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She hated every minute being married. All those dreams, all that talent, everything washed down the drain, in the shower as she sobbed into the waters as she had to put on her happy face for the family. Thank God, her husband did not want this to be a true marriage. She was happy not to have to deal with the emotions or the demands that came with it.
"Amma, please", she had pleaded. "I do not want to marry. I want to become a playback singer. Masterji tells me that he will put me in touch with his student in Mumbai who has made it big in the film industry."
Amma had replied sadly, "Vishaka, we sent you for music lessons so that you could sing for Bhagwan, not for people. Why do you need the accolades and praise, dear? Can't you sing here at the temple and be happy? Why do you want to sell this beautiful music for money and fame?"
"Amma, it is not about money and fame. It is about my talent and its expression. It is about the reason why I am on this planet. Masterji has told me several times how people feel good when they listen to my voice. He says there is something in my voice that makes people forget their pains. And in the process money will not hurt. I would like to take care of you and Babuji. How many more years can Babuji depend on this paltry salary from the temple? You have no son to take care of you. How can you not let me follow my swadharma?
"Darling child, we are not in a position to afford to send you across the country, to unknown living conditions- neither economically nor socially. Being a priest's daughter has its own burden to bear. Please quit this madness and settle down. We have some very good alliances coming for you. They love your beauty and musical talent."
Being the dutiful daughter that she was, she had consented to the wedding. Unfortunately, her in laws were even more conservative than her parents. They had made it more than clear to her the day after the wedding that she could no longer attend music lessons either.
Then the nightmares had begun. She felt someone throttling her and squeezing her throat. She became sad and depressed and stopped singing altogether. The very sight of a tanpura made her shake violently and made her cry. She closed the windows tight when they played religious music on the rented audio system in the near by colony.
She stepped out of the shower and got out to go through the motions of yet another meaningless, mournfully silent day. She did not have to speak to anyone. Everyone and everything worked like clockwork at the Prohits'. Everyone knew what they had to do and when.
Her husband, in name only, who also had never wanted to be married, met up with her outside her room and they proceeded downstairs for breakfast. The cook had made the usual fare and Vishaka proceeded to the puja room to light the lamp and do the morning aarti and water the tulsi plant before she joined the rest of the family for breakfast.
Dadi commented on her wan looks wondering if all was well. Vishaka nodded silently, letting the remark pass. They were nice people, just way too medieval for her tastes. They lived in a world that had no bearing to the 21st century outside their 2 feet thick walls.
It had been 6 months since she had become the daughter in law of the illustrious Prohits who wanted to tie down their son to a "good" girl from India before he married the "wrong" sort and brought her home. Dev had confessed to her, prior to their wedding, that he was already in love with a girl he had met in the US and she was not good enough for his parents as she was of questionable pedigree and she was half Indian.
Vishaka stared unfocussed somewhere between the paratha and the plate and wondered how she could resolve this situation. She was tired with herself and her depression. She hated herself for feeling so blue. Once more, she resolved that she will turn herself around and force herself to sing. But the same old dread caught up from the pit of her stomach and wound its way up until it squeezed her throat dry.
She silently rose from the table and went to the kitchen to check on supplies and proceeded to her room. On the way, Maji stopped her and suggested she accompany her to a temple that afternoon to finalize the details for an upcoming week long festival that was sponsored annually by the Prohit Trust.
She assented and collected her bag from her room and proceeded to drive Maji to the temple. She went to the temple office with Maji, awaiting the head priest when she heard someone clear his throat. She looked up and was startled to see Keshav sitting at the nearby table. Keshav had been the star student of Masterji. He had a voice that rivaled Sonu Nigam in sweetness and Kishor Kumar in strength. Vshaka was in love with his voice.
Tell me folks- should I proceed or stop?
"Amma, please", she had pleaded. "I do not want to marry. I want to become a playback singer. Masterji tells me that he will put me in touch with his student in Mumbai who has made it big in the film industry."
Amma had replied sadly, "Vishaka, we sent you for music lessons so that you could sing for Bhagwan, not for people. Why do you need the accolades and praise, dear? Can't you sing here at the temple and be happy? Why do you want to sell this beautiful music for money and fame?"
"Amma, it is not about money and fame. It is about my talent and its expression. It is about the reason why I am on this planet. Masterji has told me several times how people feel good when they listen to my voice. He says there is something in my voice that makes people forget their pains. And in the process money will not hurt. I would like to take care of you and Babuji. How many more years can Babuji depend on this paltry salary from the temple? You have no son to take care of you. How can you not let me follow my swadharma?
"Darling child, we are not in a position to afford to send you across the country, to unknown living conditions- neither economically nor socially. Being a priest's daughter has its own burden to bear. Please quit this madness and settle down. We have some very good alliances coming for you. They love your beauty and musical talent."
Being the dutiful daughter that she was, she had consented to the wedding. Unfortunately, her in laws were even more conservative than her parents. They had made it more than clear to her the day after the wedding that she could no longer attend music lessons either.
Then the nightmares had begun. She felt someone throttling her and squeezing her throat. She became sad and depressed and stopped singing altogether. The very sight of a tanpura made her shake violently and made her cry. She closed the windows tight when they played religious music on the rented audio system in the near by colony.
She stepped out of the shower and got out to go through the motions of yet another meaningless, mournfully silent day. She did not have to speak to anyone. Everyone and everything worked like clockwork at the Prohits'. Everyone knew what they had to do and when.
Her husband, in name only, who also had never wanted to be married, met up with her outside her room and they proceeded downstairs for breakfast. The cook had made the usual fare and Vishaka proceeded to the puja room to light the lamp and do the morning aarti and water the tulsi plant before she joined the rest of the family for breakfast.
Dadi commented on her wan looks wondering if all was well. Vishaka nodded silently, letting the remark pass. They were nice people, just way too medieval for her tastes. They lived in a world that had no bearing to the 21st century outside their 2 feet thick walls.
It had been 6 months since she had become the daughter in law of the illustrious Prohits who wanted to tie down their son to a "good" girl from India before he married the "wrong" sort and brought her home. Dev had confessed to her, prior to their wedding, that he was already in love with a girl he had met in the US and she was not good enough for his parents as she was of questionable pedigree and she was half Indian.
Vishaka stared unfocussed somewhere between the paratha and the plate and wondered how she could resolve this situation. She was tired with herself and her depression. She hated herself for feeling so blue. Once more, she resolved that she will turn herself around and force herself to sing. But the same old dread caught up from the pit of her stomach and wound its way up until it squeezed her throat dry.
She silently rose from the table and went to the kitchen to check on supplies and proceeded to her room. On the way, Maji stopped her and suggested she accompany her to a temple that afternoon to finalize the details for an upcoming week long festival that was sponsored annually by the Prohit Trust.
She assented and collected her bag from her room and proceeded to drive Maji to the temple. She went to the temple office with Maji, awaiting the head priest when she heard someone clear his throat. She looked up and was startled to see Keshav sitting at the nearby table. Keshav had been the star student of Masterji. He had a voice that rivaled Sonu Nigam in sweetness and Kishor Kumar in strength. Vshaka was in love with his voice.
Tell me folks- should I proceed or stop?
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