An impossible dream

This past Tuesday evening gave a terrible blow to an impossible dream: To be a really good pianist.

It is a love and hate affair, my relationship with piano. It started at the tender age of five. I taught myself to follow melodies on the piano with my right hand. Those days I still had to reach up to the keyboard, standing in front of the tall, heavy, wooden instrument. My mother always reminded me not to pull down the keyboard lid onto my hands. In retrospect, that would have hurt a bit. But I suppose my one-finger plonking hurt too.

The next year, we moved to another town - a frequent family pastime for which I still blame my father. Here I started pre-primary school and duly requested my mother to teach me to play with both hands. Bummer! That was difficult to manage the co-ordination as well as the separation between hands. But then I could pick up those songs I liked and play them by ear - with both hands. Smackers! Looking back, it was a rather rough affair and I am indebted to my family for not summarily putting me away in boarding school. Got some oohs and aaahs from the one grand father, but he was the nicest of the lot.

Five years later followed official classical piano lessons. Now here was something that required dedication - not much fun involved. One could not just merrily plonk away. To be certain, at the age of 10 there was not much academic dedication of the natural sort. Where before playing was just rambling on, now it was about the right fingering, slurring, tonal quality, and timing. The list is endless. Boring. Boring. Boring. And then there was music theory. Bollocks, I said!

But, given the miniscule time I did put into practicing, there was progress. Looking back, it was such a waste of opportunity. If only my mother kicked my little bottom a few times. Four years later the thing abruptly ended when I changed from Piano as subject to Biology, courtesy of the wicked witch that took me for piano that year in Std 8 (grade 10).

Arriving in the US opened up new opportunities. What was more, I could not stand listening to my casual playing anymore - it was just too messy. Here was Boston, with a zillion academic institutions to pick and choose. I picked and got chosen for piano by the NEC. One had to play an audition and then got placed once accepted.

The next three years brought about a dramatic improvement along many fronts. I fought my perpetual stage fright, learned new and proper technique; improved my interpretation skills. But still there seemed not quite that dedication to put all available time into this one dream.

Every month, the part-time students gather voluntarily for a recital at the NEC. Once a semester, my teacher organises a concert for her students. This year was the second time I played in this concert. I entered with some trepidation, given my weak performance last year.

My piece was the Impromptu in C-flat minor by Schubert. It is a lovely piece that I often listen to on CD and quickly memorised. Yet, it is deceptively difficult to play well. It required exceptional dedication to master. Came Wednesday, it was still not quite within my grasp.

I went into the performance with the past two-year's experience at the hand of a magnificent teacher. Yet, in my view, the piece just didn't come across. I could not express what I intended. My disappointment was clearly visible, even though I got loud applause from the audience.

To me the impossible dream has all but ended. Still, Heng-Jin felt that I played well, apparently unperturbed by the difficulties confronting me, making "my own music" as she put it afterwards. Two co-students complimented my performance but in my head, the performance was way off the mark.

Whereto now, is the question? How does one live with a passion that is almost impossible to hold, yet with so little time to indulge in realising that passion. It has been the impossible dream from the day I have had chosen engineering over music as a career.

Will this dream forever haunt me? When I do not play, I crave for it. When I do play, I hate it because it falls short of my dream. With or without it, I can't live with or without it.