Music, magic and a lingering bond

She was not a traditional Indian mother, although she lived in times that should have kept her conservative. True, she believed in doing her duty, in holding fort, completing the job however distasteful, biting her tongue and keeping the peace with in-laws, outlaws, friends and acquaintances. But in her heart, she soared free on the wings of the music that was her life.

Mother came from a typically large family of her time. Music flowed through every pore and together with her brothers and sister, all of whom could sing or play a musical instrument, there was a mini concert almost every evening. Probably because she was fifth in line, she came under the shadow of the older ones and never realised that her talent and charm were unique. She had a gift, but her lack of confidence made her backward to go forward — and so she never pursued a career in music, never sought the limelight and remained content to provide the background music for her siblings.

Although she had played western classical music when she was younger, in later years, she turned to popular music. If she heard a song that fascinated her, she’d try it out on the piano and before we knew it she’d be confidently playing the music of her generation, of ours and in time of her grandchildren.

Age didn’t tire her flying fingers — once she sat down to play, there would be medley after medley, long into the night. Strangely enough, though she loved music so much, Mother could not put on a record or a cassette or a CD as blithely as we could and listen to her favourite songs as she went about her chores. Music meant more to her than background sound. It had to be concentrated upon, appreciated for every note and nuance. She had to leave everything else aside when there was music to listen to — and how often could she shelve her duties to indulge herself?

Although Mother’s repertoire of songs spanned eight decades, from the 1920s and she knew the words of most of them, there was one song that truly represented her. The emotion she put into each note of In the Sweet By and By told us that she thought of something or someone special as she played.

It was while she was playing the piano that she noticed her fingers losing their strength — and what we thought was just muscle weakness eventually led to the diagnosis of her final illness. It was short, quick, but graceful, like her. On that last day, she rallied, called for her Casio to be placed on her lap and she played some of her favourite tunes. Her family surrounded her, poignantly aware that those would be the last notes she would play for us.

And it was only after she slipped into ‘the sweet by and by’ that we got to think not only of the music with which she had surrounded us, but also of all the other little lessons we had learnt from the manner in which she had lived her life — the joy of keeping abreast with the times, the good sense of making the best of what circumstance brought our way, the gains of focusing on what we were doing to the exclusion of all else, the rewards of patience and the golden rule of acceptance of the circle of life. A circle that for us began and ended with her.

“That’s what mothers are for,” we used to say, taking her wisdom for granted; sure that we would magically get her qualities of head and heart when we slipped into the role of parent.

But did we — and can we — guide our children sagely and unobtrusively along life’s way?

Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.