Looking out of the window
It is a Spanish guitar. A Signature … tropical. It has been around for almost a decade now. I never devoted myself wholly to it. I always played an image of the guitar. To put it in simple terms – I am no pro. I started learning the guitar on it. But before I proceeded to anything noteworthy, I gave the guitar to my brother. That made way for a new guitar. A fake Gibson … But I do not wish to get ahead of myself and so I will begin at the beginning.
I had completed my eighth standard when my father sent me to a music class not so far from our home in Indore. This guitar was given to me for this class. I even remember the shop we bought it from: Jingle Bells, the one stop shop for anything musical. The night before we bought the guitar, I had to go to a doctor first for a chest checkup because of my frequent chest pains. The ailment, which has since then repeatedly disrupted my life, remains undiagnosed. The doctor did his checkup but my mind was elsewhere like always. I was NOT present. And he sensed it.
‘Arvind, you are not here. What are you thinking?’
‘Nothing Sir.’ And I looked at my mother who smiled and my father who said: ‘Concentrate on what is at hand.’ But I was thinking of guitar, waiting to lay my hands on it. So I did not take my father’s words into account – a mistake I repeatedly did in my teenage. And I was never present for the task at hand and so I screwed many of them.
We went to buy the guitar after the checkup but found that the shop had closed. We finally bought the guitar the next day. That was one of the happiest days of my life.
Every morning I would go to the class from 8:30 am to 9:30 am and I would return home and watch Disney Hour on DD-1 from 10 am onwards. That was the fun of summer time, you did not have to worry about not having cable because even though DD-1 had started failing its viewers, they did take care of their young audience. And this was the reason I never got around to practicing. I would go to the class, come back and get lost in the wonderful world of cartoons. After that, throughout the day I engaged in anything but finger zinging. And then next morning I would go back to the class. My master would scold me for not practicing but that never had an effect on me. I still wanted to learn guitar but somehow I screwed up the chance.
Time passed by. Summers ended and so did the classes. I could play some songs on tabs. No chords. I had not progressed. So I would satisfy myself with Hai apna dil to awara and National Anthem. Before I knew, I had completed eleventh standard and one day we shifted to Bhopal – the saddest day of my teenage. Indore has a charm that no city can match. I am sure everyone can say so for their hometown. I do not wish to offend anyone but there is no dearth of dislike I have for Bhopal even with its lakes and clean aura.
It was summer time again and my brother had completed sixth standard. My thoughts went back to the guitar but now there were two of us. Someone suggested a tutor for Guitar. He would come to teach both of us. He was actually a professional Sitar player and generalized his expertise to anything with strings. Almost immediately I saw an opening for a new guitar. Two people can’t learn much on one guitar. The spoiled kid took over and my master obviously wanted to teach in parallel so I convinced my parents to get me a new guitar. Why me? Because I am the elder one. My brother, the good kid also said that he would rather try to old one. And so I got a new guitar, a fake Gibson. It was stylish, had a sheen which made it look better than the old one and it had a belt. I was happy again. The classes went on and I progressed to very basic chords. Somehow I never liked the new Guitar. It never gave the sound which the old one gave. It was sort of stiff and the sound box was not vibrant but close and too compact. It was almost as if the Guitar was my own manifestation – stiff, non-vibrant and closed. Anyway, preparation for JEE and my lack of commitment pushed the Guitar into background again.
I came to IIT in July 2004 only to realize that it would have been great if I had learned how to play. Music Club was the place to be and guitarists were seen with interest by everyone. Later in my fourth semester I took up the guitar again, brought my fake Gibson to campus and started learning it under my new Master: Paul. He lives in Type 1 quarters in IIT Kanpur – son of an institute employee. I progressed to basic chords and all was going well when suddenly Paul found a job and I lost motivation.
I got involved in other things, a lot of them. And the Guitar stayed at my home. Neither my brother played it nor could I given that i was in Kanpur. The fake Gibson in my room kept to its black cover. Dust settled on it. Once in a while other guitar enthusiasts took my guitar to their rooms and started learning. But I never took it up. I would go and visit Satti and Chaachi, my friends, occasionally. They were into the guitar and were self taught. They were my inspiration only I could never take it entirely.
We shifted from one home to another within Bhopal. After one such shifting, I came home from campus for a week. I was looking through my old stuff that was to be arranged when I saw the old Spanish. I thought I would try my hand at it. I took it out and found that the bridge had been ripped off the body during shifting. Somehow I felt bad for this forlorn forsaken guitar. I immediately took quickfix and tried to put the bridge back. Foolishly I removed the strings although that was not required. But after I had fixed it, I was supposed to put the strings back too and I started doing that. But I looked at the strings: all rusty and thinning at places. I felt bad for the dilapidated condition for the Guitar and requested my father that I be allowed to go and buy a pack of new strings.
I bought new strings and new set of plectrums. I changed the strings, oiled the tuners and played the guitar. As good as new, as good as it was! They needed change and it was then that it struck me: Every guitar needs new strings once in a while, every guitar needs a bit of cleaning, tuning and every guitar needs its deserved share of music. Everyone needs a change once in a while.
I don’t want to give a sermon. I was cleaning my fake Gibson today when everything came back and so I thought I should write it. I am writing something serious after a long long time and I am happy with the introspection the guitar led me to. As far as the Guitar itself is concerned, the old one is still at home. The fake Gibson is out for takes. I think I will give it to the Girls. Their guitar in the hobby room is all broken and stringless.
When I had time I didn’t chase things. Now I have other priorities. And I have learned this – prioritize properly and chase those things before priorities change. I thought about why could not learn the guitar and the answer to that question was actually an answer to all my ‘Why couldn’t I?’ questions. I wanted to learn how to play the guitar but I never wanted it badly. When we never want a thing badly, we either end up not getting it at all or even when we get it, we never recognize the value of it and in the end lose it. Pursue the dreams, want them as if life depends on them… badly. And then one day we will find that we have finally broken them.
Onion.
By the way the incident is described by the complaint below.
