All in the Family
I was at a Hindustani slide guitar (yah, wtf?) concert last night. Imagine: a mix of Indian ragas with a hint of a luau and a Bach prelude. The artist was Debashish Bhattacharya and accompanying him were his younger brother and sister on the tabla and harmonium, respectively. As I glanced around the concert hall, a 200-person (125 lower, 75 upper) venue probably more fit for readings of Shakespearian monologues (maybe the artists intentionally sought this intimate of a setting), I was delighted to see that 90% of the audience was non-Indian. This is simply because for Indian classical music to be preserved in the United States, it cannot survive simply through Indian parents exposing it to their kids and hoping that the kids will pass the tradition to their own kids. There has to be a small but steady following by whites, blacks, and other minorities. And if last night was any indication, Indian classical music is in good hands for the next generation of Americans.
I met the artist afterwards and he was exceptionally grateful for any kind words he received from listeners. He was quite the humble one.
He ended the evening with this quote (paraphrased): “We are three siblings performing for you tonight. Our message is that if there is not unity within family, the backbone of all cultures, then there cannot be societal unity.” Good stuff.
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During the concert, I thought, ‘In life, if one had to choose, which is most important: melody, harmony, or rhythm?’ Melody; the individual driving voices of life. Harmony; the unifying voice bringing together these different tunes. Rhythm; the percussive force that persists despite melodic and harmonic fluctuations.
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Geez. Why is he being so philosophical this morning? I don’t really know. I was thinking of writing last night, but my late night writings, or any writing when I am tired, either turns out to be a work of genius (there was one time back in 12th grade) or a piece of shit (my last blog entry regarding how events need to be planned two time ‘units’ in advance). In the morning, yes, there is crust in my eyes, I am tired as anything, but still, it’s my time. Mainly because no one else in the neighborhood is awake. Therefore, I feel as if I have an advantage over the world and because of that thought, my mind is most alert in the morning.
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Oh, fun fun stuff to tell you about. I took place in a neighborhood block cleanup yesterday. Talk about diversity. I felt like I was part of a focus group. All races. All ages. [And all Obama fans, except for one Ron Paul guy who said he wished he could have switched over to the Democratic Party in time to vote for Obama since the Republican race is over.] There were a couple of 2 year-olds (who ran out in their pajama pants collecting small sticks and putting them in the garbage can) and one 80-year old Indo-Pakistani woman who is a retired ob-gyn and was as sharp and as fit as someone half her age. The majority were between 20 and 35 years old, and professionals or budding professionals.
I definitely don’t live in the stereotyped ‘West Philadelphia.’ [But go 15 blocks west and a bit north, well, that’s where you have Will Smith’s high school (I know I’ve mentioned this before) and the roll-up-your-car-windows neighborhoods.]
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Time for the graduate school dodgeball tournament! Shrenik had this brilliant idea for the biology department team to go wearing goggles and lab coats as a mock intimidation factor. We’re going to do it, and win or lose, we’re going to be stylish.
UPDATE: We did not go with the lab coats and googles, but we looked pretty badass anyways. We all wrote nicknames on the backs of our t-shirts. Being all nerdy, I named myself, “Vmax”. We had a ton of fun but it’s too bad we finished 0-4. 
Peace and love.
