When she jerked her grey locks yelling “Begin!” to forty of us in her deep though wavering voice, and we commenced on singing “We three kings…” she seemed a formidable high-priestess of good taste. I can spell it out only now, from the vantage point of adult recollection, for what she inspired was a jumble of reactions ranging from admiration to fear during that weekly ritual called “Singing” class. When she played “Whisper a prayer in the morning…” on the upright piano, she seemed elegance personified, and the elegance and yelling seemed irreconcilable traits even to a four-year-old. And as she hurried through the corridors with her bunch of notations—some new, some tattered—I wondered if the beautiful signs on them would ever mean anything to me. They seemed attractive for they seemed to conceal all the pleasures that the sound of a piano could give. Her huge emerald ring...and then how one fine day all her hair turned jet black... those are my earliest memories of Miss Kanade, as we used to call her.
Those of us who had sisters or cousins for predecessors in school quickly learnt and told everyone else that she had been given the sobriquet “Princess Margaret” once upon a time. She had the same hairstyle as the princess in her youth, and had once performed before her. And then there was the other story of how being told “Miss, you are looking good today,” would invariably flatter her. M— told me the story, and once even greeted Miss Kanade like that as I stood by, to elicit a wave of the hand accompanied by, “ O, that’s an old compliment!” before she vanished into her room in the school building, outside which was a little board with “The Den” inscribed on it… so they say… for when I finally had the chance to check for the inscription, it was no longer there. Then there was the Sound of Music legend. Her stage-production of The Sound of Music was part of CGHS* lore, and as she taught us the songs from the film, one could tell they had a special place in her heart. As I watched her play with her heart and soul, the loose flesh of her arms jiggling at every movement, I could almost imagine her doing the same with the gracefulness of youth.
Other ‘public’ memories of Miss Kanade abound—memories of Investiture services and Founders’ Day services in the Thoburn Methodist Church on hot summer days. Who knew how one might miss the spirited intricacies of Miss Kanade’s rendition of the School Song, or the rousing notes of “Now thank we all our God” years afterwards?... And in other climes... Or even in the later years of school, when she had left. In her farewell speech she had said that people must retire and make way for others just the way furniture must be replaced from time to time. And so she went, and the pianos never sounded the same again.
Who knows with what courage, but I went to her to ask if she would teach me to play the piano. I was six years old then, and hadn’t even asked my parents. She said she would, if we bought a piano. I knew that that wasn’t possible. So I contented myself with watching Miss Kanade closely as she played while we sang, for she was grace itself on the piano. She taught me without my knowing then that piano-playing was truly as much to be watched as to be listened to.
As we kept taking singing lessons from her over the years, I sometimes wondered if she remembered the little girl, one of many little girls perhaps, who had asked her for piano lessons. It was her last year in school. We were lining up near the piano as usual in groups of four for the test in singing. The other three in my group had louder voices, and I was just recovering from a bout of pharyngitis and feared being drowned out. And I was. We had to sing her favourite from The Sound of Music, “The hills are alive…” When we finished, she said, without turning, “Sing again, Durba, you weren't yourself... maybe drink a little water first?” So she associated my name with a voice!
I had fallen in love with the piano when I was about two-and-a-half-years old, when I began attending the kindergarten school everyone in our extended family went to. At both schools I attended, I would tinkle at the pianos whenever I got half the chance. And then, literally dreamt of pianos for years. I dreamt the same dream till I was about 24, till I found a way to take piano lessons without buying a piano right away. Above all, it was bliss to be able to finally play La Paloma, that my fingers had itched to learn for years.
It was about the same time that I decided to go on a trekking trip to Darjeeling, and having heard that Miss Kanade was then teaching at Mount Hermon School, Darjeeling, made up my mind to meet her, and perhaps tell her I was finally learning, even if twenty years late. MHS was founded by Emma Knowles, after whom my ‘house’ in school was also named, so all the more reason for a pilgrimage. All I ended up seeing were the impressive school precincts, for with the school closed for some reason, there was no one at the gate whom I could ask about Miss Kanade’s whereabouts. The Queen of the Hills was still pretty, and it seemed as though postcards that survived in memory from my first visit when I was four (two years before I asked Miss Kanade for piano lessons:) were leaping into life all about me, and the trek in Rimbik, and the trip as a whole, were very enjoyable. Returning to the din of Calcutta, I inquired among old friends for news of Miss Kanade for naught, and after about a year, just after coming to New York, learnt that she had passed away. So the little girl shall never tell her that she is finally playing. Or that whatever vignettes of her survive in her memory are so vividly compelling that even if Miss Kanade never knew about it, she did teach her to play.
Gloss:
* CGHS: Calcutta Girls' High School
© Text: DURBA BASU 2009
Those of us who had sisters or cousins for predecessors in school quickly learnt and told everyone else that she had been given the sobriquet “Princess Margaret” once upon a time. She had the same hairstyle as the princess in her youth, and had once performed before her. And then there was the other story of how being told “Miss, you are looking good today,” would invariably flatter her. M— told me the story, and once even greeted Miss Kanade like that as I stood by, to elicit a wave of the hand accompanied by, “ O, that’s an old compliment!” before she vanished into her room in the school building, outside which was a little board with “The Den” inscribed on it… so they say… for when I finally had the chance to check for the inscription, it was no longer there. Then there was the Sound of Music legend. Her stage-production of The Sound of Music was part of CGHS* lore, and as she taught us the songs from the film, one could tell they had a special place in her heart. As I watched her play with her heart and soul, the loose flesh of her arms jiggling at every movement, I could almost imagine her doing the same with the gracefulness of youth.
Other ‘public’ memories of Miss Kanade abound—memories of Investiture services and Founders’ Day services in the Thoburn Methodist Church on hot summer days. Who knew how one might miss the spirited intricacies of Miss Kanade’s rendition of the School Song, or the rousing notes of “Now thank we all our God” years afterwards?... And in other climes... Or even in the later years of school, when she had left. In her farewell speech she had said that people must retire and make way for others just the way furniture must be replaced from time to time. And so she went, and the pianos never sounded the same again.
Who knows with what courage, but I went to her to ask if she would teach me to play the piano. I was six years old then, and hadn’t even asked my parents. She said she would, if we bought a piano. I knew that that wasn’t possible. So I contented myself with watching Miss Kanade closely as she played while we sang, for she was grace itself on the piano. She taught me without my knowing then that piano-playing was truly as much to be watched as to be listened to.
As we kept taking singing lessons from her over the years, I sometimes wondered if she remembered the little girl, one of many little girls perhaps, who had asked her for piano lessons. It was her last year in school. We were lining up near the piano as usual in groups of four for the test in singing. The other three in my group had louder voices, and I was just recovering from a bout of pharyngitis and feared being drowned out. And I was. We had to sing her favourite from The Sound of Music, “The hills are alive…” When we finished, she said, without turning, “Sing again, Durba, you weren't yourself... maybe drink a little water first?” So she associated my name with a voice!
I had fallen in love with the piano when I was about two-and-a-half-years old, when I began attending the kindergarten school everyone in our extended family went to. At both schools I attended, I would tinkle at the pianos whenever I got half the chance. And then, literally dreamt of pianos for years. I dreamt the same dream till I was about 24, till I found a way to take piano lessons without buying a piano right away. Above all, it was bliss to be able to finally play La Paloma, that my fingers had itched to learn for years.
It was about the same time that I decided to go on a trekking trip to Darjeeling, and having heard that Miss Kanade was then teaching at Mount Hermon School, Darjeeling, made up my mind to meet her, and perhaps tell her I was finally learning, even if twenty years late. MHS was founded by Emma Knowles, after whom my ‘house’ in school was also named, so all the more reason for a pilgrimage. All I ended up seeing were the impressive school precincts, for with the school closed for some reason, there was no one at the gate whom I could ask about Miss Kanade’s whereabouts. The Queen of the Hills was still pretty, and it seemed as though postcards that survived in memory from my first visit when I was four (two years before I asked Miss Kanade for piano lessons:) were leaping into life all about me, and the trek in Rimbik, and the trip as a whole, were very enjoyable. Returning to the din of Calcutta, I inquired among old friends for news of Miss Kanade for naught, and after about a year, just after coming to New York, learnt that she had passed away. So the little girl shall never tell her that she is finally playing. Or that whatever vignettes of her survive in her memory are so vividly compelling that even if Miss Kanade never knew about it, she did teach her to play.
Gloss:
* CGHS: Calcutta Girls' High School
© Text: DURBA BASU 2009
7 comments:
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Ah! A pleasure to read. Was taken back to those good old school days... Miss them a lot!
A jaunty ride back into memory lane... it was really nice to read about Ms Kanade after such a long time. I remember her reading out the lyrics to us first, emphasizing each word just the way they should sound in the song while we scribbled away frantically!
The first song i ever sang in her class was "Little Peter Rabbit" and since I had joined class mid-session, I was not even sure of all the words! :-) She made me sing it again till I thought I had a fair idea of the way "Peee-ter, peee-ter, peter raaa-bit" went!
Btw, I have seen that little card on her door, with "The Den" and the whimsical drawing that went with it, in fact that room was our class room when we were in X!! I must have been in III or IV then, and I had been sent up to call her down during one of the concerts. As it is, it was in the "hallowed" Senior building and it was badly lit... and i remember the eerie pink glow from her room when she opened the door... i (breathlessly) managed to convey my message and just ran out of there! what an idiot i was!! :-P
@Keka: Then 'The Den' lived on till at least we were in Class X! I wonder how I missed it when I did go there. I've only always heard it reported :(
Durba, your blog on Ms. Kanade was hilarious and touching at the same time.
My mother, Juliet Jacob, and Ms. Kanade were colleagues at CGHS in the 1960s. Thereafter, when my parents moved to Allahabad in 1968, Ms. Kanade - "Aunty Chandu" as I grew up calling her - would often spend her Christmas vacation with us in Allahabad. Even as a child, I have such vivid recollections of her.
"The Den" was a sacred and hallowed place, and as my mother tells me, not everyone was allowed inside. My mother, however, enjoyed that privilege of enetering the Holy of Holies, as it were, especially when there was something special in Ms. Kanade's lunch, prawns, for instance - "Come Julie, they've sent juicy fellows today!" she would tell my mother.
She last visited us in December 2004, from Mount Hermon, staying the entire length of her vacation well into February. She was to come again in Dec. 2005, but we had plans of going out of Allahabad so she couldn't make it that year.
The following year was my brother's wedding in December. She had promised to come. The formal invitation to her was sent early November. We heard nothing. No intimation of her arrival. It was strange and unusual of someone who was such a stickler for social etiquette. One day we got a call from Mount Hermon School saying that they had found our number in her diary, and asked how we were connected, and said that she wasn't keeping well - what we got to know a couple of months later through another common friend in Calcutta was that at that time Ms. Kanade had already passed away - the end came in October 2006, which the school did not divulge to us.
Her last 'phone call was on my mother's birthday in August that year when she had specially gone into town to make that call.
She was such a good soul, loved good food, and loved to enjoy life in aristocratic style. We loved having her around. When it was time for her to return after the holidays, she would get so emotional at the thought of leaving.
I was fortunate to have seen her play the piano on a couple of occasions. She was a transformed person the moment her fingers tickled the ivories.
There are so many memories, so many recollections of her from over the years.
Your account was really heart-tugging - and I read it out to my mother over the 'phone just yesterday. She was a dear friend of my parents, as she later became to all of us.
We miss her deeply.
-Shabnam (Jacob) Desai
Very well written indeed.
Ms. C. Kanade was my Piano teacher at Mount Hermon School, Darjeeling from the year 2002 to 2004 (during my class 10, 11 and 12) under whose guidance and training I successfully managed to pass Grade 3, Grade 5 and Grade 6 Piano exams from Trinity College of Music, London. I vividly remember the tips which she used to give me while preparing for my Piano exams.
She was a gem of a person. A few years ago I heard about her heavenly abode. May her soul rest in peace.
Dear Mrs Jacob and Shabnam,
Shabnam—thank you for reading my post, and for reading it out to your mother. I am sorry to take so long to respond to your very thoughtful comment, but please do know that I value it very much. I do hope you will read this comment.
I am glad beyond words that you read my post and it brought back memories for you of Ms Kanade with whom you had a warm relationship and of whom you have such fond recollections. I thank you for sharing your memories of her with me (and with anyone who will read the comments on my post!). When I wrote it, Ms Kanade was no more, and I secretly hoped beyond hope that perhaps one day someone who knew her more closely might read it, and I am very happy that that happened!
You mention that you find my post both hilarious and touching. As I grew up I realized there was something very sweet and charming in Ms Kanade’s nature, even though we always stood in awe of her. I wanted my little post to capture as much of it as I could.
Thanks again for visiting my blog, and please convey my regards to your mother.
With best wishes,
Durba
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