It was early last year when
we moved to SFV. Occupants were few and far between, and scattered. We were the
sole family, not just on our floor but probably in the two floors below too.
Enough of sannata - more pronounced at night.
We would hear someone playing
flute, fortunately early morning. For sure it was not Chaurasia, because there
were repeated attempts at perfection. Maybe,
somebody is trying to be one.
But when the sound began to
emanate from different directions each day, scenes of the horror movie, Bees Saal Baad began to converge upon my
mind. “Have we by chance selected a complex haunted by ghosts?” After all most
of it was forest, and several trees must have been chopped off mercilessly
before construction. And who knows how many of these trees gave shelter to
ghosts to bemoan the loss of their beloved.
The residents being small in number,
the info network in SFV was at its best. It came to light that the flutist was
none other than Pulkit Yadav, the watchman who greets you with an unfailing
smile, and a Namaste as bonus. Or, the one who rendered a solo flute
performance at SFV’s Independence Day celebrations. And the reason for the
sound from different directions was that sometimes he was posted in Alder, at
other times in Cedar, Oak or Maple.
Hailing from Bhagalpur in
Bihar, Pulkit is one of the younger ones in a large family that subsisted on
land cultivation and rearing cattle. As a young lad he was assigned to tend the
cows – graze them on the open meadows, take a short nap under a tree, hum a number
or two till it is time to take them back home. “All this while I cherished I had
a bansuri too to re-live literally Kishan
Kanhaiya.”
He set foot in Bangalore in
2012 to join the agency responsible for SFV security. Away from his wife and six children, Pulkit
found time, enough and to spare, to pursue his passion – try his hand at
bansuri. A dream come true.
Carpentry work was in full
swing in SFV. At his request, one of the
carpenters made a bansuri for him – though it turned out to be an apology for
one. Later Pulkit himself made one and started practising. Initially he and his
flute could never see eye to eye, but with time the bansuri yielded to his
commands and released sounds closer to what he had wished. Thus began his
association with the instrument. On his next visit to Bhagalpur he bought one
made of bamboo, the real one, which he still holds close to his heart.
Does he play flute for the
family when he visits home? Yes he does. Children are not that enamoured, but
his wife does enjoy it. In fact she has retained one of his notes as the ring
tone for her mobile phone.
“Have you attempted any film
song?” I asked him. “Yes, I tried the Pardesi… song. “Which one, Pardesiyon
se na ankhiya milaana… from Jab Jab Phool Khile?” “No, Sir, Pardesi, Pardesi, jana nahin… Raja
Hindustani.“ That’s on the positive side. Good. ‘But Sir, I am nowhere close to
getting the tune,” he seemed a bit disillusioned at yet to make a breakthrough.
To encourage him I thought I
would share the success story of another watchman, and narrated to him what
Salil Chowdhury, the famous music director, had disclosed in a Vividh Bharati
programme in the 1960s.
Whenever Salil Da stepped out
of the recording studio, he would hear the Nepali watchman hum a rural tune as
he went about his chores. Salil Da once asked him to sing it in full. He did
and the Maestro was inspired. The result?
He composed a nice and melodious number, Chhota sa ghar hoga baadlon ki chhaaon mein – for Bimal Roy
productions, Naukri, 1954. Moral: Even an ordinary person can sometimes be a
source of inspiration to a learned man.
“Ab mein har haalat mein himmat nahin haarunga Sahib,” Pulkit said as
he sipped the last drop of tea and departed from my apartment.
V V Sundaram
Maple 3195
22 Sep 2017
