Back in Bangalore for the second stint of lessons in Hindustani raga, and Saturday turns out to be one horrendous bad hair day. An afternoon of getting increasingly pent up, and I think the only way of straightening my head out is a decent night of dance … it’s about time to explore the rich nightlife that Bangalore has to offer anyway.
Read the rest of this entry »
Back in Bangalore, motivated by another batch of lessons in Hindustani raga. Not looking forward to Bangalore, but the arrival is much less chaotic, and I avoid the accomodation touts altogether. This time, I find a decent cheap place, 150Rs. After a few nights, I find that the airier doubles are only an extra 20Rs. Share squat toilets, bucket wash, mainly travelling Indian workers … but this is all quite ok for the price. The airy room makes a big difference, and I’ve managed to avoid the worst pitfalls of Bangalore. On the whole, it seems friendlier and more inviting. Due to a technical mishap (laptop malfunction and associated saga), I ended up staying here several days more than I would like. Narasimhalu returns to Reichur after several days, the last night of which saw the accident with the lappie. Stranded in Bangalore with few things to do, planty to write and nothing to write on, I take to a bit of gratuitous tourism.
Late march, around the 23rd, arrived at Gokarna. The dream of a relaxed sit by a beach with a sunset over the ocean was coming closer. It was a near thing … made the morning train from Mangalore with plenty of time to spare, and then fluffed around watching the world go by … watching every station because I had no idea how long the journey to Gokarna road station would be. At one point, I decided to relax, and order a (slightly runny) ice cream from one of the walk through vendors. This of course was two seconds before arrival at Gokarna station (on the opposite side of the train). After wondering why we had stopped for 2 minutes, then across and seeing “Gokarna road railway station” signposted right where I didn’t expect it, hurling my day pack, backpack, and icecream over my shoulder, I landed on the station with 30 seconds to spare.
I had read in that infamous guidebook about a style of ritual dance-performance, Theyam… it seemed like something worth exploring … a full night of trancy beats had eluded me so far, and this seemed to be about as close as I was going to get. Theyyam is centred around Kannur in northern Kerala … in itself, a nice town with a few of its own quirks, with its reputation as a Theyam hub being its main appeal to travellers.
Exhausting journey into Kerala, coming into Kunnur. At first Kunnur seems a bit of a dissapointment as a town, though it promises to have both Theyyam, a few bay side beaches with facing sunsets. But the town is large commercial, a bit smelly (diesel mainly thank fuck), and very busy. The bus stand is a bit of mayhem with big state and private buses coming in constantly. The train station area promises decent hotels, and slightly more quiet. I get a bad vibe from the first hotel, and a good rate from the second. I’m too tired to haggle (exhausted from hanging onto my seat), and take the second.
Peyambalam beach proves to be well worth the visit, faces the west setting sun, and has an interesting couple of monuments.
I had read in that infamous guidebook about a style of ritual dance-performance, Theyam. This led me from Madikeri to Kannur in northern Kerala, apparently the hub of Theyam activity..I had been wanting to get another dose of Kerala since the beautiful morning train journey from Chennai, and the Theyam seemed like a beautiful, mad, and intriguing form of ritual. It seemed like it should be a straightforward journey…
Real time, around March 15 …. initially I’d thought that Madikeri would be a brief stop between Virajpet and Kunnur, but as the bus pulled into town, I felt relieved to see so much green. Kushalnagar is still in harsh country, but Madikeri is very much in the hills, plantation country, very green, well wooded. And the town itself smells less of urine than many other Indian regional capitals… I think I may well overstay the one hour to one day I’ve allowed for transport shuffling.
Madikeri is a centre of massive coffee growing activity, to say nothing of honey, pepper, and half a dozen other spices … but where the only coffee to be had in town is Nescafe instant (“its easier …” I’m told). Very easy though to buy real coffee, but of course you need to be travelling with your own stovetop … Cafe Cofffee Day (the Indian Espresso Chain) will get here eventually, and with them will come stale microwaved chocolat donuts, white bread sandwiches, hot dogs on sweet buns and other highly nutritious exotic food items. Local food is not extraordinary … standard south indian fare, but with a lot more meat dishes (pork is the local speciality) than I’m used to. It’s hard to find a pure veg restaurant: after 2 months in Chennai where pure veg is the norm, I’m convinced that food at pure veg places tastes cleaner.
Jotting notes in Goa between swims, bike rides and belly turns. Looks like I’ve got my second serious case of wierdness in the stomach, and yes … it was almost certainly the water. After being offered dodgily filtered corporation water by Narasim with no ill effects, I took a few risks with water from coolers during the heat wave that had hit Bangalore early April. Oooops. But this time, I’m going straight for the silver bullet.
The earlier bout of flu that I’d picked up in Bangalore proved that things are a bit different here health-wise. For a start, it proved to be a killer, and had me flattened in bed for the first two days … with lingering effects for more than a week … it saw a bit of a trial between dodgy local medicine and dodgy western medicine.
Warning. No real doctors (or natural healers) were used in the making of this medical drama! In India it is quite easy to get pretty much anything over the counter of a druggist … from antibiotics to medical morphine … also toothbrushes, under the counter condoms, soap, and the latest hair care products. I described my symptoms to him … fever, weakness, pain in kidneys, runny nose etc … and he gave me a three day course of antibiotics plus a mild paracetomol. No problems.
The antibiotics did the trick. I was still a bit frail for the duration, … the last couple of lessons with Narasimhalu were a bit disjointed, though the flu was receding, it was still a bit gnarly, and I was quite distracted. Canceled the last one … and they are always a pickup. But towards the end of the course, and the end of my stay in Bangalore, I was starting to feel on the up. But not quite ready for a big journey, so I opted for relatively nearby Mysore, a 2 and a half hour bus journey in the morning.
Secure and comfortable in room 404 of the Hotel Govardhan, and the anibiotics run out. Okay, I hope I have this licked. Maybe the druggist didn’t quite know what he was on about. Am feeling much better, but still quite tired, and I’m getting morning headaches.
Wandering the streets of Mysore, it is hard not to run into one of the young touts of ‘doctor’ Aram. After wandering the pleasant streets of Mysore for a few days with my health plateu’d, I’m ready for anything that promises a boost to full fitness. I’m coughing up very ugly phlegm and just … not right! I habitually flick off touts these days, but I’ll talk with anybody. The boys of doctor Aram are picking up tourists, mainly younger backpacker who might pick up a bit of bhang. I’m told that he can get ‘anything’. But that he’s also an ‘ayurvedic’ doctor, and they’re training in traditional medicine (Mysore is a bit of a center for Ayurvedics). And also that it’s an insence house (Mysore abounds in one house insence factories with the wife and kids handrolling sandalwood sticks … tourists cannot avoid invitations to these factories where they’ll be sold sticks in abundance). A bit of a lapse in cynicism, and I’m following the kid to the green house.
The green house is at the top end of inner Mysore, near the cathedral. You could easily mistake it for … an insence factory. In fact, the ground floor is … and also the doctor’s surgery. The ‘cafe’ is the second floor, and it looks like it migh have been a hippie amsterdam style grass cafe at some more enlightened and liberal moment. Paintings on the wall … dragons fairies rainbows shivas and oms in a few different hands, maybe within 5 or so years. But now, insence storage, a few chairs and crap from around the house. I’m taken to the top story and chillout talking with the unlikely lads who brough me here … comparing phones mainly. They have medium good phones, by Indian standards. For these teenagers, business is doing ok.
‘Doctor’ Aram arrives eventually. He’s an interesting oddball character but a definite snake oil salesman. He gives me a eucalyptus dipped cigarette. I smoke it have a bit of a rough massage of oils. He reccomends that I smoke grass. I don’t take him up on this at the moment, but walk out with a package of oils, and a secret ayurvedic tonic. Sandalwood, Lotus, and Eucalyptus … at least I was pretty certain that they’re pure oils. But I had to haggle hard to get a price, and even then I presume he came off better. But I’m feeling a touch better, anyway.
I get a few warnings the next day about Aram and his boys. That he’d done a turn in jail for dealing and that many of his boys play both sides … scoring grass for tourists and then springing them to the cops. Not nice. I’d got a very sleazy vibe from most of them and certainly wouldn’t have trusted them, but this puts me out. I fade off the herbal remedy in a fit of embarassment. At least I have some reasonable essential oils. Later in my stay, I meet ‘more ethical’ dealers working ‘legitimate’ cafes … though I’m still up in the air about the real status of grass in Mysore.
To the local hospital then. A major walk, feeling how I feel after two days. Week clogged, confused (I put a bottle of water in my bag without a lid), headaches. Three blocks later, and I find myself in a queue and 125Rs poorer. A cheaper cure and a longer wait. Not quite sure if I’m in the right spot waiting for the right doctor, but as a white person, I stick out, so the nurse/orderly remembers me. I’m ushered in after an hour or so. Okay. So it seems I have clogged sinuses. More paracetomol, a decongestent, and a local cough syrup.
Three days later, my sinuses are clearing, the headaches are going, and I’m just about ready for a spot of light tourism.
The antibiotics did the trick. I was still a bit frail for the duration, … the last couple of lessons with Narasimhalu were a bit disjointed, though the flu was receding, it was still a bit gnarly, and I was quite distracted. Canceled the last one … and they are always a pickup. But towards the end of the course, and the end of my stay in Bangalore, I was starting to feel on the up. But not quite ready for a big journey, so I opted for relatively nearby Mysore, a 2 and a half hour bus journey in the morning.
Secure and comfortable in room 404 of the Hotel Govardhan, and the anibiotics run out. Okay, I hope I have this licked. Maybe the druggist didn’t quite know what he was on about. Am feeling much better, but still quite tired, and I’m getting morning headaches.
Wandering the streets of Mysore, it is hard not to run into one of the young touts of ‘doctor’ Aram. After wandering the pleasant streets of Mysore for a few days with my health plateu’d, I’m ready for anything that promises a boost to full fitness. I’m coughing up very ugly phlegm and just … not right! I habitually flick off touts these days, but I’ll talk with anybody. The boys of doctor Aram are picking up tourists, mainly younger backpacker who might pick up a bit of bhang. I’m told that he can get ‘anything’. But that he’s also an ‘ayurvedic’ doctor, and they’re training in traditional medicine (Mysore is a bit of a center for Ayurvedics). And also that it’s an insence house (Mysore abounds in one house insence factories with the wife and kids handrolling sandalwood sticks … tourists cannot avoid invitations to these factories where they’ll be sold sticks in abundance). A bit of a lapse in cynicism, and I’m following the kid to the green house.
The green house is at the top end of inner Mysore, near the cathedral. You could easily mistake it for … an insence factory. In fact, the ground floor is … and also the doctor’s surgery. The ‘cafe’ is the second floor, and it looks like it migh have been a hippie amsterdam style grass cafe at some more enlightened and liberal moment. Paintings on the wall … dragons fairies rainbows shivas and oms in a few different hands, maybe within 5 or so years. But now, insence storage, a few chairs and crap from around the house. I’m taken to the top story and chillout talking with the unlikely lads who brough me here … comparing phones mainly. They have medium good phones, by Indian standards. For these teenagers, business is doing ok.
‘Doctor’ Aram arrives eventually. He’s an interesting oddball character but a definite snake oil salesman. He gives me a eucalyptus dipped cigarette. I smoke it have a bit of a rough massage of oils. He reccomends that I smoke grass. I don’t take him up on this at the moment, but walk out with a package of oils, and a secret ayurvedic tonic. Sandalwood, Lotus, and Eucalyptus … at least I was pretty certain that they’re pure oils. But I had to haggle hard to get a price, and even then I presume he came off better. But I’m feeling a touch better, anyway.
I get a few warnings the next day about Aram and his boys. That he’d done a turn in jail for dealing and that many of his boys play both sides … scoring grass for tourists and then springing them to the cops. Not nice. I’d got a very sleazy vibe from most of them and certainly wouldn’t have trusted them, but this puts me out. I fade off the herbal remedy in a fit of embarassment. At least I have some reasonable essential oils. Later in my stay, I meet ‘more ethical’ dealers working ‘legitimate’ cafes … though I’m still up in the air about the real status of grass in Mysore.
To the local hospital then. A major walk, feeling how I feel after two days. Week clogged, confused (I put a bottle of water in my bag without a lid), headaches. Three blocks later, and I find myself in a queue and 125Rs poorer. A cheaper cure and a longer wait. Not quite sure if I’m in the right spot waiting for the right doctor, but as a white person, I stick out, so the nurse/orderly remembers me. I’m ushered in after an hour or so. Okay. So it seems I have clogged sinuses. More paracetomol, a decongestent, and a local cough syrup.
Three days later, my sinuses are clearing, the headaches are going, and I’m just about ready for a spot of light tourism.
So Bangalore on a whim an accident a chance meeting and hells own bus ride from the coast. One of the cities I’d not expected to get to. I am not surprised by it. It’s dirty, probably slightly more polluted than Chennai, though less piss and shit on the pavement, and a few more trees. There is a central park area, but away from the Majestic area, near the state bus and railway, where I’d decided to stay.
Accomodation is difficult and expensive. A lot of workers in Bangalore from elsewhere live in hotels, a lot of travelling businessmen, a lot of reasons not to have rooms especially available for tourists, especially single white males speaking only English. A lot of to and fro with heavy back pack, and a few hours after arrival, and several kilometres with about 40kg of baggage, and I settle on a place that was one of the first offered. This turns out as a comfortable choice, though hot water doesn’t get turned on till the day I leave.
A quick call to Narasimhalu, and we are on for that evening. I arrange to call him before I leave so he can direct an auto to his place. Fortunately, the first driver is honest, so I know that it’s a 20Rs ride … handy information for the next day when I start to encounter drivers who are refusing the meter and asking 50 or 80 for the same ride (I just walk away from them).
A small place, a lot more humble than Kadri’s digs. A bed, pictures of gods and gurus, some mats, tamboura, an electronic sruti box, a clarinet, a small kitchen with altar, another practise room to one side. We launch straight in. Narasimhalu’s English is a lot rougher than Kadri’s and his accent difficult. But he is a committed teacher, and there is always a student coming in or out.
He gives me a Bhim Palaesi, a rag that has a Karnatic equivalent.It is also something that he has released as a jugalbandi with Kadri. We start with the raga, which has a Carnatic equivalent, but then launch straight up into a piece. Over the next few days, most mornings and evenings we do a line or two at a time. Sometimes the gamak throws my ear out. Sometimes he does it on purpose to challenge me. Sometimes he forces me to record myself so I can hear how bad I sound. But we also cover a basic alap, an evolution of phrases, some basic phrases that evolve out of and into the melody. Some decorations.
One of the differences between the styles here is that the Hindustani song is seen more as a framework for evolving ideas and progressive decoration, phrases. In contemporary Carnatic music, songs are intricate, and though most teachers have slight variations in how they play or decorate, they will insist on the absolute correctness of the way they play a particular song, and impart this sensibility into their students.
Mostly the Hindustani Gamak is in the form of slides from the Sa, the Pa, or the adjacent notes. Less of the intricate warbling of Carnatic music, or the particular wobble between notes. Still there are strong similarities between the techniques. A lot of the gamak is done by a combination of vibrato, and keying, which gives many notes a strangely swung feel. This plays havoc with my ear and timing. Sometimes I’m ok, sometimes I’m floundering on things that are simple. But a lot of the gamak is done by sliding fingers off notes, a more natural technique on clari not possible on sax.
The main difference/difficulty we have is that he is using the standard Indian clarinet, plastic and simple system (19th century replica). Larger tone holes, fewer connected keys, and fewer redundant useful levers. A weaker instrument for chromatic playing (irrelevant in India), but a better instrument for sliding between notes (crucial in India). At this stage, I am torn between focusing on the modern western clari and evolving my technique, or learning the older instrument, or perhaps picking up a shennai and applying the raga to a traditional instrument. Each has pros and cons.
Hindustani style has a lot less focus on particular techniques, gamak is similar to the equivalent in Carnatic, but less importance placed on it. And songs are taught straight up with ragas. A change from the frustrating experience with Kadri and TVG: pattern after pattern exercise after excercise, technique after technique, a collection of very simple or butt ugly boring technical pieces without much musicality, till I can finally approach a piece of music that is intricate and sublime.
There is a lot of ambiguity about how the lessons are paid for. Initially free, because he likes me (this is mutual), an annoying moment where he asks for my clari setup (this is worth about 200$ aus, so this would be pretty damn expensive by Indian standards … but if I get the chance and the money, I will help him out there). But he also wants me to help set up programs and perhaps classes in Oz. This would be a challenge, but I want to stay in touch with all these players, and it would be amazing to get him and Kadri out for some duets. Eventually I give him a small cash settlement, and we are fine and cruisy again.
Last couple of lessons, my flu gets much worse, and I have to skip them.I’m having trouble moving, let alone thinking or practicing. Narasimhalu returns to his main base in Northern Karnataka, Richur, and after a bit of contemplation, I decide on nearby Mysore for a bit of recovery.
I still feel more committed to the Carnatic style, but there are so many barriers there … and in many ways playing soprano I am on my own. I’m hoping for a few clues, and maybe it will be after I’ve left India, or perhaps when I return (I may have to do the alto thing ….eck). Perhaps after I have techniques developed for sax I can find a teacher who uses the soprano sruti on violin or flute. I’m still hoping to get more lessons from Kadri though. But this Hindustani intensive is good, and is good for my clarinet technique. More importantly, the Hindustani clari is at the same sruti as the Carnatic alto. I am learning musical pieces, and it has broken through at least one layer of frustration that built up during the weeks of gurukulam.
After the comedown from Mani’s amazing wedding, and the incredible sights and people met I spend a few hours in Mangalore quite isolated. Kadri is taken up with family business, loose ends and ritual. Many attendees are heading straight back home after the wedding, and the Kadri floor is thinning out very quickly.
I have a very wierd moment with one of the hotel’s house boys. He pretty much walk straight into the room (Damn! swhould have bolted it). Sees my toys … laptop, saxophone, mobile phone … and decides that I’m some wierd rich guy (it’s strange, I kind of am and yet not really … so many things translate badly across cultural and economic borders). Anyway, he decides that he does want to leave the room unless I give him some kind of tip. I feel wierd about this. He claims friendship, and then really wants me to cash him up for nothing more than getting out of my hair. This feels like it sets a bad precedent, and anyway it (along with that trace of isolation) kicks in a lot of uncertain feelings and a touch of distrust. After a walk to clear my head, he spots me back in the hotel, and sets to attaching himself like a limptet. I’m feeling strangled, insecure, not sure whether the room locks have master keys, and I’ve had a good offer in Bangalore. Read the rest of this entry »
| M | T | W | T | F | S | S |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| « Sep | ||||||
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | ||
| 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 |
| 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 |
| 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 |
| 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | |||
