contemplations of a morose mind
Sometimes I think it would be so much easier for everyone if I just quit singing.
From where I stand, we all win. My parents don't have to drive me out every week for lessons, they don't have to spend money and time on it, they don't have to keep pushing me to practice, they don't have to feel "guilty" about anything. Me, I can spend the "practicing" time on something that will actually be useful for me in real life, and I get freed from the weight of everyone's expectations.
Where's the loss, really?
Oh sure, maybe a few people will be disappointed at first - but they'll be pleased enough inside. Anyway, how many times do I sing in front of my community? Once, twice a year maybe? And of those times, how many people actually listen? When people compliment me on my singing, how many of them actually mean it? Would they be hurt if I stopped singing? Of course not. That's absolutely ridiculous.
Even the compliments have ceased to become an ego boost; that is, if they ever were an ego boost in the first place. As far as I can remember, I have been defined in my community by my singing. Whenever I'm at puja or at someone's house or at a party, I'm always introduced as "the singer" or "the one who sings really well". And yes, it's flattering to know that I've made the slightest of impacts on them - but at the same time, there's more to me than just my voice. Far from being flattered and pleased every time I hear from others that I sing well, it's just starting to become a nuisance. How many times can you hear the same compliment from the same person? And after how many times does the compliment start to become an expectation or a rite rather than an honest comment? How many people tell me they like my voice because they genuinely like my voice, and not because they've "heard from such-and-such that this girl sings well and I heard such-and-such congratulate her, so I'll go do the same thing, even though I wasn't really listening to her when she was singing and what the heck, anyway"?
I know I'm not going to be able to sing for forever. It's an unacknowledged truth that the day I go off to university is the day my singing "career" officially ends. Say I do go to Western. That's in London, a good three hours away from here. Nobody could possibly expect me to come back every weekend for singing lessons. So, sooner or later, I'm going to have to quit anyway. What does it matter if I do so before or after uni starts?
I just can't take this pressure anymore. The pressure of being expected to sing everywhere I go, the pressure of being expected to sing well every single time - never mind the pressure of singing in front of hundreds of people who couldn't give a damn about me anyway! - the pressure of always raising the standard, always, the pressure of my dad's expectations: that I'll somehow live out his dream by always singing, even though I think it was always his passion, not mine, and not to mention the enormous pressure of my Guruji's confidence in me: the confidence he has in my voice, the potential he sees in me if I'd only practice...
Oh, I know there's no escaping pressure. I've been dealing with it fine for the last twelve years, managed to live up to everyone's expectations - despite a handful of disappointments here and there (but hey, this is real life and I'm only human. I should be allowed to make mistakes once in a while).
But of late, when everything's coming to a head and it's necessary for everything to matter in order to move ahead, I've been forced to contemplate the meaning of it all. Why am I putting myself through all this pressure and stress [yes, I'll admit it's stressful! not relaxing, but actually, truly stressful!] when, in the end, I can barely bring myself to put all my hours of hard work [and even my accomplishments!] onto a college application or a resume even! There's no future in learning Hindustani classical music in Canada - not unless I wanted to become a singing teacher or something [and I'm afraid that ambition has never reared its head, not once]. Maybe if I was in India, there might have been scope for opportunity or legitimate recognition. But there's definitely none here - except maybe getting a kick out of performing at some tiny show here, or some birthday party there. The audience is the same. The theatres are all the same. The expectations grow.
And why should I have to put up with expectations that cripple me instead of challenge me? Granted, for the longest time, it was exhilirating singing in front of large crowds and getting complimented everywhere I went. But it only lasted as long as I did well. And I don't know why I should have to put up with such pressure, to be expected to be amazing at all times, when doing so is humanly impossible. No one - not my "audiences", not my Guruji and definitely not my dad - seems to realize that I am a living, breathing, [hopefully] functioning human being with typical human being vulnerabilities. I'm not just a voice to be turned on to mesmerize the masses, earn a social/ego boost for a minute or two, and then shut off again at will. For God's sake, I have a mind, a personality, a heart and above all, an immune system that doesn't always function perfectly. Understandable. We all fall sick sometimes. There's no crime in that, right? It's the coldest winter we've had in years, and we have snowstorms every other day. No harm done - that's not my fault. And I have to walk in this cold weather every day, just like everyone else who lives in Toronto, because that's what we do and that's the only way I can get home from school. Again, no crime of mine, it's perfectly understandable, perfectly forgiveable.
But when I fall sick to this cold weather, catch the worst cold I've ever caught in my life, and lose my voice for two weeks, then suddenly no one understands! Even at home, when I'm sniffling and sneezing every five minutes and can barely talk, no one asks me whether I feel healthy. When I ask my dad to push my singing lesson back a week because I can barely talk, let alone sing, suddenly I've committed the worst crime in humanity! Not because I haven't taken care of myself, or because I've fallen sick, or even because I've lost my voice - but because I'm so irresponsible and unmotivated, I couldn't go to class that day! I've inconvenienced my Guruji, I'm neglecting my responsibilities as a singer, I'm not giving my community what I owe them... But what about me? Doesn't he care that I'm sick and uncomfortable and that I'm in my final year of high school and everything matters and I can't get ahead by "relaxing/singing" every day? Doesn't that matter at all?
And then, today, still sniffling and still with a sore throat, I go to class anyway. On the way, I get hell from my dad and his disdain for my "excuses" about not being able to practice. And of course I sing horribly during class. I'm in the middle of getting my voice back, how can I possibly sing complicated alaaps in the upper octaves, or do taan with the same finesse I had before I took my break in January? No but wait - I'm not supposed to be complaining. If everyone expects me to be able to do all this flawlessly - to be able to practice this hardcore classical stuff despite not being able to talk [whether or not that's humanly possible doesn't matter because hey, I'm not human, I'm just a voice, right?] and sing up to par without having a lesson since Christmas and losing my voice for two weeks - then of course I should be able to do it. It's inconceivable for me not to meet these expectations because they are perfectly reasonable, perfectly fair. The only one at fault here is me. I'm the only unreasonable one here. So what if I lost my voice? I should have practiced anyway, I shouldn't have been making useless excuses, I shouldn't have made my dad feel bad by not practicing and wasting my "talent". So what if there's no use - practically speaking, absolutely none - in singing? It's still "relaxing", isn't it? It still relieves stress and makes other people feel happy! Oh yes, we cannot forget about the other people! Those imbeciles who sit around yapping at their tables while I sing onstage, who really genuinely couldn't care less if I continued singing or not - but their two-second compliments suddenly make it all worthwhile, and so I owe it to them to make them happy! How dare I try insinuate that there's no point in singing?! Singing isn't supposed to have a point! It's art - you do it for fun, right? You do it because you like to do it! You do it because it makes you feel good!
So, everyone, tell me why I'm not to be forgiven for singing below par because I lost my voice for two weeks. Tell me why no one can understand that. Tell me why I deserve a giant lecture and general contempt for falling sick because of the weather. Tell me why I was sentenced to a silent car ride home pretending to sleep with my face in my hands so that nobody could see that I was crying from it all.
No Daddy, singing isn't fun any more. It's become something serious - something for me, you, and everyone else in this family to stress over. I know you know that I'm doing this for you now; for you, and Guruji, and Dadu who loved my voice so much and probably still does even though he isn't here anymore, and your friends who can't talk to you without making a comment about how well your daughter sings, and those strangers you meet during puja, those people you've never met, whose names you don't know, but who stop you to tell you that they heard your daughter singing onstage a few months ago and they love her voice and that she should always keep it up and never give up singing because she has a God-gifted voice and talent and she'll go far one day. I'm doing this so you can keep filling your head with these empty words spoken by friends and strangers alike, so that you can, for one reason at least, be proud of me. And though I don't want to be treated like a queen or something special, I would appreciate it if you acknowledged the efforts I'm putting into this goddamn art form so that you can be happy. If you could give me that instead of your contempt and quiet disappointment, then maybe I might find it within my heart to take singing seriously. But since you're not willing to do that, then I'm sorry to tell you that, as of right now, singing is officially a chore. Just another chore to be loathingly, drudgingly, dolefully carried out.
Once upon a time, singing meant a lot to me. Once upon a time, I felt as though I had accomplished something by receiving warm praise from others, from pushing my standards higher, by hitting the highest note I'd ever hit before. But now, it doesn't mean anything to me. Either I'm just sour or I've stumbled across the truth. At the moment, it all seems the same to me.
So you tell me. Is it selfish of me to consider quitting? Am I really doing such a bad thing by even thinking about it?
Or should I continue singing, continue making my parents, my Guruji, and my community proud of my voice, even if there's absolutely no heart in it?
From where I stand, we all win. My parents don't have to drive me out every week for lessons, they don't have to spend money and time on it, they don't have to keep pushing me to practice, they don't have to feel "guilty" about anything. Me, I can spend the "practicing" time on something that will actually be useful for me in real life, and I get freed from the weight of everyone's expectations.
Where's the loss, really?
Oh sure, maybe a few people will be disappointed at first - but they'll be pleased enough inside. Anyway, how many times do I sing in front of my community? Once, twice a year maybe? And of those times, how many people actually listen? When people compliment me on my singing, how many of them actually mean it? Would they be hurt if I stopped singing? Of course not. That's absolutely ridiculous.
Even the compliments have ceased to become an ego boost; that is, if they ever were an ego boost in the first place. As far as I can remember, I have been defined in my community by my singing. Whenever I'm at puja or at someone's house or at a party, I'm always introduced as "the singer" or "the one who sings really well". And yes, it's flattering to know that I've made the slightest of impacts on them - but at the same time, there's more to me than just my voice. Far from being flattered and pleased every time I hear from others that I sing well, it's just starting to become a nuisance. How many times can you hear the same compliment from the same person? And after how many times does the compliment start to become an expectation or a rite rather than an honest comment? How many people tell me they like my voice because they genuinely like my voice, and not because they've "heard from such-and-such that this girl sings well and I heard such-and-such congratulate her, so I'll go do the same thing, even though I wasn't really listening to her when she was singing and what the heck, anyway"?
I know I'm not going to be able to sing for forever. It's an unacknowledged truth that the day I go off to university is the day my singing "career" officially ends. Say I do go to Western. That's in London, a good three hours away from here. Nobody could possibly expect me to come back every weekend for singing lessons. So, sooner or later, I'm going to have to quit anyway. What does it matter if I do so before or after uni starts?
I just can't take this pressure anymore. The pressure of being expected to sing everywhere I go, the pressure of being expected to sing well every single time - never mind the pressure of singing in front of hundreds of people who couldn't give a damn about me anyway! - the pressure of always raising the standard, always, the pressure of my dad's expectations: that I'll somehow live out his dream by always singing, even though I think it was always his passion, not mine, and not to mention the enormous pressure of my Guruji's confidence in me: the confidence he has in my voice, the potential he sees in me if I'd only practice...
Oh, I know there's no escaping pressure. I've been dealing with it fine for the last twelve years, managed to live up to everyone's expectations - despite a handful of disappointments here and there (but hey, this is real life and I'm only human. I should be allowed to make mistakes once in a while).
But of late, when everything's coming to a head and it's necessary for everything to matter in order to move ahead, I've been forced to contemplate the meaning of it all. Why am I putting myself through all this pressure and stress [yes, I'll admit it's stressful! not relaxing, but actually, truly stressful!] when, in the end, I can barely bring myself to put all my hours of hard work [and even my accomplishments!] onto a college application or a resume even! There's no future in learning Hindustani classical music in Canada - not unless I wanted to become a singing teacher or something [and I'm afraid that ambition has never reared its head, not once]. Maybe if I was in India, there might have been scope for opportunity or legitimate recognition. But there's definitely none here - except maybe getting a kick out of performing at some tiny show here, or some birthday party there. The audience is the same. The theatres are all the same. The expectations grow.
And why should I have to put up with expectations that cripple me instead of challenge me? Granted, for the longest time, it was exhilirating singing in front of large crowds and getting complimented everywhere I went. But it only lasted as long as I did well. And I don't know why I should have to put up with such pressure, to be expected to be amazing at all times, when doing so is humanly impossible. No one - not my "audiences", not my Guruji and definitely not my dad - seems to realize that I am a living, breathing, [hopefully] functioning human being with typical human being vulnerabilities. I'm not just a voice to be turned on to mesmerize the masses, earn a social/ego boost for a minute or two, and then shut off again at will. For God's sake, I have a mind, a personality, a heart and above all, an immune system that doesn't always function perfectly. Understandable. We all fall sick sometimes. There's no crime in that, right? It's the coldest winter we've had in years, and we have snowstorms every other day. No harm done - that's not my fault. And I have to walk in this cold weather every day, just like everyone else who lives in Toronto, because that's what we do and that's the only way I can get home from school. Again, no crime of mine, it's perfectly understandable, perfectly forgiveable.
But when I fall sick to this cold weather, catch the worst cold I've ever caught in my life, and lose my voice for two weeks, then suddenly no one understands! Even at home, when I'm sniffling and sneezing every five minutes and can barely talk, no one asks me whether I feel healthy. When I ask my dad to push my singing lesson back a week because I can barely talk, let alone sing, suddenly I've committed the worst crime in humanity! Not because I haven't taken care of myself, or because I've fallen sick, or even because I've lost my voice - but because I'm so irresponsible and unmotivated, I couldn't go to class that day! I've inconvenienced my Guruji, I'm neglecting my responsibilities as a singer, I'm not giving my community what I owe them... But what about me? Doesn't he care that I'm sick and uncomfortable and that I'm in my final year of high school and everything matters and I can't get ahead by "relaxing/singing" every day? Doesn't that matter at all?
And then, today, still sniffling and still with a sore throat, I go to class anyway. On the way, I get hell from my dad and his disdain for my "excuses" about not being able to practice. And of course I sing horribly during class. I'm in the middle of getting my voice back, how can I possibly sing complicated alaaps in the upper octaves, or do taan with the same finesse I had before I took my break in January? No but wait - I'm not supposed to be complaining. If everyone expects me to be able to do all this flawlessly - to be able to practice this hardcore classical stuff despite not being able to talk [whether or not that's humanly possible doesn't matter because hey, I'm not human, I'm just a voice, right?] and sing up to par without having a lesson since Christmas and losing my voice for two weeks - then of course I should be able to do it. It's inconceivable for me not to meet these expectations because they are perfectly reasonable, perfectly fair. The only one at fault here is me. I'm the only unreasonable one here. So what if I lost my voice? I should have practiced anyway, I shouldn't have been making useless excuses, I shouldn't have made my dad feel bad by not practicing and wasting my "talent". So what if there's no use - practically speaking, absolutely none - in singing? It's still "relaxing", isn't it? It still relieves stress and makes other people feel happy! Oh yes, we cannot forget about the other people! Those imbeciles who sit around yapping at their tables while I sing onstage, who really genuinely couldn't care less if I continued singing or not - but their two-second compliments suddenly make it all worthwhile, and so I owe it to them to make them happy! How dare I try insinuate that there's no point in singing?! Singing isn't supposed to have a point! It's art - you do it for fun, right? You do it because you like to do it! You do it because it makes you feel good!
So, everyone, tell me why I'm not to be forgiven for singing below par because I lost my voice for two weeks. Tell me why no one can understand that. Tell me why I deserve a giant lecture and general contempt for falling sick because of the weather. Tell me why I was sentenced to a silent car ride home pretending to sleep with my face in my hands so that nobody could see that I was crying from it all.
No Daddy, singing isn't fun any more. It's become something serious - something for me, you, and everyone else in this family to stress over. I know you know that I'm doing this for you now; for you, and Guruji, and Dadu who loved my voice so much and probably still does even though he isn't here anymore, and your friends who can't talk to you without making a comment about how well your daughter sings, and those strangers you meet during puja, those people you've never met, whose names you don't know, but who stop you to tell you that they heard your daughter singing onstage a few months ago and they love her voice and that she should always keep it up and never give up singing because she has a God-gifted voice and talent and she'll go far one day. I'm doing this so you can keep filling your head with these empty words spoken by friends and strangers alike, so that you can, for one reason at least, be proud of me. And though I don't want to be treated like a queen or something special, I would appreciate it if you acknowledged the efforts I'm putting into this goddamn art form so that you can be happy. If you could give me that instead of your contempt and quiet disappointment, then maybe I might find it within my heart to take singing seriously. But since you're not willing to do that, then I'm sorry to tell you that, as of right now, singing is officially a chore. Just another chore to be loathingly, drudgingly, dolefully carried out.
Once upon a time, singing meant a lot to me. Once upon a time, I felt as though I had accomplished something by receiving warm praise from others, from pushing my standards higher, by hitting the highest note I'd ever hit before. But now, it doesn't mean anything to me. Either I'm just sour or I've stumbled across the truth. At the moment, it all seems the same to me.
So you tell me. Is it selfish of me to consider quitting? Am I really doing such a bad thing by even thinking about it?
Or should I continue singing, continue making my parents, my Guruji, and my community proud of my voice, even if there's absolutely no heart in it?