My Evening Raaga

'What  do you do in the evenings?' A simple query ? ..............An opening line to a conversation ? Or....Is it just a phatic use of language? Whatever it is, its enough to send me into a flurry , completely throwing my cool to the winds , and making me quite disoriented and' hopelessly inarticulate .Whatever I do in the evenings is so very ordinary , so terribly mundane,its something I couldn't possibly talk about it , leave alone unflinchingly haul it to public view and allow it to face the onslaught of critical opinion .

Well, then, whatever do I do in the evenings? I patronize no club nor soiree. Nor do I have a kitty to  flaunt. Discotheque is a lexus learnt rather late  in life,and therefore,non- functional. Surfing stufies me, and shopping till date, is  necessarily prompted by urgent requirements . So, then, .....how do I occupy myself in the long hours of an evening? All I can muster up to say by way of an answer, could possible be in the vein....'Nothing much,nothing ..in particular ' .

'Nothing?' My own answer startles me. Then ,does my sense of contentment ,the deep peace that settles upon me in the quiet of my home, the thistle-soft feeling of bliss that wafts about me...against me, in the evenings--  all a void,a nothingness? I  am paranoid . I can't allow my life to zero on a void, a nothingness . In desperation I  decide to break the rhythm of  my life .My husband and I think that's the best thing for us to do . We must bring about a change . We take trips together ...and even singly . We visit in various patterns . We try to understand and impress upon ourselves that the tranquility of the evening hours is claustrophobic and we must get out of it . We must be alive,be able to breathe. That is what everyone prescribes . So a heady month follows . Evenings filled with glorious activities, programmes, excitements commence. Days spiral out ,nights follow ,my evenings take on a new hues .Yet in spite of it all, somehow, I find that the old warmth of my evenings is lost in some unconceivable labyrinth of swirling actions. It all seems to be of no purpose. My heart is cold. The smile on my lips does not light up my eyes any more. I seem to have lost the sparkle of my life, somewhere, I know not where.

I am at a loss to apprehend the strange sad feelings in me . Finally, I give up trying. I realize the panacea lies elsewhere . My husband and I cancel our socializings and stay home. I know there is a cure. I cannot put my finger on it yet . I move about the house, my husband sits with his drink.the newspaper spread out before him. He gets up to go to the kitchen to add his special touch to the 'Korma' in the making. Just then I rush out to take my son's call. Minutes later we stand back to look at the latest painting made by our daughter. Moments pass. We argue about the decision of the framing. I admonish my husband as he spills ash over the new rug trying to be the art critic. I take up Amitav Ghosh's book , "The Calcutta Chromosome" and settle down on the lumpy sofa for a good read before dinner. Suddenly something happens. I fell so bouyant . I look up. I am so happy! I hum a little song.  

I suddenly realize a glorious truth. In what I had termed as "Nothing" _is compressed the intangible, quite imperceptible collection , a conglomeration , _a curious collage of age old values, customs, feelings, sensibilities , cultural histories, aesthetics _of which I am only half conscious. These quiet evening hours at home_so simple, so staid, so common place, _but are ever so powerful, so essentially impressive and influential in the shaping of a personality, _...my personality. The immensity of it all stupefies me. A benign feeling soothes and caresses me. My quiet evenings are indeed the kaleidoscope of my pulsating being. I realize now why I could not breathe, dislocated from the rhythm of my essence__measured out so softly, so tenderly by my evening hours. I begin to stroll out into the quiet garden with the stirrings of "Yemen" _ to throw myself to the thrill of "Bageshwari" and then, nestle back against the quiet and soothing notes of "Bhopali". "Sa re ga pa, - - dha sa, -- pa dha pa, -- ga re sa".Each note so insignificant by itself - but so vital in holding fast the throbbing , pulsating"Bhopali Raaga". And I find that my soul slumbers in quiet peace to the soft lilting tunes of my evening raaga.