Wednesday's Blog (March the 3rd)

We live in a world of A. (Our singing class, that is). Every day, Juliet, Shanna and I—a quaint little class of three—enter our sparsely decorated classroom, spread the straw sitting mats onto the concrete floor, and take our routine positions as we begin our singing lesson. Our teacher begins class with a stick of burning incense, and a few words sang in praise of the gods whose pictures adorn the walls. These are the only ornamentations. There are no fans, electricity or air conditioning, but a pleasant breeze cools us through the open windows. Our teacher removes a well used harmonium from the cupboard in the corner, and plays our starting pitch: A. It is always A. He asks me for my notebook, and inscribes the latest lesson on a fresh piece of paper each day. Only after this meticulous ritual, do we begin the actual lesson.

Every day, we explore a different facet of the scale through the exercises that he provides, and each day, the exercises grow progressively harder. The difficulty of the scale is increased due to the stark difference between western music, and traditional Indian music. Where western music revolves around the traditional scale of do re mi fa sol la ti do, Indian music is quite different: Sah, Rih, Gah, Mah, Pah, Dah, Nih, Sah. On top of the new scale syllables that we were required to learn, the pitches Rih and Dah (commonly known in western music as Re and La) are brought down one half-step from their original locations. Every scale we sing at three different speeds, slow, medium and fast, the third speed being the hardest. Today was more difficult than most. The pattern of the latest exercise simply didn't make much sense according to our western sensibilities, but our teacher insists that we explore every minute detail of this unfamiliar A scale. It has become our world. We sing it at the breakfast table, we practice it on the bus, we even dream about it, but this does not make the learning process any less painless. Students of the university huddle outside of our classroom, peering through the bars of the windows to observe the amusing westerners attempting to sound Indian. We can see the quietly suppressed laughter in their eyes when we fail at completing a trill, scoop or bend. We have yet to learn an actual song, but out teacher assures us that he will teach us something for the ceremony. This ceremony is supposed to take place in front of the entire school, which we are all very excited about. We are sure that they will laugh, for we do look quite comical in our saris and bindis, not to mention out singing skills.

After a thorough exploration of the key of A, we returned to the hotel where we attended the festival. Five large elephants promenaded through the streets, their heads adorned with massive golden, feathered head-dresses. Three Indian men sat proudly atop each of their backs. Wreaths of brightly colored flowers in yellow and orange were wrapped around their thick necks. With every step of their massive feet, the temple elephants swung their dextrous trunks. The procession on the ground made quite a racket with their drums, horns and cymbals. The sound was deafening, and the heat was oppressive, but the energy kept us fixed in place to observe the lively parade.

At dusk, we were forced to flee to the hotel in order to avoid the mass gathering of drunken, marauding Indian men. It was imperative that all of the girls remained safely within the confines of the hotel to avoid being groped. From the balcony, my friends and I shared a touching moment, watching the sun sink beneath the tree line across the seemingly endless expanse of farm land. The sky was tinted pink, and bats circled frantically for their evening meals. We ended the day with a nice helping of french fries from room service, and a reflection of how mentally and physically exhausted we all were. Although the work is hard, the experience has proven to be a major uniting factor, where, at the end of the day, we can all unwind over a plate of rice and spicy curry, and find our common ground, an ardent love of the arts.