Reflections of a restless eccentric

Growing up, my mother was always scornful of sickness. The occasional time that she fell sick, she would never take time off either from work or from household chores. She would pretend that everything was normal, and work through her sickness. Sometimes for a day, or maybe even three. Similarly, when she once injured herself badly after her two wheeler fell on her leg, she came home and bandaged her leg and went back to normal. I have heard stories of how she worked till the very day I was born, and then returned to work in a couple of days. She looked at sickness as an enemy, and she would never let it declare victory over her. She was invincible. I saw her as an epitome of strength, and these incidents as testimony to that fact. In contrast to her, I was someone who struggled with sickness and pain. During my childhood, I would catch a fever every two weeks if not more often. Like every other person, I hated being sick. But because of the example she set for me, I also started feeli

 My journey with music began as a toddler of 3 and a half years. My mother noticed that music soothed me when I was tempestuous and excited me when I was morose, and like several other South Indian mothers, immediately concluded that I should learn Carnatic Music, and the earlier the better. She sent me off to a teacher who was conveniently located next door, and who already taught a few people. The teacher looked at me in disbelief, as I hadn't even started kindergarten yet. She told my mother that I was too young, and that she should probably wait another year, but my mother was insistent. They finally came to the conclusion that I would be allowed to sit at the back of the class and listen, and that she would consider teaching me after a few months. So I went to class twice a week, and soon enough, I started singing along. My teacher changed her mind, and took me into her fold of students. I learnt this way for a year and a half, without understanding the grammar of a raga, with