This must have been when I was in grade 7. One day we were told that a new music teacher was joining the school. The old music teacher had got married and left. We wondered who the next teacher would be. Enter, Ms Poornima Nag armed with her harmonium, which a few burly boys had been instructed to carry into the classroom. Most of my classmates viewed the music period as relaxation time. Every music period had the same rhythm. We sang patriotic songs and bhajans ad nauseum. Saare jahan see accha, hum honge kamyab, har desh mein tu har vesh mein tu, the basic aaroh, avroh of swaras; this vegetating rhythm continued for 45 minutes everytime. The mischievous ones utilised this precious time to play tic-tac-toe, eat lunch steathily, play book cricket or exchange WWF trump cards during the music class. I mean you could afford to be casual about music and get away with it. It wasn’t serious stuff like academics.

In came Ms. Nag and our world turned topsy turvy. “We have to upgrade the level of music here,” she told us brusquely. Those of us who loved music and took pride in our angel voices were decidedly crestfallen. What did she even mean? We sang well, alright. Initially as she began to sing, a lot of sniggers went through the class. When she took a long alap, her eyes closed in concentration and her mouth twisted sideways as if in a grimace. That was enough to send all students in peals of laughter. Fools us we were, forget appreciating, we did not even have the reverence to accept her offering. But with one sharp scolding, she put all indiscipline to rest. Resentful, we tried to bear with her. Then, she began played the notes on the harmonium and sang a bhajan. The mind was still saying “crappy class, silly teacher” but the body just refused to obey the mind. How could you suppress the waves of goosebumps that rose with each verse she sang.

Ms. Nag persevered. Before every practice, she cared to mention the ragas of the music piece she was about to teach and the preferred time of singing that raga. Fanning her harmonium and pressing the basic notes, she would painstakingly listen to every single child in the class. Singer or not, you had to sing. Today, I am overwhelmed to think how she would have executed such a rigorous drill across all classes from one to ten. In a few months, the entire school was singing prayers in Raga Yaman, Bhairav and others. Suddenly, the morning assemblies were catapulted to another level. We would begin with Vande Mataram followed by Gayatri mantra chanting, one generic prayer, and Shanti path. When the entire school sang together, it became one voice, one common experience. There were no discordant notes, just supreme harmony. One regular day, a man came to our school requesting for a meeting with the principal. I do not remember the details of this event exactly but would give the basic import of what happened. The man actually carried a message from a saint or spiritual Guru who had been staying in a lodge nearby. The saint had overheard the morning prayer and was moved to tears. He had sent his love and gratitude. Maybe it was the saint himself who had come to meet the principal, I forget.

Over the years, Ms. Nag taught us several prayers, songs, and carols. Under her tutelage, we participated in several music competitions. Such was her confidence in her ability, that she integrated classical music into the music lessons with ease. Little did we know then that she was giving us invaluable gifts for life. Today, I retrieve them at will; the way children take out old knick-knacks from their treasure chest. Offering my love and gratitude to my music teacher, here’s one of my favourite prayers from school days. It is difficult to render it in translation but I would try my best.