Conscious Compass: Music as a Guide

Sounds of friendship: Lally and Shankar

Despite the rehearsal studio’s disorderly state, the room provides something I haven’t experienced since beginning my travels in India: peace and quiet. This small, sound-proof room behind an even smaller percussion shop in the heart of the Indian city of Mysore provides much needed respite from the unnerving chaos of the city’s streets. Although the city has beautiful green parks, lush surrounding hills, and an air of yogi wisdom, Mysore (the former royal capital of the state of Karnataka, now known as India’s yoga capital and largest producer of handmade incense) still contains the gritty street life that you’ll find in most Indian cities. Cars and motorbikes jockey for space, blaring deafeningly loud horns in place of turn signals; scores of sacred cows wander through the masses, nibbling littered debris from street gutters; and auto-rickshaws, India’s three-wheeled, golf cart-sized taxi transport, painted gold and black like oversized metallic bumble bees, swarm the crowded and dusty arteries of this hive-shaped sub-continent.

But here in this untidy rehearsal studio is where I’ll experience a side of India that I’ve come to love: the country’s rich history and culture, the warm hospitality of its people, and cup after cup of chai tea. Here in this tiny room is where I’ve come to learn to play the tabla.

The tabla, similar to the bongo or conga, consists of two separate drums. The smaller of the two drums is made of cylindrically shaped rose or teak wood and is tightly tuned to achieve its signature high-pitched “ping." The second drum, considerably larger than its counterpart, provides a rich bass tone and is most commonly made of copper or brass. Both have drumheads made of goat or calf skin that are tuned with small pieces of wood known as ghatta, which are inserted as needed between the drum’s camel-skin tuning cables. Most interesting, though, is what lies at the center of each drumhead: a black, rubbery circle, about 2-3 inches in diameter, made of a solidified paste consisting of iron-ore and boiled rice. When struck correctly with the index finger, the shiyahi or the gob makes a sound like the splash of a single drip of water.  

Into the room walks Shankar, the drum shop owner and my instructor for the day. He’s a polite, husky, middle-aged Indian man wearing khaki pants and a bright-white, short-sleeved button-down shirt that hangs over his waist like a bell. We exchange fragmented pleasantries as he takes his seat across from me. Without a word, his hands, adorned with gold rings and precious stones, begin to flutter across the skins of the drums like a pair of no-nonsense humming birds. A masterfully delicate rhythm takes shape, and his bejeweled fingers flash brilliantly, reflecting the ceiling’s white, incandescent light. Soothed by the undulating sounds filling the room, I’m relaxed, ready to learn and confident that the drum can serve as our guide, our translator, our mutual friend.   

Back and forth we go, through a structured program of exercises of increasing complexity.  Using the six most common tabla notes (notated as ‘ta’, ‘di’, ‘tom’, ‘nam’, ‘ka’, and ‘kita’), Shankar creates individual rhythms (or “lessons” as he calls them), and I respond by trying to replicate them. The exchange of rhythms feels strangely similar to an actual conversation.

After an hour of intense focus and effort, my potential reaches an unceremonious climax, and the lesson comes to a close. As I pack my things to leave, Shankar invites me to stay and share with him a few cups of tea and a large fruit salad. I graciously accept without hesitation.  

Silver thermos caps of warm, spiced chai tea in hand and a seemingly bottomless casserole dish of watermelon, papaya, green grapes and cucumber in reach, we stay seated behind our drums and pick up our conversation from where we left off, this time with words rather than rhythm. With newfound calm and patience from the meditative effects of drumming, our unfamiliar accents become mere speed bumps on the road to a new and unlikely friendship.

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