Lullaby land

In a remote north-eastern Indian village, children are called by singing specific lullabies that are chosen for them at birth. Choreographed by their mothers, these bed-time songs are unique in that they serve as a form of identification. It is believed that children lost in a crowd can be located just by singing their special song as they recognise the tune and invariably find their way back into the bosom of the family.

Strangely enough, my mother is from the state where this village is located. However I do not recall any of us having our very own signature tunes, so I can safely conclude that this wasn't the tradition where she came from. In a way that's fortunate as I can imagine the squabbles among the siblings over whose song was the best or the least musical. This would have been followed by accusations of favouritism.

Just as many of us are not exactly ecstatic about our names and think our parents could have been more creative, perhaps these lullabies have the potential to create fraternal friction. Who determines the length of these compositions? If mine was short while my sister's was long, wouldn't I develop an inferiority complex which would scar me for life?

If I lived in this village and everyone else was in the same boat as I, it wouldn't really matter. But imagine being somewhere else and stuck with the baggage of a song? Friends would have a field day as this would give them ample ammunition to make your life as miserable as possible. I know the one about sticks and stones, but try using this logic when you're at the receiving end of taunts and you won't feel any better.

Speaking of songs, it was my father who was good at this sort of thing. He had a repertoire of such compositions and although he sang in a language we children didn't understand, we loved the idea of being the recipient of his undivided attention. Of course, sometimes, just as one had settled in with dad for such a session, along came a sibling demanding his or her fair share of attention.

War song

However, there was one particular lullaby which was a bone of contention between my brother and me. One of the words in the song happened to be his name, which means ‘happiness', and this always irked me. I was convinced that it was a deliberate ploy by my father, who had a wicked sense of humour, to sow seeds of discontent among us kids. So, each time he started singing this song, I would wait with bated breath for that particular word. Watching the tenseness in my face from the corner of his eye, my dad would purposely say the first syllable of the word and then wait for my reaction. As expected, I would rise to the bait and become a ball of indignant fury. Trying to control his laughter, he would then change the word to my name although it didn't really make any sense in the context of the song. But the five-year-old girl didn't care about semantics. All she wanted was to be one up on her brother. The mood swing from sorrow to satisfaction was as swift as lightning.

When the grandchildren arrived, they were also lulled to sleep with his songs and the older generation of children found it fitting that this family tradition was being preserved.

What is the magic of lullabies that can dry the tears of a fractious babe in arms or calm down a hyperactive child who fights sleep like a warrior keeping an enemy at bay? Does the enchantment lie in the words or the music or a combination of these and the security of a mother's arms?