Taare Zameen Par - My version (Stars on the ground)

It is known that parents play a pivotal role in shaping the future of the child. Shaping a future doesn’t really mean choosing between courses in engineering, medicine, law, etc and getting them married off to a good family with a large closet. A parent has to encourage and motivate the young one to be proficient in the field they show promise in and in some cases identify the avenue which would suit the potential of the kid.

Unfortunately, it didn’t go that well for me. Here unfolds the grievous story of my life.

In the not too recent past, I would watch some of the episodes of Indian Idol and other singing shows, thanks to the over 3 month long furlough. I would find that almost every contestant thanked their parents or at least some member of the family (usually the mom), and accredit their success to the encouragement they provided. This was usually accompanied by the mother or parents being called on stage for some public display of affection. What usually follows is 30 seconds of drama and tears, stretched over 10 minutes, thanks to the technique of slow motion (inspired from cricket). To top it all, the drama unfolds to a sad Hindi number. The combination works like a dream and everybody from judges to the contestants (except the producer) start crying and bundles of tissues are passed around. I watch the drama unfold with my mouth wide open and no sense of emotion. My mother equally touched and rather taken aback by my indifference says, “You have a heart of stone”.

At this moment comes flashing back to me, the memory of the humiliation I had felt many many years ago. Unfortunately, my life isn’t as rosy as one of these contestants on the show. Every time I watch my mother appreciate the participants on any singing show, a silent rage burgeons within me. To add a concoction of chilli powder, salt and lime juice to my wounds my mother adds, “Our Sri Ram sings so well. He really deserves to win”. Just because he belongs to the same city he is “our” Sri Ram? What about me Ma?

As I lay motionless in my seat, my mind drifts off to a flash back. Then I immediately come out of it. I pick up my tetra pack of juice, put the straw in my mouth, suck in the nectar and then drift off again to my painful past.

Most of my childhood friends and me are members of a club which is located in the same area we stay in. It’s the usual club like any other, with some sports facilities, library, the occasional boring cultural nights, annual dinner, movies and bureaucracy. The most exciting time for us as kids, was the early part of November and it would go on till November 14^th, children’s day. There would be loads of competitions which included cultural, sports, literary, etc for children from kindergarten to class 10 and we made it a point to take part in every possible event.

Most of you must have guessed by now that this post has some relevance to singing. You are absolutely right. Singing was one of the events I took part in every year, since I was 4. My mother had always been very encouraging and would go out of her way to help me, no matter what the endeavour. For the singing competition, she would painfully pen down the lyrics by playing and rewinding the tape recursively a million times before she could complete it for me, as we didn’t have the luxury of internet back then (The irony is she works for Google now). There couldn’t be a more understanding and encouraging mother. Or so I thought.

This ritual went on till I was in class 5 or 6 but I never won, which was quite a surprise to me. I was growing older and was becoming quite the connoisseur of music. My whole definition of music changed when I listened to the genius, Devang Patel, for the first time. The guy who made spoofs of some of the top Hindi and English songs, remember? (Mambo No. 5 became bambo No. 5 and Barbie girl became chaloo (cunning) girl). Anyway, I chose his track “Ladoo kha” (eat ladoo) which was to the tune of Coco Jumbo by Mr. President. I am sorry to say this, but I found Mr. Patel’s track way better than Mr. President’s. Yes, I chose a Devang Patel track for the singing competition and was cheered on by a lot of smiling faces and a few rolling on the floor laughing. I got off the stage pleased with myself and went to my mother sitting in the audience, who was covering her face with a magazine, which I thought was because of the glaring halogen lights, but thinking about it today, I have my doubts.

The results were to be announced the next day and I went home happy and excited. Maybe this was the year I was waiting for. However, my mother had other plans. She called me and I rambled towards her half expecting her to extol my performance. There she stood serious. Was something wrong, I wondered? She tells to me, “Gogo, I know you have been singing every year for the children’s day and that you really enjoy it. But now you are getting older. I think you should stop”. The earth below my feet shook and I couldn’t believe what I heard. I asked her in despair, “Why Ma”? To which she replied, “I’m sorry son, but you just can’t sing”. I was rendered speechless and couldn’t even reason it out with her. However, the jolt I got that day left such an impact that I never got onto a stage again to sing.

So do I really sing well?

As my friend Rahul Gayam, aka psycho puts it rather philosophically in his style, “The smell of our own fart never bothers us and it’s always the others who have a problem with it”. Disgusting but true. I think I am as good as any of the blokes on television though it’s a different story that my singing has never been appreciated and I attribute this to jealousy. To support my singing abilities, I know for a fact that videos of me singing out loud, while listening to my ipod, have been made and circulated. What I fail to understand is why these videos have “funny stuff” and other similar titles. I promise to get down to the bottom of that and solve the mystery.

Nobody around me has ever been encouraging or supportive when it comes to my singing. But if you study the lives of the many masters of music, they too had to go through a similar ordeal. Like them, I will not let people or circumstances bog me down. I still believe in my talent and I shall show to the world one day, what I am all about.

Adios.

Author’s note:

In defence of my mother, she goes out of her way to support me in every other endeavour of mine, more than any normal mother would and for which I will forever be grateful to her.