Music and technique! Are they different??

It was one of those early mornings when I would sit with my teacher and get going with the learning for hours and hours that followed. A day would typically start with the raga I would be in the process of learning at that time, followed by a few new compositions in different ragas, which my teacher would say, "We will get in depth once you start learning this raga later". And this was how, I ended up learning more than around 25 ragas, although I can claim expertise in just one or two!

The initial hour would be all about letting out the musical feel, all the intense feelings I would have when I played the raga. While a raga like Yaman evokes a feeling of satisfaction, peace and serenity, there could be a Shivranjani that would plunge you into depths of sadness, poignancy and sorrow. Many a times it I would stop playing sitar and let myself out singing!! And it was one such fine morning when my teacher pointed out, "Looks like your music is more advanced than your sitar technique!"

I was perplexed. I gave a confused look. That was perhaps the first time I was really getting to understand the hairline difference between these two aspects of music. Music is what you "feel" and technique is what you "express"! And when one starts "feeling" more than he is able to "express", the difference starts poking in. The musician starts feeling restless, eventually leading to a vocal expression of the feelings.

I then started digging into the reason behind this. And then it turned out to be my own experiences with music which were far more matured than those with a new instrument like sitar. And that was when I resolved myself into developing my technique of sitar to an extent where I could express my feelings to the maximum possible extent.

Enthusiasm?? Dedication?? What does it?

Every musical endeavour starts with an psychomaniac enthusiasm for the new found love. I still remember going through this phase when I started off with the tabla in 1993. I used to have my fingers dancing on whatever came to my hand- be it the table, a vessel or still funny, my own cheeks and stomach!
And more! The same story replayed itself when I started with the flute. I used to carry it with me wherever I went. Such was the fancy for this instrument at that time that I even slept holding a flute in my hand! To my surprise, such a thing happened yet another time when I started off with the sitar.
In my personal opinion, sitar is the most beautifully ornamented instrument in India. The look of the instrument itself gives a feeling of importance and mesmerizing beauty. I used to simply love sitting with the instrument and still more, the half-lotus posture, which I was slowly mastering.
So far so good. The enthusiasm has its own role to play when it comes to the matter of experiences for a beginner. But then, every musical instrument then gives a real test, failing which, one can never carry on with his musical endeavour. The test is that of "physical endurance".
Every musical instrument typically hurts or rather strains one or more parts of the body in the first few days. The tabla has its own set of effects on the finger joints, which might even swell for some time. The way a flute is manipulated puts a lot of strain on the thumb. I still remember having my muscles getting pulled right from the base of the left thumb extending upto the wrist.
And to my experience, sitar is gives you the biggest challenge in this respect. The main string (called "baaja") is quite a ductile stuff with lot of elasticity. But at the same time, it is extremely sharp. Those really soft "darling" looking index and middle fingers of the left hand face most of the wrath of this string. The skin on the fingers repeatedly cuts and rips off in the first few days. Boils with shooting pain form right at the place where the string cuts! Many people tend to use oil to lubricate their fingers at this stage, just to ease themselves. But the tradition of my teacher strictly forbids one from using oil at any stage of the career, the simple reason being the oil has a terrible effect on the performance of the instruments. So, there it was, I had these terrible boils on my fingers right in the second week. I sometimes used to try placing the string on a different location on the finger. But somehow, my teacher always discovered it in the first two minutes! "No cheating!!" he used to say. "If you are not going to work out on exactly one location on the finger, take my word, you will have boils everywhere!" I used to play on the same location as my fingers withered and my face winced in pain. And on a few occasions, tears used to flow down my eyes, unable to take up the pain. "No pain, no gain" was one thing my teacher imbibed deep in my mind at this stage. This phase of strings cutting through the skin and boils bursting out continued for nearly three weeks before I grew callus on my fingers.
This was the true testing time when my enthusiasm was weighed against dedication. The enthusiasm seemed to die off every time the pain reappeared. But it was the constant motivation and inspiring words of my teacher and my own bit of dedication that carried me through this phase.
It was not long before the callus grew hard and boils disappeared. As time proceeded, the skin got used to the string and now, I feel no difference as my fingers dance around on the string. But the memories of the first few weeks are something I can never really forget. No harm if I say, I am proud of myself that I passed through the phase successfully. Truly enough, music is 1% enthusiasm and 99% dedication.

The Rendezvous

It was late in the evening of some day in the first week of January 2004. The freezing winter of Pilani didn't really deter me as I galloped towards the music room on the BITS campus. There were two other enthusiasts (Neema Kulkarni and Ojas Sabnis) who joined me in the quest on that day.
It was an unforgettable moment of thrill as guruji asked me to sit in the half-lotus posture and instructed me on how to hold the sitar. "Sitar is like a new born baby. Equally delicate, equally enticing, equally beautifully. Guess you can understand how you are expected to handle it..." That was something which evoked an understanding smile from all the three of us.
Some details about the half-lotus posture: A right handed sitarist sits with his left leg crossed inwards and the right leg pulled out in the front. The base grourd of the sitar rests on the opened up left leg while the neck of the sitar is supported by the right thigh. The right hand rests on the base gourd from the top; thus giving the base gourd a vice-like grip between the left leg and right hand. Confused? Well, read it again :) This posture is quite difficult to master in the beginning as it tends to cramp the leg muscles. But a regular "riaz" in this posture should do the trick. Also, a correctly achieved half-lotus posture leaves the left hand completely free. But many beginners tend to have this problem of not being able to load the sitar neck on the right thigh, thus leaving an inevitable load on the left hand! But mind you! This will never work out if you are going to actually play the instrument after this!
Guruji thus explaining the posture, told a lot of stuff about the instrument- its manufacturing process, the physics that goes behind it. I still remember having turned back at one of the other two friends and remarked, "Oh yes! The frequency is inversely proportional to the square root of length of the string! So, that explains the gradual reduction in the distance between the frets as we move towards the bridge!"
So far, so good. The sitar, which looked so easy to play whenever I saw the artists perform, now started looking so formidable! "Oh my! Will I ever be able to play it?" Guruji just smiled.
He then asked us to put on a V-shaped pluck on the right index and adjust its supports behind the first joint on the finger. Well, traditionally known as the "mizrab", that was going to be the tool that would get me into playing the instrument.
"So now, all the three of you! Press your left index behind the seventh fret and strike all the strings gently upwards"
THAT WAS SADJA (SA), THE FIRST NOTE I EVER PLAYED ON THE SITAR!