Mar 25, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Climate Change is Real:  Day 7 of My Lone Vigil
©March 25th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

I awoke at an early hour, emerging sluggishly from a swamp-like sleep, in which I could not detect any dreams.  As I got ready, put the dog out, heated up old coffee, and dressed, I was feeling pretty detached.

Still, I looked forward to going out there to battle the elements with my trusty sword, or rather, Warren’s trusty sign, “Climate Change is Real.”

Today, I was better prepared.  More layers, thick gloves, the same scarlet and orange scarf as yesterday, two pairs of pants, moon-boots, hat – all that good New England preparedness which it took me years to learn. My phone and i-Pod were charged, and ready to go.  Holly took her time coming back in.  I was briefly frustrated, then shrugged it off.  Whatever.  She’s a dog, and has her business to attend to.  It must be hard being so dependent on her humans who let her in and out, and decide when she can be taken for a walk.  I felt bad for her, then shrugged, again. She has a very good life.  We each pay the price for safety and shelter.  What we do get is boundless love in the case of our dogs, though.

Holly was as good as gold when I left.  She always is.

I was there at 7:54 a.m. sharp.  Pah, again!  Well, there’s always Monday to look forward to, and two days of blessed rest on Saturday and Sunday (of course, “rest” is a relative term)!

The air was rich with March moisture.  While it cheered me to see the fog (I like fog), the fine, misty rain, which is more insidious than an outright downpour chilled me to the bone, despite it being about 40 degrees or so.  I don’t like the cold of rain – I prefer the cold of snow.  In any case, it got much warmer as the day wore on, just not in the hour that I stood there, fingers numb despite warm, thick gloves. 

It being Friday, the traffic was somewhat sparser at the beginning, but grew denser as the hour unrolled.  I sang Raga Bhatiyar moodily, my mind on other things, such as how awful old coffee tasted, and what possessed me get to bed so late all of this week, and did we have a future on this bleak planet, and why couldn’t I focus on Bhatiyar? 

It didn’t matter.  I sang, and my voice got stronger, and clearer, but the foggy air did not. 

Listening to our Guruji’s voice, I re-focused my efforts.  More taans and meandering aakars, gamaks and then, this very philosophical song (which I believe our teacher, Pandit Shreeram G. Devasthali wrote.  Correct me if I’m mistaken in this memory, Warren):

Kahe Dekhata Mukha Chandra

Asthai:  Kahe dekhata mukha chandra (why do you look at my moon-face?  Note:  It doesn’t sound so silly in our language, because chandra is not just moon; it signifies radiant, shining, effulgent beauty, and such-like concepts.)
Dekho na, dekho na mukha chandra (do not look at my moon-face)
Nahi dekho mora mukha chandra (same thing)
Prati dina yaha cheena hota  (Every day, it [the moon, and my beauty] wanes)
(“This beauty is ultimately going to perish,” said our teacher at this point)

Antara:  Athi chanchala jobana roopa (“The form/beauty of youth is fleeting, flickering, transitory”)
Ghadi pala yaha ghatata jaata (“Every moment, it gets diminished, goes away”)
Mohe nahi isape ghuman (“I don’t have any pride in this, because every moment it’s going away, it is so fleeting, I know for certain that it is not going to last …” so explained our Guruji.)

I love our teacher’s philosophical, exhortatory songs!

The cold seeped into my fingers and feet, but I didn’t mind so much anymore.  There is something lovely about March rain.  I admired the deep browns and grays behind me, where the Fells began (or ended), and stretched into the unseen distance.  I was grateful for stereo vision (as I am every day).  A few brown-yellow leaves from last fall stood out, brightly three-dimensional, against a background of dark brown tree-branches, and the pearl-gray gleam of water behind them made me glimmer in response.  I admired the reflection of the golden headlights of the cars on the tarmac, moving steadily towards me in the dim rain.  I looked up at the sky, and admired it for being the sky.  Now, as I write this, my favorite Beatles song Because sneaks, unwittingly, into my head. 

Because the world is round
It turns me on
Because the world is round
Ah Ah
Because the wind is high
It blows my mind
Because the wind is high
Ah Ah
Love is old, Love is new,
Love is all, Love is You.
Because the sky is blue
It makes me cry
Because the sky is blue oo

I know exactly how John Lennon felt.  I resonate with all of his lyrics, and all of his music.  The sky can make me cry.  The wind does blow my mind.  The convexity of the earth does turn me on.  Where the cars appear on the slope beyond my vision, and heave into view, the earth is curved and sexy (the cars aren’t). 

Okay, I’m rambling again.

Today, there were a few smiles, a few waves, one thumbs-up, no negative head-shakings, except for one woman.  I saw a couple of bicyclists, one of whom waved to me, as he does every day.   All of these, plus muted birdsong and birds, and the moody fog … all of these images, visual and sonic, just hung around me like a dream.

I thought of the head-shakers, as I picked up my effects, preparing to head on home.  I think I know why they do that.  We’ve all done that at some point in our lives, perhaps more than once.  When we don’t understand something or someone, we feel superior.  It’s easy to put down someone, much easier than trying to understand them. 

I will try not to do that in my life with things and people I don’t understand.  It’s a cheap and easy cop-out, and a loss of opportunity to learn and love the world around us, flawed though we are, and frail and foolish though we might be.  We are still beautiful and worth saving.

Have a good day or night.  Thank you for reading.  Happy weekend!

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Tags: #Because, #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #John Lennon, #PanditShreeramG.Devasthali, #The Beatles, #Warren Senders

Mar 23, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life

Climate Change is Real:  Day 5 of my Lone Vigil
©March 23rd, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
(Woman with Sign, standing in for Man with Sign)

So, with Raga Bhatiyar humming around my ears like a drunken bee, I awoke just before the alarm.  This is not my favorite trend, being by nature a night-owl, but I’m proud of myself, despite myself.

Freshly brewed coffee (finally!) in travel mug?  Check.
Let Holly out, and get her back in?  Check?
Holly’s food and water replenished?
Ear-buds in place?  Check.i-Pod charged up?  Check.
Gas turned off?  Check.
Driver’s License in pocket, in case the Man decides to randomly check my ID (one never knows, especially if one is brown)?  Check.
Phone charged and ready to go?  Check.
Doors locked?  Check.
Wakefulness?  Um … let’s move on, shall we?
Muted lipstick and eye-black for those who like such things?  Check.

This was my attire:  Green scarf, red turtleneck, dark-blue sweatpants, sneakers, mustard-yellow buttonless cardigan-thing, olive-gray-green brimmed felt hat (mine, but which Warren appropriated, and I don’t mind, but I’m taking it back for now!)?  Check!  Motley isn’t too far behind at the rate at which I’m going.  I think I’ll go for wildly clashing colors tomorrow. 

And still, after all this efficiency, I was there twenty-three minutes past 7:30 a.m.  Sigh.  I envy men, I really do – well, at least my man, at any rate.  He is punctual and ready, always.  I think that somewhere, subconsciously, I’m still resenting anything that resembles my old school schedule, which was too absurdly early for any thinking human being.  That is my excuse, and I’m sticking to it!

Well, I got there, set up my post, and spent my one hour, singing “Barani na jaaye,” a beautiful composition in Raga Bhatiyar that our Guruji taught us in January of 1994, when we spent a year in India studying with him for hours on end, almost every single day, except when we were sick, or on the rare occasions when he was unable to make it to Muktangan to teach.  This composition addresses a woman, saying that it is impossible to describe her; all similes fail when the singer is struck by the beauty of her effulgent moon-visage.  On top of all this, she is so beautifully ornamented, and perfumed with different perfumes, that he loses his senses, or loses himself when he sees her face and her beautiful form and gait.

Barani na jaye
Mose upama tehare
Mukha chandra ki
Barani na ja …

Taiso hi attara,
Aragaja lagave,
Sudha bisaratha, mukha dekha,
Chaal madhamaata ki

Such was the beauty of this song, that I lost myself in it, and paid no attention at all to the commuters for some minutes, then tried to re-focus myself. 

Right away, I saw many smiles from women today, many nods and waves, many thumbs-up (immediately followed by one SOLE thumbs-down by a grumpy guy – I waved cheerfully at him, waving him away).  One man with a Vermont license plate, and Bernie 2016 bumper sticker, waved cheerfully, rolled down his window, and said something like, “… more than one way to make a change,” and drove on.

The coffee was fragrant and heavenly after a couple of days of tea at that hour (which is truly hellish for a morning-coffee person like me), and I was happy despite four hours of sleep.  The sky was muted, and the wind blew on and off, threatening to displace Warren’s sign.  It was odd to see how different the sky was on three consecutive days.  Snowy-white on Monday, bright, cheerful blue on Monday, and opalescent gray today (I happen to like this pearly-gray, pink-imbued color).  It was cold, but not bitterly so.  I was glove-less, and grateful for it.

Guruji’s voice as usual made mine come alive.  I’m so happy to sing again!  I went to sleep with the sound of it in my head, and awoke with it, and have been singing on and off all day today.  As usual, there were taans and aakars, and gamaks, and sargams, and Warren’s and my voice blended in the recording as we followed our teacher’s guidance.

As the hour unrolled, the same old, blue pickup car-truck drove by, and the cheerful, young, bearded man from Friday waved to me, and took another picture for In League Press.  [He posted on their FB page that I was out there again today – I knew, because he had tagged me (I was a little worried at being so named in an online journal, but realized that since I had given him my name last week, and had shared Warren’s Man with Sign page with them, it was inevitable that he would mention me.)]

 I heard birdsong, but didn’t see birds today — no sudden uprush of geese, or wild chasing of cardinals, or flashes of bluejay.  Grateful that we still have birds, and that they still sing. 

No chick tracts today, thank goodness!  There’s only so much I can take about the Last Day of Judgement and harsh pronouncements utterly lacking in grace or love about the wrath of God, and so on.

However, there’s a little disappointment one feels at having no opposition (or, is it just me?  I don’t like arguing online, but I don’t mind a nice, crunchy debate in real life.) – no mouthy Tea-partiers?  No Climate Deniers?  No mean-spirited citizenry out to make my life a living hell?

Wait!  I’m kidding!  I like the waves, the smiles, the nods.  The occasional thumbs-downs I can take.  I’m an adult.  I am woman.  Hear me roar!

These are the signs I saw on passing vans: 
EnviroTech Breathe Easier (Yup, we need one for our whole planet)
Belmont Springs Water Delivery  (Wish they could just deliver some water springs without the plastic)Plymouth Rock.com Assurance  (what kind of assurance?)
First Response Fire Response  (These guys are heroes)
Fences Unlimited  (That’s almost an oxymoron, isn’t it?)
Stump Grinding – All Aspects of Tree Service  (Stump-grinding sounds obscene)

I could turn ANY of these, and ALL of these into poems.  I won’t try now, however. 

The hour ended.  I picked up my effects, and turned my face homeward.  There is a strange freedom in doing this.  At such times, I think, perhaps, I don’t need anything.  We need so little, truly.  Just food, shelter, some intellectual stimulation, lots and lots of music, basic clothing, and lots of love and friendship.  All else is immaterial. 

Thank you, Warren, for starting this!

It’s been a LONG day, and I’ve been really tired.  Sorry to write this post so late in the day.  Still, it’s not quite 11:00 p.m., so it’s still today.  Will try to do this earlier tomorrow.

Sorry for the rambling post, and thanks for reading, friends!

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Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #Pandit Shreeram G. Devasthali, #Raga Bhatiyar, #Warren Senders

Mar 22, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life

Climate Change is Real:  Day 4 of my Lone Vigil
©March 22nd, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

So, today:

Woke up at the sound of the alarm.  Groaned.  Hit the snooze.  Woke up ten minutes later.  Didn’t make coffee.  Made chai instead.  Let the dog out, then back in.  Reached the Warren Intersection at 7:44.  Not bad.  Perhaps, I’ll actually make it there by 7:30 by the time Friday rolls around.  All I have to do is stay up all night.  Right!  Oh, for the fashion-watchers out there, I wore old, baggy sweat pants over leggings, two pairs of old socks, purple T-Shirt, blue sweater, pale blue jacket, and an unnaturally bright purple beach hat.  I even found a minute to slash on a smear of lipstick and streak some eye-black on.  Got to give the commuters a little colour, at least!

The sun was a beautiful lemon, the sky shone a blazing blue, the clouds looked nonplussed by all this cheerfulness, and stayed away.  The drivers drove by, looking stolidly ahead, unwilling to make eye-contact.  I didn’t want to look at them, anyway, since I was fussing with ear-buds (I hate those things!), and adjusting them.  Then, sipping my chai, I sang with our beloved teacher’s voice, an echo from 1994, when he was alive. Raga  Bhatiyar was on today’s menu.  I’ve adored Bhatiyar since the first time I heard it on a Ravi Shankar record, when I was a teenager, and studying the sitar.  It’s a grand raga – I picture it as a Being dressed in deep gold-fringed purple raiment, moving solemnly on the horizon, lighting lamps.  I love the leap from Sa to shuddha Ma, and the turnaround from Pa to Ga, and then that inevitable Pa Ga re Sa, and then that haunting, eerie Ma theevra taking us through Dha, Ni, and high re, misleading us into thinking we’re in wilds of Marwa land, then deftly taking us back to the paved roads of the Bilawal thaat. 

Sargams, aakar, gamak taans, and then, Hari, Hari Nam, Le Tu Mana Mere, a beautiful composition urging the listener to “Say the name of God, and in so doing, cut away all the accumulated sins of a lifetime.  While taking God’s name, cross the ocean of life.  Tell your heart to take this advice.”  Transliterated from Hindi, it reads:

Hari hari nama le tu mana mere
Ja su katata saba paapa ghanere
Nama leta bhava paara utarata
Yaha updesha kara hirade tere

Hearing my Guru (Shreeram G. Devasthali)’s voice steadied mine.  It’s uncanny.  I started out with a horrid, raspy voice, not much improved by a few weeks of poor sleep.  By the time half an hour passed, my voice rang like a bell, and I could feel the restraints falling off.  He’s still teaching me, though he’s been gone for fourteen years.  Thank you, Guruji.

By now, the cars were slowing down, as more and more of them clogged the roads.  Now, I got a few smiles, nods, waves.  Nice.  It’s nice to be acknowledged.  I saw a small van go by which proclaimed that it was a “White Glove Domestic Services” vehicle.  White Glove, indeed!  If anyone worked at growing food, or cleaning up the mess of the world, they’d need millions of those.  Instead, why not just get dirty while cleaning up, then wash up?  I saw another small truck that said it was some sort of plumbing and drain company thingy.  I’m afraid my morning mental fog hadn’t dissipated, and I read it as “dumbing and brain.”
I could relate for a brief moment. 

Then, I’m embarrassed to say, a man drove by in an SUV, rolled down his window, and said something.  At first, I didn’t catch it, because I was singing, then I realized that he’d asked, “What’s that for?”  To my horror, I couldn’t explain it in the second or two I had, because he was still driving, so I said, “It’s hard to explain it now!” And he drove on.  Damn!  I lost the chance to say, “Look it up,” or “Our actions as humans are contributing to a climate catastrophe, and we need to change our way of life, and our habits as consumers,” or, “Do some research on Global Warming, and find out how scientists are predicting terrible consequences of our human activity not just a hundred years in the future, but in a few decades,” or …
But no, I stood there, and lost the chance to speak!  (I hope he comes by tomorrow – I’ll have a response prepared.  I’m still new at this.  Wish Warren had been there!)

Another man drove by, gestured to me, rolled down his window, and tossed out … YES!  A CHICK TRACT!  Hurray!  Having heard Warren’s account of this chap, I’d been hoping to see him, and lo, here he was! He was sent my way to prevent me from going to hell (snark!)  Yay!  I restrained myself from pouncing on it with unseemly eagerness, and picked it up after he’d driven off.  I put it in my pocket, to read it later.  Am going to take a look now.  Hang on a moment …

 … Wait!  It’s GONE!  Where did it go?  I swear I put it in my pocket!  Now, I’m doomed.  (Sigh!  I hope he throws me another one soon.)

Another fat car rolled by, with a large man chewing on, get this, a CIGAR!  An apt analogy for our dying planet.

Okay, I’ll stop dreaming.

So, the cars went by, and I sang on at the top of my voice, and then, like a vision from a dream, two cardinals swooped around and around an oval space of trees, like flashes of scarlet, singing all the while.  While it might have been young love, or lust in springtime, I’d like to think of them as hope.  I continued to listen to the honey-and-gold voice of our teacher, and felt at peace.

It was time to go.  Still singing, I picked up the sign, my travel mug, and my visions of the future at 8:44 precisely.  I made my way back home, and then, the day’s work and my daughter’s schedule claimed me until now, at 6:40 in the evening. 

This music, as Warren says, connects the past with the present.  We’d love to make a bridge for it into the future.  Music is not a luxury, even though it can be considered so, especially when we know that those who toil day and night can ill afford to spend it on practising music.  But singing is for EVERYONE – no one should feel it’s the prerogative of a privileged few.  Singing is breath.  And breath should be free.

Thanks for reading!  Peace out, as OPOL of DailyKos would say.

P.S.  I FOUND my Chick Tract!  Yay! 

P.P.S.  realized after my exchange with someone on FB that I must clarify that I actually DO know what a “White Glove Domestic” is – and the concept behind that (having encountered it for the first time my former school in some discussion that someone had about wanting to form a committee to ensure spotlessly clean classrooms, so clean that a white glove swiping at a counter would not pick up any dirt).  I just wanted to put my own tangential interpretation on it in this piece.

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Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #Hindustani classical vocal music, #Music as a bridge, #Pandit S.G.Devasthali, #Warren Senders

Mar 17, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #For the Planet, #Hindustani classical vocal music, #Keeping Vigil, #Man with Sign, #Singing, #Sitar, #Warren Senders, #Woman with Sign

Oct 24, 2015 Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

I am sitting with a cup of coffee at my kitchen table on this chilly fall day, listening to the late great Hindustani vocalist, Padmabhushan Gangubai Hangal singing Raga Prabhat Bhairav.  Her voice is raw, uncompromising, full of pain and triumph, and not at all like the very high, pretty, curlicued vocalisms usually practised by classical female singers in India.

And I am in tears.

Here is a woman from the shudra caste who rose from outright poverty and deprivation to the heights of fame later on in her life, a woman who’s sung in front of Mahatma Gandhi, a woman who lost her beloved teacher (Sawai Gandharva), then lost her Brahmin husband whom she served devotedly and supported, who, despite his being a lawyer, lost any jobs he held, and was not financially capable.   Then, she lost her daughter, Hindustani vocalist Krishna Hangal, who succumbed to cancer to 2004.  In 2007, aged 97, Gangubai Hangal passed away after pledging that her eyes, still good, would be donated to the Eye Bank run Dr M.M. Joshi Eye Institute.  Her wishes were carried out by her remaining family.

I have to thank my husband, Warren Senders, for playing this recording, and of reminding me of her.  Here is his post on the life and times of Padmabhushan Shrimati Gangubai Hangal:  In Memoriam: Gangubai Hangal, 1913–2009

Warren is himself a great and impassioned vocalist, musician and teacher in the classical Indian vocal music called Khyal.  (He’s also a jazz bassist and composer of Indo-Jazz fusion, with the group called Antigravity, in which I played guitar — sadly, we don’t perform much anymore, being too caught up in the nowness of our current life, which is full of music at home, and homeschooling our daughter).  He is also a huge and highly informed Climate Change activist.  You can read more about him here, and about the blog he started to further Climate Change awareness (through the use of music from around the world), here.

Thanks for reading!

Love,

Dreamer of Dreams

Tags: #Hindustani classical vocal music, #Warren Senders, Gangubai Hangal, Khyal

May 9, 2013 Music

Some Music for You Today – May 9th, 2013

“Yesterdays” by Jerome Kern (with lyrics by Otto Harbach) This version performed by Vijaya Sundaram and Warren Senders in 1989.

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Yulduz Usmanova (Usmonova) is a well-known Uzbeki singer.  I thought you’d enjoy listening to her beautiful singing.

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Eddie Jefferson sings “Sister Sadie.”

I love Mr. Jefferson’s warm, fuzzy vocals.  There’s humor and great musicality in all his singing.  He generally makes me smile. (Although, I must say this song isn’t funny).

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Billie Holiday: I Cover The Waterfront

She always makes me want to cry.

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The above piece is a composition by Warren Senders, who put Baul songs to music.  The lead singer in this live concert recording from 1993 song is me (yes, I used to be a part of a group of women singers known as “Goddess Gospel” — founded and  led by Louise Cloutier, formerly of Cambridge, now in Chicago).  Hope you enjoy Three Baul Songs!

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One of my favorite pieces of guitar playing:  Bach Cello Suite #1 in G, played by Andres Segovia.

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Otis Redding — “These Arms of Mine”

I love Otis Redding!

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Ray Charles — “Georgia On My Mind”

There’s nobody like Ray!

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Bob Dylan — It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)

Then, there’s Bob!

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“Julia” by The Beatles (John Lennon)

This, too, makes me want to cry.

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And of course, there’s Hindustani (North Indian) Classical Vocal Music.  Hope you enjoy Ashwini Bhide Deshpande singing Raga Bhimpalasi.

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Song from the movie “Alaipayuthey” — music by A.R. Rahman

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Another song from the movie “Alaipayuthey” — music by A.R. Rahman.  This one is one of my absolute favorite A.R. Rahman songs.

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“Goodbye Pork Pie Hat” is one of my favorite pieces by Charles Mingus.  I used to sing a version of it (lovely lyrics!).

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That’s it for today, folks.  I’m still feeling a little shy about putting up my very own songs and compositions, but will do so anon.  Hope you enjoyed the music!

Tags: #Vijaya Sundaram, #Warren Senders, Alaipayuthey songs, Andres Segovia, Antigravity, Ashwini Bhide Deshpande, Bob Dylan, Charles Mingus, Jerome Kern, Otis Redding, Ray Charles, Yulduz Usmanova, Yulduz Usmonova

Mar 17, 2013 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal, Essays on Music and Musicians

Roots Music

(Pune, India, 1994) –  An Original Poem

©Vijaya Sundaram, March 17th, 2013

To get to the roots of things,

We dug deep, drenched in song.

At times, things were rich,

Saturated, awash in light.

At others, rocks shouldered through,

Got wrenched out of the way.

That was the year when

Unexplained sorrow burst

Through inexplicable joy,

Escaped, became song.

Sometimes dreams came,

Pursued by demons,

Effaced by the gods.

That was a good year,

Full of magic realism, when

Dreams came on winged backs

And bore me away, and

A three-faced Goddess

Showed me favor,

As I ran, carrying a fish in a jug.

That was the year to rise,

Untrammelled by the mundane.

Above the struggle, we leaped

Into a space of pure spirit.

That was the year we distilled

Our music-minds, mined the ether.

That was the year, when,

Lighter than air, lighter than light,

We rose, embryonic-winged

For we were ruled by spirit,

And our spirits were weightless.

~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: #Music, #Original Poetry, #Vijaya Sundaram, #Warren Senders, Antigravity, India, Pune