Music in my life

I was at a music concert yesterday, given by my sister-in-law's students at the music school run by her.  The lessons are in Western Classical music.  As I listened to the children playing many of the standard recital pieces like Fuer Elise (Beethoven), Minuet in G by various composers and heard a senior student sing the beautiful hymn 'Panis Angelicus', the music in my life, when I was young came back to me.
I did my first piano exam when I was 9--at that time grade 1 piano of the Royal College of Music.  I don't remember how well I did or not, only that I passed.  That  was in boarding school in Ooty.
My parents then moved to Kolkata (Calcutta then), when one of the first things my mother did, was to hunt for a music teacher.  She found an old Scottish lady, of whom I have written earlier.  She was good, but didn't believe in sending children for the exams, though she made me play pieces as much as I could, regardless of the difficulty level.
We had a piano, which was at first kept in the living room.  But since I was always playing, the piano was moved to my bedroom.  I cannot tell you what joy that was!  I could play whenever I felt like it.  It was to the piano I went, when I was down, or even when I just wanted to think.  I loved practising even scales.  Those four years were wonderful and the piano---and my diary--were among my best friends during teenage angst time.  Now my fingers are not supple anymore and I can no longer play as nimbly as I could once and I no longer have a piano.  Yes there is a guitar at home, but that, to me, is not the same.
The singing brought back to me, the choir singing I did at my school in Cal.  I remember learning 'Panis Angelicus' there and I remembered it all my life.  Ever since, I heard my young sister-in-law sing, I had been wanting her to learn this song.  And so I heard a number of very good young singers singing the song.  I am truly glad that my young sister-in-law has this music school, because, once more, I get to hear so much music.
My old piano looked a bit like this--

Calcutta of the early '60s

This article in the Business Standard dated August 23rd  about the passing away of Pam Crain, who used to sing at Blue Fox, brought back memories of the Calcutta (not Kolkata at all then)I knew.  I lived in Calcutta from 1961 to 1966--five years.  The traces of the Raj were still there, though fading.  There were still a number of Britishers and I remember visiting a club--can't remember which one though--where non-whites were not yet allowed to be members.
Park Street was the place.  Blue Fox and Trincas were both there.  I knew of the live singing in both, but only have a vague memory of visiting Trincas the once.  I remember the American sailors as mentioned in the Business Standard article, swarming around on Park Street on occasion.
When I joined school in '61, we had different uniforms for winter and summer.  In winter we had a blazer as formal wear, which was made by a bespoke suit-maker, naturally, at the corner of Park Street and Middleton Row and in summer, all white cotton skirts and blouses.  But by the time I left in '66, the uniform was changed and there were no longer the separate uniforms for winter and summer.
I remember a darzi in Camac Street, who made really good Western wear.  There were always expats at his shop, waiting to get clothes done.
That was the time when the song 'Ladies of Calcutta' came out, as I remember.
I returned to Calcutta many years later, when we took my son there for treatment and were then frequent visitors there for a few years, usually staying at the YWCA on Middleton Row (no longer a YWCA now, I believe).  At that time Park Street and the streets around it had not changed all that much and I could still take my children around by myself, without getting lost.  I wonder now how it all looks and would love to go back just once to know what it looks like now.

It's been a really long time since I posted here. But the memories have to come and so strongly, that you want to write about them.
Today, just randomly, I remembered the flat that we stayed in last, while in Calcutta (Kolkatta). It was a gracious, spacious old flat. We were on the ground floor. There were four bedrooms, with attached bathrooms and what came to my mind were the beautiful copper boilers in each bathroom, for hot water. They were huge, by today's water heater standards, and the water was heated by piped-in gas. When you wanted hot water for a bath, you had to turn the main jet out from underneath, light it and then slowly turn it back in, when the burner ring, under this great big boiler, got lit. My mother instructed us all to be very careful when lighting it, as she warned that otherwise there could be an explosion!  This picture is the nearest to what our water heater looked like (as I remember).

There was a cooking range in the kitchen,with a large oven, which too was powered by piped-in gas (natural gas). Only my mother lit the oven, as she considered it too dangerous for anyone else to do.

I also remember that there was a long corridor running through the house, from which all the rooms led off. This corridor was a scary place to traverse at night, especially for my younger sister. As there were 4 bedrooms, and we didn't need them all, one bedroom was hardly ever used. For some strange reason, we invested this room with all the scary night things children are afraid of. Now one had to walk down the corridor quite a way, to put on the corridor light. But even when the light was on, somehow the part of the corridor, near the unused room, seemed much darker. To get to our bedroom, or my parents bedroom, we had to go through this darker area and pass the unused room. So, if my mother asked one of us (usually me, being the older one there)to get something from her room or ours, it was an act fraught with terror. My mother had no patience with such stupid fears and expected action pronto. So, I would run past this room, without looking in. But, over time, I managed to conquer my fears by forcing myself to enter that room and put on the light, usually accompanied by our family dog [:-)]. But it remained scary for my younger siblings for quite a long time.

My Piano Teacher

My piano teacher in Calcutta was a little old lady called Mrs. Beresford-Scott. She was one of the ‘Staying On’ (like the book by Paul Scott) Britishers. She lived in a small flat in an old apartment block on Park Street, very close to Flury’s the bakery of the time. It was a tiny flat. Her sitting room—where she held her music classes, had the piano, and a couple of sofas and a lovely bay window with some seating in the window. She gave piano lessons as well as voice lessons. I only went to her for piano lessons. But I remember a lady built along operatic lines, coming to her for voice training.
She was a strict, but good teacher. She really taught me to express the feeling in a piece of music. Though I got rapped on my knuckles occasionally, I was very fond of her. Sometimes, she played a piece for us, and she played with feeling, although her hands were old and gnarled.
Once a month, Mrs. Scott would go to the hairdresser (as I can recall). There she would be with her white hair freshly blued and set in determined waves. Those were the days of big rollers, large hair drying hoods and plenty of hair-spray. The day after the visit to the hairdresser, she would occasionally use a little rouge too, apart from her usual lipstick.
Occasionally, if she was pleased with her students, she would send one of us down to Flury’s to buy a pastry for each for us, as a special treat. I knew she was fond of me, because I practised regularly, even scales. I just loved playing and she knew that. So I was a recipient of the pastries quite a few times.
I went to music class with her for at least 4 years. But we never went into any other part of her flat. I don’t ever remember even using the bathroom there. Just the one time, she sent me into her bedroom to get something. It was a tiny bedroom, crammed with furniture. There were a few photographs around and I was dying to look at them closely, but was scared that she might come looking for me, if I took too much time. I remember seeing these pictures on a dresser, of a young man in uniform. I couldn’t resist looking at that photograph closely, as it was at eye level. I wondered whether it was her son. She never spoke of family—husband or children. Never once in those 4 years, did I ever see any visitors in her flat.
Many years later, my sister was living in Calcutta, on Park Street, not far from where Mrs. Beresford-Scott had lived and my sister found out that she had passed away quite a few years before. May she have found music aplenty on the other side.

My pet squirrel

The sight of a hamster recently, reminded me of the squirrel(chipmunk really) I had as a pet for a while, when I was maybe 13. This was in Calcutta.
One evening, I remember going for a walk--with whom I can't remember. We lived off Camac Street then and when we turned into one of the darker streets, we saw this man selling baby squirrels. He had 3 with him. The price for one was 50 paise. Since that fit in well with my budget, I bought one. The squirrel was absolutely tiny. The man who sold it to me said that it would have to be fed milk as it was too tiny to eat.

(Image courtesy Wikimedia-animal photos.)

I remember I took it home and then made a nest in a shoe box, lining it with cotton wool and maybe bits of cloth. I laid the little thing carefully inside and tried to feed it with an ink dropper with milk. But it was too small and weak even for that. Then I dipped some cotton wool in milk and made a little teat with one end and put it into the little squirrel's mouth. It happily sucked that. Now when I think about it, it must have been my persistence and sheer love of the animal that this little thing survived.
I can't remember what I named the animal (can't remember if it was male or female even). But very soon it learnt it's name and would come when I called. By this time Chippy (for convenience I'll call it Chippy and assume it's female) was too big for the shoe box and was allowed the run of the house. When I went to school in the morning, Chippy would run up the curtains in my room and stay there. I would leave a bit of food in her shoe box. When I returned from school and called out her name, Chippy would come down chattering away, and then she would be with me till my bedtime, either on my lap, or in the pocket of my skirt, or on my head. I had long, thick hair then, which hung in 2 braids and the squirrel's absolutely favourite place was to climb up and sit on my head just under a braid. Chippy came with me to the dining table, in spite of my mother's grumbles. But then she too got used to it, because Chippy really was so well behaved.
Once I took Chippy to school without telling my mother. On looking back, I can't imagine how I had the guts to do that--smuggling a squirrel out of the house and into school--because I was basically very law-abiding; not at all one of those wild rebellious kinds. Anyway Chippy came with me and I hid her in my desk during each lesson period. We had those old-fashioned wooden desks with lift-up lids. I kept the lid a teeny-weeny bit open with my eraser, so that Chippy would have air. In between the lessons I let her out. For one lesson, I couldn't push her back into my desk; instead she sat quietly on my head, under my braid with only her tail hanging down. But since said tail was well hidden by my hair, we didn't get caught! It was a relief to get back home without any incident. I was heroine of the class for the day :)
I guess the fact that it was an all girls school made for the peaceful day. I bet if there had been boys in the class, some tamasha would have taken place and Chippy and I would have been caught.
One day when I returned from school, there was no Chippy. I called and called but she was nowhere to be found. The only explanation I have is that the window was open that day and either one of the cats came in and caught her, or she decided to go back to nature. But I fear it must have been the former, because otherwise I am sure Chippy would have come back to the window at least once to see me.

Recently, when tidying the topmost shelf of my cupboard, I came across a diary I had kept in 1966 (yes I still have it). It was the year I was in the 11th standard in school, the last year of school, when I did my Senior Cambridge exams.
Reading the diary brought back so many memories of school and my growing up days in Calcutta.  It brought back to me so many of my favourite places --School (on Middleton Row), Oxford Book store, which was then a library too and was one of my totally fave places; my piano lessons from a little old Scottish lady, who lived in a small flat near Flury's; the antiques stores on Park Street outside which I window shopped so much; Victoria Memorial, St. Paul's Cathedral, where I sang in the choir; New Market; the Alipore Zoo, so loved, and frequently visited.
Along with these should also be added favourite foods from Cal days--pastries from Flury's; pattice, meat puffs, from Nahum's in New Market; kathi rolls outside New Market; rock candy sticks from New Market (haven't seen them anywhere else); puchhkas from the man outside school or from in front of Victoria Memorial; black salt pieces, carefully wrapped and licked surreptitiously during break; lovely Gujarati food provided by a sweet old couple in school; Kalimpong Dairy farm stuff; Chinese food from somewhere on Park Street or sometimes from Free School Street (still about the best Indian Chinese I've eaten); mishti doi, rasgullas, sandesh, from wherever (can't decide which I like more); what's more here, where I am in Kerala, it's impossible to get authentic versions of any of the above *sigh*.
I was able to go back to Calcutta quite a few times after my children were born, maybe not for the best of reasons (my eldest son used to be taken there to see an orthopaedic doctor), but I still enjoyed myself and my children also got to love some of these foods.  But I haven't been for several years now--maybe around 15 years or more.  I guess I should schedule a trip for myself to see what Kolkata looks like now as against my Calcutta.