The Sad Demise of The School's Music Teacher?

There's a school next to my apartment complex. Often, you hear the squeaks and squawks of bachhalog, much reminiscent of how we used to be as kids outside (and most of the time, inside) the classroom. When I had moved into the flat, the first few days, I'd look out my window overlooking the school premises and all the memories of school days would come flooding back. But such nostalgia was short lived.

One not-so-fine morning, after a hard night's sleep, I was rudely awakened by nauseating refrains from (with due apologies to MJ - may his Soul, R&B, Pop, Rap And The Rest rest in peace) Heal The World. At first I thought someone had overdosed on Jackson mania to be playing the tune over and over again, and that too from top. As soon as my mind cleared the dreamy clutter of a bad morning, I heard chorus. It was the school children singing. Along with Mr Jackson.If that was not enough, the incessant "make it a better place..." was replaced by "Jay Ho! Whatchamacallit Jay Ho! Baila Baila... Alooo Aloooo".

"What in the-name-of-global-warming-hell is this?" I wondered. It took me a while to realign the scenario. It was this school. And it was some sort of rehearsal. The minute realisation dawned on me as sullenly as the day had broken, I wanted to go hide in the farthest corner of the world.

Wait a minute. Did I miss out on some centuries ever since I left my school days behind? Or was it scholarly devolution that I was omitted out of, in the scheme of things? Darling Darwin, if ever there was an anomaly in your views on evolution, it was here.Or maybe, I have passed into the annals of paleontology as an extinct sub-species of Neanderthals that never coped with the need to chant Jay Ho at the least provocation, lest the Joneses thought you were quite an Indo-Rahman-And-Slumdog-phobe.

In my time (at school, i.e.) icons of such pop culture were systematically held in disdain. School functions would never (barring an odd or some casual event) feature music or imagery of pop non-sense. The assembly halls would echo with sounds of prayers, songs, and words that seem to be lost in today's time. When the synth sounds of a cheap Casio scrapes your ear drums, you wonder whatever happened to the music teacher's harmonium and tabla?

Some might call it progress, moving with the times, and whatever it is in the name of looking ahead. But, somewhere down the line, aren't we losing a treasure trove that one would remember school times by? I mean, you can always listen to your MJs and Celine Dions and Britneys and Lady Gagas on your iPod. On the other hand, where else but in school would you have found another "Wo Shakti Humein Do Dayanidhe, Kartavya Marg Par Tar Jaayen..." playing? Not that you'd be inclined to listen to it again, but may be one day, you'd recall it with a little fondness, just for the sake of remembering the time.

PS: Even as I finish writing this, A R Rahman is back with a boom on the school's loudspeaker.

To, Your Uncertain Royal Highness

Hello uncertainty. I understand you and I have become shadows of each other? From the time I wake up, you greet me with questions, and the day goes by with more question marks than the toughest interviewer I ever faced in life posed. And if that was not enough, you pop up at every single turn I take and (at the cost of stinging Mr Gordon Sumner) every move I make.

I trust that I can no longer trust myself, with you being my falter ego. Did you somewhere put those invisible tripwires that I seem to stumble over nowadays? Maybe the answer's yes, but then again, it's uncertain. And does it please you to see one humbled so, when one did not have lofty ambition to begin with?

So much for a little peace of mind. I heard it was your bane, your arch enemy. And that you'd fight tooth and nail, AND win, in this unsettling, never-ending battle. They tell me, you're what makes life worth living. I'd agree, but what about those who haven't yet quite come to terms with having you around, and give up on themselves, purely because you wouldn't give up being what you are?

Our ancestors spoke about a remedy: Conformity. Conform, and all your troubles will disappear like a lonely raindrop on the hot sands of a desert. Yay! But conformity is too high a price to pay. I'm sorry, at least I'm certain I can't give you that pleasure. And even if I did, would you really guarantee that I'd be rid of you? I'm sure you'd pop up in some other conformist avatar.

Uncertainty, in no uncertain terms I tell you. It's not always nice to have you around. So would you mind while I keep aside my thoughts awhile and figure out a way to put you in place?

I hear you grinning. Oh, right! There you go again.