So how did my foray into the unknown, unsuitable (for me), ever-expanding world of music revive itself? No, not as a singer—there was no way—but in different roles.

Around the time I took voluntary retirement, I had a lot of time at my sweet disposal. When you don’t have time, there are hundreds of things you want to do but cannot. And when you finally have time, those hundreds of things disappear like magic. After over three decades of strenuous work, the mind tends to drift toward sleeping, resting, and daydreaming.

By this time, my elder son had taken up a job in the USA. Having earned his own money, he decided to acquire an electric musical keyboard. Much like the radios of the 1950s, tape recorders of the 1970s, and TVs of the 1980s—at least from an Indian point of view—keyboards were a rarity. I don’t know how my son felt, but being on the other side of the world, I was thrilled. I was itching and waiting for the first opportunity when my son would invite us over, and I could finally lay my musically gifted hands on the keyboard.

We did go there in 2001, and before anything else, I put my not-so-soft hands on that delicate keyboard. Music seemed to flow, at least to my ears. A few days later, I sat down and thought I was wonderfully playing the "Vaseegara" song, nodding my own head in amazement. When I got up after a taxing practice and what I felt was a perfect rendering, each family member asked me, “What was that you were trying to play? It sounded vaguely familiar, like some very old song.” Old song? This was new! I forced myself to feel sorry for these musically less gifted people. When will they learn to appreciate good music? Even my daughter-in-law, who was trained in music, struggled to identify it.

After cooling off, I played the song again and dispassionately listened. Shadows of doubt crept in. Did this sound like the song I wanted to play? Maybe. Maybe not. Forget it. I enjoyed myself.

And I kept on trying, never giving up. Much later, when I learned some rudiments of music, it thunderously struck me that I had always played the keyboard without any nuances, ‘gamakams,’ and finer points—even with wrong notes. So how could anyone expect the song to sound even remotely like the original?

Observing my deep passion for music with his keyboard, my son decided to gift it to me so I could take it back to India. Maybe he thought that would prevent me from playing unmusical notes at his home.

And believe it or not, at my age, I sought the keyboard, and at my son’s age, he wanted me to send him a harmonium! He wanted to use it for chants. Funny ways of the world.

And that is how I landed with a musical instrument, and my wonderful flight into the open sky of music took off.

To be continued... 51 - Part 7.