started to make my own music and write songs. It has become my secret passion to write, cover, and record songs. But, I’ve never wanted to perform them. This is not really a talent that I share with the world. A lot of hurtful experiences and forced performances over the years has kind of ruined my love for my own voice. It’s a long explanation and this is not the time or the blog for it.

Every once in a while with my A/C on full blast and my bedroom door locked, I start recording some melodies on my Macbook using my headset for online classes as a mic and some very basic karaoke recorded off of amateur musicians on Youtube. Yea, if I ever become famous this is going to be my version of JK Rowling’s “I wrote Harry Potter on napkins at a coffee shop.” I wait for the A/C to start humming pretty loudly before I belt out some of my best tunes. Every now and then I’m pretty sure my roommates are lingering outside of my door and listening. Haha, Living. The. Dream.

Not to sound like a complete American hippie inspired by Eastern influences (and there are a lot of those in this part of the country), but I really feel like I write and perform better here. I almost wish that I had planned things better so I could have taken some classes here to refresh my training.

However, as luck would have it (and this trip has just been a series of lucky events, touch wood), one of my new carpool friends here, N, is a musician, producing director, camera man, photographer, script writer, actor… and works a day job in marketing for a major telecom company here in Cybercity. He plays guitar beautifully, has worked for multiple major TV stations, has directed various Hindi serials/reality shows/award shows, filmed for an Emmy winning documentary, had another air on National Geographic, directed and acted in his own freelance films, and talks about camera lenses like most guys talk about cars. *breathe*

During my first week in India, our carpool (which includes A, R, N and I) decided to take a pit stop after two hours of painful traffic at N’s house before we set off again to my and R’s houses. We got comfortable and N told us to sit back and take it easy, with the promise to play guitar and sing for us while we all had dinner and a drink. Of course, I couldn’t help but say what I always say: “Hey! I sing too!” followed by a quick “but, I’m not going to sing” when everyone looked at me.

Of course, N did not miss a beat. We’ve become really close friends since that day at his house, largely because we spend hours together in traffic everyday. He’s a very patient and kind soul who has developed an understanding for my fear of performance, my past of rejections and the emotional reasons for which I have given up sharing my art.

One of our favorite things to do is discuss the music that we both really love on our rides home. Despite our very different backgrounds, different stages in life, and different taste in music, we love to try to convince each other to appreciate our favorites. Usually, I will give him some diva female vocalist’s least popular emotional single and he will throw some old school loving-life rock ballad back at me. Sometimes I think we get a little bit too attached to our songs and we argue about how much each other’s taste sucks.

In fact, one time, a pretty unsuccessful attempt to make N stop rolling his eyes when I spoke of how amazing this one break-up song was, left me slightly irritated and in a pretty cranky mood. He must have realized because as I was getting ready to go to sleep, he called me. I acted curt, but I was secretly pleased for the apology and deep reverence for my musical taste I thought I was about to hear...not. Instead, he told me to stop acting like a baby and changed the subject. He had listened to some song a couple of times, figured it out on the guitar and needed someone to hear it and possibly sing it for him. I said I wouldn’t sing it but I would listen, maybe.

Of course, it was the song he insulted. Haha. (Unspoken apology ;) ) Made me smile. Well played.

Nowadays, without fail, a few hours after each time I say “I love that song!” in the car, he has it mastered on the guitar and plays it for me over the phone at night. He first will belt out the song over his strumming. He knows me enough to know that I will be incredibly bothered if he butchers my favorite songs. It’s a trap to get me to jump in. However, I know him enough to know what he is doing and refuse to fall for it. Stubborn as he is, he will play the song again, with no singing and wait for me to hum. Once I’m humming, he'll try to convince me to just sing for him (and this is over the phone!) but I just can’t do it. Too many years of suppressing my music. We’ve played this game for days.

Anyways, a few nights ago he called me up and gifted “Don’t Know Why” by Norah Jones on the guitar to me. Norah Jones is the half Indian daughter of famous Indian Classical musician Ravi Shankar. She is one of my favorites (but I secretly hate her for becoming the first mainstream and award winning Indian artist in America.) We had spoken about her the night before so I was of course, so charmed and embarrassed that he had learnt yet another song for me to get me to sing.

He kept playing the song over and over again, butchering it on purpose, waiting for me to hum it, and of course, cautiously asking me to sing. Our phone called dropped (yay India!) and while I was waiting for him to call back I couldn’t help but think: “wow, I have a talented friend here who is willing to take the time and patience to help me regain my confidence, learn how to play my favorite songs, call me often to help me revisit my skills, and understand me enough to ask me to do it over the phone so I don’t feel shy.”

How wasteful can I be to not humor someone who is so willing to give me shot? Even if it sounds horrible…

He finally called back and being past the point of trying to get me to jam with him, just kind of stayed silent on the phone, playing around with his guitar strings. I finally said:

“Ok, do me a favor…”

“Yea?”

“Just say ‘Ready’ and nothing else when I ask ‘Ready?’”

“...ok...”

“N, ready?”

“Ready.”

I sang Norah. And I didn’t stop... It was like opening the flood gates. I sang every Norah song I could think of. Then Alicia, Adele, Sinatra, Mayer, Mariah… All the years of practice and performances… some Hindi, some English. I even held the phone up to some stuff I recorded.

It was amazing. And, sticking to his commitment to not say anything, he refused to speak throughout my vocal concert. He just kept playing his guitar to accompany me.

It was a weight lifted off of my shoulders. I’m so grateful. I think sooner or later we might actually try to jam, in person, but who knows, I only have a week left here and a ton to do.

Still, that hasn't stopped a kind voice from calling me every once in a while to say:

“Ready.”