Guru Dakshina

The sound still echoes in my ears. Tha … Dhi … Dhom … Nam ….. Rao sir repeated the first lessons in Mridangam to his dazed six year old disciple. It was Vijaydashami (1984) … an auspicious occasion, which in South India is considered suitable for Vidyarambham or initiation into any new realm, especially into fine arts. My parents had spotted in me an aptitude for percussion instruments and decided to initiate me to the rhythms of Mridangam. Sri Nandikeswar Rao - or Rao sir as we used to call him – my mother’s colleague in the Fine Arts Department of a PSU, was to be my Guru. In accordance with the established norms of traditional propriety I offered him the Guru-dakshina and touched his feet to seek blessings ( a gesture which means to say -"I am willing to accept your tutelage in all humility and am ready to imbibe all that you have to teach, in the way you wish it to be imparted" - not that I understood any bit of that back then).

Rao sir was a strict disciplinarian during our regular sessions, mostly held in the living room of our quarters, with the furniture temporarily rearranged to make space, just enough for a rug to seat us. I would sit on it intently listening to the chollu (verbal codes for beats) emanating from his mouth and then would strive to reproduce it on the instrument. He would stop me the moment I went off-beat or he felt that the tone of a beat is not as it was supposed to be. I would then continue playing that bit for as long as my fingers hurt bad enough for my inflated ego to allow tears to appear. His face would soften up instantly.... but he recovered quickly, made a stern face and told me "go, wash your face ... and come back quick".

We slowly graduated from the basic lessons to more complicated rhythmic combinations. After the classes he would patiently note down the days lessons meticulously in a note-book so that I could practice in my own time ( which rarely hapenned). The frequency of the sessions increased as we approached a music competition or a concert at the local temple and decreased during my school examinations. He occassionaly used to take me to his guru Nandu Master (a near centenarian who had a saintly demeanour and a graceful smile that could inject humility into any haughty head) to obtain his approval of my progress. I can distinctly remember the gleam of satisfaction on his face when I qualified for a national scholarship in the discipline of classical percussion instruments. Every year on Vijaydashami day my father would drive me on his scooter to Rao sir's house where we would repeat the customary rituals of Vidyarambham followed by a sumptuous breakfast.

with Rao sir and Nandu master

Rao sir inadvertently wanted to live his dreams through me and actually considered me to be like his son. I however, did not in those days fully comprehend the intensity of his desire to make me a good mridangist. Though I loved playing, I somehow knew that I was not cut out to take it up as a profession. I left home after twelfth and adopted a profession that kept me away from classical music. It was only when I went home on leave that I saw him and could always spot a strange sadness whenever our eyes met.

I was on leave a couple of years back when the news of his being at the hospital reached me. He was asleep when we entered the ward ... a frail reflection of his real self. We were told that he was not in a position to recognise or communicate with people. A peculiar emotion .. a mixture of grief and guilt came over me ..... and I mentally requested for forgiveness ... for not being the person he wanted me to be. I almost got instant deliverance as he slowly opened his eyes, gave a weak smile and raised his hand as if to bless. He passed away in a few days.

Today is Vijaydashami ... and I offer this post as Guru Dakshina to the most dedicated teacher one can ever get and the most honest and sincere person I have ever met. May peace be with him.

African Safari III follows ......