Yesterday Once More

Our family choir had very humble origins in nursery rhymes and in the din of the quacks and neighs and grunts in Old Mac Donald’s farm.

Listening to the carpenters singing about the “old melodies” that “melt the years away”, I am transported to a time when life revolved around childish pranks of ringing doorbells in the afternoon and running away; destroying flower-beds and hiding from irate malis; mud-cakes and fancy dress competitions; and of course, that Five Star after anti-tetanus shots or ice-cream after tooth extractions! But the most treasured memories are of our weekend family trips in DBD1313 ’’’the ham sandwiches, reciting multiplication tables and games of divisibility with number plates [my father’s idea of making math fun which never did produce the desired effect], and above all, the enthusiastic musical renditions that were always off-key.

Our family choir had very humble origins in nursery rhymes and in the din of the quacks and neighs and grunts in Old Mac Donald’s farm. Another favourite was the lady who rode down mountains in pink pyjamas. Under parental supervision we graduated to lemon trees, strawberry fields, and Jamican farewells. Our puritan sensibilities were often shocked when adult tastes included mummy kissing Santa under the x-mas tree, not to mention the tales lipstick marks on collars told, and the woman who’d married eight Henry’s. Bhimsen Joshi and Manna Dey made their appearance once in a while, but even that was once too often for our untrained aesthetics. We preferred the peppier Kishore, Asha Bhonsle and Mohd. Rafi [convent and Irish boarding had not completely submerged the “native” in us]. And through all the drives was the deep, full-throated tenor of Dad’s voice that defined the mood and momentum of our trips. The fan following he earned in the back seat of the car, exists till date, even after each discovered Billy Joel, Jim Morrison, etc.

Nothing can compare with the magic of these drives. Not the thrill after the Jalebi race I won in class three [because my Jalebi was suspended from the longest string thereby making it accessible to the four inch midget I was]; not the satisfaction of watching bowls of porridge and half-boiled eggs disappear down the kitchen sink [all the while my parents lived in the illusion that their child was growing up on a healthy diet].

As we grew older we buckled under the increasing pressures of hormones and weekly tests, parents got firmly entrenched in their nine-to-nine grind at office, and then we learnt driving [well, that’s another story, or nightmare!]. Family excursions in the 800 were now limited to duty-visits to Neanderthals who pinched our cheeks, and out to dinner when harried parents wanted to escape nagging about seekh kebabs and crab fin soup. During these car rides, conversations were minimal---a welcome situation from arguments with parents about grades, time-management, responsibility, friends and our other habits that conflicted with their definition of what constituted a good education and a cultured up-bringing. Music was hardly ever played anymore because musical differences got in the way. Instead, there was the uneasy calm between heated exchanges, and sneaky pinching and foot stomping. Despite my mother’s attempts at drawing her indifferent teens into the semblance of a family, we remained irreconcilable and weary foes.

We didn’t exactly turn out the dysfunctional family my grandmother feared we would, and that was because music found its way into our lives. Each vowed not to transgress the fine line between concern and prying, made allowances for the other’s musical taste [or the lack of!] and learnt to survive “noise” when the other played his/ her favourites. Parents obviously invariably got their way in arguments over “choice” of music, and most of our stay at home was filtered with Pat Boon and Elvis, Connie Francis and the Beatles, Frank Sinatra and Neil Diamond belting out their versions of music.

All that was a long time ago, but the melodies have remained as fresh as ever. Now every time I hear those oldies, they melt the years away, and its yesterday once more.