The fiddler of Kodihalli and other stories

Bangalore was once a sleepy town. There were many small villages around the centre of the city. 'Halli' is the local term for village. So you had names like Jalahalli, Marthahalli and Kodihalli. With the IT boom of the 1990s, the area around Kodihalli developed rapidly. Big glass-skinned office buildings sprung up along the main road. Young people from all over the country migrated to Bangalore to work in these offices. They rented rooms in the nearby 'Hallis'. The Hallis were ill-equipped to deal with the migrant boom. But the rents were good, so everyone who owned a house on a tiny plot of land built hapazard extensions on top often overhanging the sides. By the early 2000s, nearly every house had tenants. These young high earning tenants and their nouveau-riche landlords soon purchased bikes and then cars. Labyrinthine roads of sleepy villages now became bustling, noisy streets, full of shops, vehicles, people and houses jostling for space.

Kabir was a tenant in one such house in Kodihalli. He worked as an engineer in one of the new software companies. Not having much to do on weekends, he began taking violin (fiddle) lessons from a nearby tutor. His dream was to be able to play semi-classical Hindi film songs such as 'Mohe bhool gaye saawariya and Man tadapat Hari darshan ko aaj (Baiju Bawra)' on the violin. That was a long way off. He had to begin by learning to play single notes without making a screechy sound. Then the elementary lessons - sarali varsai, janta varasai and so on. He practised whenever he got time, mostly in the evenings, amidst the honks and beeps of the vehicles passing outside.

His house was particularly ill-suited for the undisturbed pursuit of music, situated, as it was, on the edge of a turning road. The road may have been less narrow in an earlier age, but now it was hemmed in by shanty settlements on the other side. The turn was effectively a blind Z turn. Even so, it became a popular short cut route for drivers desperate to escape the madness that was traffic on the main road. Kabir's practice was punctuated by shrill horns, angry yelps, long impatient beeps and a whole variety of other driver moods. There wasn't much he could do about it except get his skill to a level where he didn't have to wonder if a note came from his violin in his hand or the Santro passing by.

The days went by and Kabir's fiddling became a little more tolerable. His bowing acquired vigour. Kabir wondered if the passers by outside or even his landlord on the ground floor (he himself lived in the house extension on the first floor) ever heard and appreciated his efforts. He actually wanted to ask his landlord but felt shy to ask directly. One day he brought it up tactfully, "I hope my practice doesn't disturb you." The landlord wasn't quite the type that one would characterize as a patron of the arts. His concerns were much more down to earth. This is what he replied:

"Kabir, I am glad you brought this up. See there is a small problem. You know as it is there is a lot of vehicle noise because of the blind turn outside this house. Car drivers always honk as they approach the turn to warn any vehicles coming from the other side. However, this honking used to die down in the late evenings as the traffic diminished. Half the car owners are US-returned engineers and they generally have the good sense to not honk in residential areas at least in the late evening. But of late, even late evenings have been very noisy. Kabir, you may not be aware but this is actually because of your fiddling. I am not saying you don't play well but when a car approaches and you play a strong note like Paa, the driver assumes that it is a honk from a vehicle on the other end of the turn. In turn, he also lets out a strong honk. I have experienced this first hand when I come home in my car. As a result it gets very noisy and my wife has to turn up the volume on her TV to watch her soap. "

Kabir's face fell. He could not have dreamed of a more unenthusiastic response to his eager quest for approval. He tried to mumble an apology and said something about shutting all windows and practising from an inner room. The landlord then suggested "Why don't you practise in the morning instead? Say 6 to 7?" "How will that help?" asked Kabir, clearly hurt, "Won't it spoil everyone's morning sleep?" The landlord replied, "Ah. but that is exactly what I want. You see I have to coax my son to get out of bed in the morning and get him ready for school. You know how Bangalore weather is really pleasant in the morning and what with all the peace and quiet - one doesn't feel like waking. If you practise in the morning, then all vehicles will start honking back and my son won't feel like lolling in bed."

The next day there was an advertisement in the free classifieds accommodation wanted section, "Budding violinist seeks accommodation in a tranquil area, far away from public roads, landlords from a musical background preferred. Willing to pay a premium on the rent. Please contact directly (brokers excuse) at ..."