Music makes me go round!

A song is like a beautiful necklace adorned with pearls of words, strung together with the thread of music. But sometimes this definition of mine seems flawed to me myself. Sometimes these very songs defy it for me and transpire into something I cannot put to words. I just feel it as the hair at the back of my neck stand. And it is not the words, nor the music. It is just the feel of the song which I cannot define in the so-called definition.

I happened to put my ear to one such song very recently. I am a huge movie buff, language not withstanding. I remember watching this Marathi movie some years back which had this song. Very beautifully made movie, some extraordinary performances by the protagonists – Shivaji Satam and Neena Kulkarni… Uttarayan, so it was called.

Last week my sister visited me, we were listening to her playlist as we were heading to my cousin’s where some of the most tempting prawns were waiting to be chomped and pushed down our foodpipes [Sorry, couldn’t help mentioning :P] And she happened to have this song in her playlist. Fresh from her college, away from home for the first time, she said these songs reminded her of home. A place she and me called home since born. Her eyes told me how badly she missed home and as I listened to the song I understood why she found solace in it.

Dhund Hote shabd saare dhund hotya bhaavana ,

Varya sange vaahata tya fulan paashi thamb naa.

I will accept many of the imageries used in the song I did not understand, thanks to my not-very-superlative Marathi. But as the song filled my ears, the voice as soothing as it could get, struck an unknown chord. I don’t know which instrument they used or it was simply a synthesizer that churned out some of the softest emotions from the song.

The soft ghungroo like beats in the background reminded me of the seven years they danced with me in the dance classes. The slow entry of the tabla and then its dualling with the flute and the keyboard, brought back those choir practices at school. The still interludes were intertwined with the frames of me jumping around in my Vyayamshaala, playing badminton in the society or collecting dry twigs and leaves for our poorly improvised day-light campfire . And as the song broke into the stanza, our skating session on the terrace suddenly was interrupted by the uncle staying right below.

The waves banging on the rocks took me to Marine Drive where we sat idly smelling the salt in the air, seeing the sun go down with all the huge, archaic buildings looking out for us from behind. The drizzle in the background sounded so much like the one I saw from the 5^th floor Digital design lab, drenching our quadrangle, sending all the class-bunkers off to the stage for shelter. And as the last drops of the rain water trickled down the sloping mossy roof-tops, the singer hummed the end.

No words said nothing,

Nothing said the tune.

Don’t know why I felt I had drowned,

Though my boat had kissed the dune.