WE DREAM AND WE DO

The magic age of stepping into my 50s, where I believed the world would magically turn soft, was just a year away. I had made a list of things to learn. As an HR professional, I always said there is no age when you cannot learn. It had to be proven! Shortlisting all the courses I could do, from the Coaching course that would certify me as a professional corporate coach, to doing a part-time course to enhance my HR skills – I was confident I could show that I could learn with aplomb!

My younger daughter overheard me speaking to my mentor on a course I had shortlisted in Switzerland. She taps me on my shoulder, as I am getting ready to open my computer and pay up the massive dollars – and looks me in the eye and challenges me. “Mom, do you think this will be challenging enough? You could do this in your sleep!” I come down from my pedestal. A day later and coming out from my depths of playing the victim- I take her challenge of learning an art or craft. We shortlist a Charcoal drawing class- that she had looked up and asks me to start the journey.

Walking into the studio, I had never felt so small. Having been a successful professional, here I was with large amazing canvasses of acrylic, bouncing colors, and deep intense charcoals. Each artist intensely at their easel, their deft strokes creating life out of the little brushes, paints, coals, and erasers. Tentatively I learn to put the paper on the easel, and hold the charcoal as my art teacher booms “Soma- create 10 shades of black”. I look to see four charcoal sticks of various softness, and a heavy sweat breaks out. He cajoles and teases out my first line- encourages me to leave all my conditioning and learning behind. “Eye and hand coordination,” he says. “Don’t bring your mind in, it interprets things that don’t reflect you”.

I learn later – about two years into charcoals and multiple canvases later- that art like meditation needs you to leave your mind behind!

Jump back a few years, young motherhood, a 6-year-old and a 12-year-old. Settling into a new city with crazy schedules, losing your identity between being mother, wife, daughter, and corporate rat – I forget who I am. I reach out to my friend from college and renew a conversation I had with him about learning the drums. “Percussion instrument uh?” he says. And what do I hear- the swooshing of the sticks as he throws them into the air and lands them on the drums? “This?” he asks. In those days with no video calls, I insist that he says this quickly and fast. African drums? Tabla? Dholak? The orchestra drums?

The various thumps, as I play them in my head, remind me of music long forgotten. The next week, as I walk on Orchard road in Singapore, I see a band playing the African drums. My love for the sound, the beats, the abandon, and the smiles – this was it. The energy of the crowd as they cheer and sway makes the decision for me. I had found it !! I enroll in a class. We sit in a circle. On the first day, with varying sizes of drums balanced gingerly between our knees, we go for the beats. And all that comes out is noise. My palpitations were high. I was smiling- did I do as much as those on the road? A few weeks in, I gave up. The small apartment meant I could not practice – the noise of the kids and the drums had my apartment reverberate. I had to make peace with my neighbors. Well, one day for sure!

Who hasn’t heard of pen pals growing up? Looking up at the newspaper, I want to be pen pals with a sportsperson. In My 7th and 8th standard (as they were then called fondly. Maybe it created “standards”), I was an athlete – the Discus, Shotput, and Javelin flew out of my blistered hands. I even competed with Asian games athlete Ashwini Nachappa in Bangalore in Kanteerva stadium. I find a name and write to him. I realise my pen pal was in Germany. I was ready for a long wait. To my surprise, I get a reply back very soon. With the snail mail and multiple exchanges of letters later, the letters dwindled and eventually stopped. I re-read the letters to see if I had written something that put him off.

A few weeks later, My sister runs in and shows the headlines. It all fell in place. Of course, the letters had to stop!! IT WAS BORIS BECKER and he had just won Wimbledon!!