I had by now grasped the art of playing mridangam, or so I thought. I was ready to face competitions for I was on the verge of completion of my second thalam, Roopaka.
The first thalam, Adi thalam seemed long and gruelling, partially because I was new to it, I was new to mridangam.
****
It had been decided that games, or in general, sports was not my cup of tea. Does life offer you a second chance? I had lost once; it would mean I would lose always. No morale in me to continue sports, I had declared to myself.
My focus should now turn to mridangam and studies, I knew.
****
It was parents-teachers meeting. I would never forget this, because it changed my life, it gave me lady luck.
It was now confirmed. The flabbergasted face of the teacher was genuine, otherwise she would not have touched this topic.
She asked my parents “So, you have two daughters? How old are they?”
It was my parents’ turn to get flabbergasted. Two questions at once did more than that.
They were dumbfounded.
Kajari ma’am, sensing something was amiss, asked my parents to check my English book.
****
“So Mr.Kaushik, do you have two sisters?”
My father was checking my English book.
Yes, of course. One lives diagonally opposite to our home and the other adjacent to our home. Isn’t it true?
My father had understood everything; he is such a knowledgeable man.
He taught me relationships, the meanings of father, mother, son, daughter, brothers, sisters, friends, nephews, nieces, uncles and aunts.
I was grave.
“So isn’t it possible I have a sister?” I muttered at the end of his lecture.
My mother interjected, “It isn’t a plaything to have a sister, Kaushik, that today you will say yes and tomorrow you will say no and your sister performs the vanishing act, according to your whims and fancies”.
I knew it was tough for me to convince my parents but still, everything is worth a try.
If anything I had asked for in my life, it was a sister, my sister, on whom I had every right as a brother.
I prayed to God incessantly, daily and with my whole heart.
****
I was pretty excited with two things: firstly, only being with my father and secondly have a sibling, preferably a sister.
My parents had after quite a lot of discussions accepted to welcoming a fourth member of the family. My mother had gone south to her parent’s place with the baby due in a month’s time.
I could not accompany her for one I was too young and secondly, I had school. Hence the decision of me staying with my father for a quarter of a year was implemented.
I was duly advised to welcome a sibling into the family, not specifically a brother or sister. Both must be given equal respect, care, love and affection, I was told.
I had effectively scaled down from saying “I want a sister” to “I prefer a sister”. But in my mind, I was stubborn. God knows it. I had to wait for a month more, no other choice.
****
I had progressed well in mridangam. At the end of sixteen months of training, I had successfully completed three thalams, was learning my fourth thalam and ready to face competitions.
It was children’s day. The Nehru Bal Samiti had organized the Nehru Bal Mela. There were competitions organized for all percussion instruments, apart from dance and other oratory skills. It was a week-long event. My competition was to be held on Nehru’s birthday.
There were two groups: junior level and senior level. My age of seven warranted me to be in sub-junior level, but was promoted to the junior level, which was the lowest possible group.
There were a total of twenty eight contestants. Youngest of them all, I was given the first preference to play, which quite ruefully, I accepted because I was made to accept. It actually was not preference, but compulsion.
Being a junior-most of all juniors was in itself a problem. I had to face its consequences. Moreover, I was a first timer, not knowing the feeling of stage fear, or that of being on stage.
All that I knew was the Mishra Chapu thalam, technically third most difficult thalam, but then it is always contentious to rate thalams like that.
On my father’s insistence and the backing of my intuitions, I had taken up to play this thalam on stage. I should have known playing big thalams imperfectly is far worse than playing easy and well known thalams confidently and perfectly.
By the time I went off stage, the world knew the result.
I had lost.