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this website is the work of a fictional character
who masquerades as an artist, musician, and writer, and
enjoys referring to himself in the third person.
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© 2006
nayan enterprises
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the cabbie
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it was raining, and had gotten quite late when i left a friend's place the other night. after a considerable wait, i finally ended up with a cabbie who insisted on hearing the details of my evening, or having me suffer through his.
i was in a cheerful mood, as i always am after an evening awash with earthy wine and lofty conversation. in an effort to avoid being privy to what (in my characteristic snobbery) i assumed was his sorry existence, i opted for the former alternative.
i recounted my activities, and the cabbie's eyes suddenly widened and he asked,
"sir, you teach sitar?"
"no no," i said, "i'm only helping a friend practice. in return she feeds me and demonstrates my 'brahminic ignorance'."
completely disregarding my cleverly crafted pun, the driver wistfully cried, "i've always wanted to learn the sitar! sir, there is just one raag i'd like to play. just one!"
"really, which is it?"
in response, my cabbie proceeded to astonish me with a full-throated rendition of "sughara sundarava balamva", the well known bandish in yaman, complete with vocal exposition.
it was far from perfect. and yet, the rasa was invoked as if intuitively, the main lakhshanas revealed without any apparent knowledge of what they were: shadaj and pancham skipped in the aroha; the slide from pancham to rekhab during avroha graced with a lingering teevra madhyam; gandhar accorded the significance of a nyasa swara.
at times, the besura taans made me wince. but what was lacking in technical prowess seemed touchingly compensated for by sheer enthusiasm.
"your know sir, to me yaman is the devotion of lovers...separated, and longing for each other. i think of my wife, so far away, on the other side of the world...sir, she writes to me every day. sometimes i really wonder what i am doing here--taking people to their destinations, but never getting there myself!"
"well, it's difficult to be apart, regardless of the distance," i offered weakly, "seems you're always present in each other's thoughts..."
outside, the rain drummed incessantly to some obscure rhythm. on houston street, police were stopping drunk drivers. a whole row of cars had been impounded, their inebriated operators reprimanded for careless overindulgence.
as we drove away, the cabbie resumed his intoxicating melody, and i found myself slowly raising my hand and whispering "wah! kya baat hai!"
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