I've been asking my Guruji to find me a drum kit (even the university here, one of the top 3 in India, does not have one) and yesterday he finally came through. Sort of. Not really.
A fellow disciple, nicknamed Sony, appeared after my lesson and led me to his apartment which also houses his computer repair business. Sony pulls out his "drum set" which turns out to be an old electronic Roland Octapad. Yeah, I'm very disappointed. I end up giving an hour-long solo concert on this piece of junk (using seriously warped drum sticks) to 15 computer technicians and the majority of the residents of the apartment building. Children dancing, teens filming me on their phones, housewives peering illicitly from behind scarves, fellow tabla students trying to instruct me, "No, no, do Dha Dha Tirikita Dha Dha Tu Na." They wouldn't let me leave, though they were not particularly interested in my jazz playing, "make the Western beats, man! Rock'm'roll!!" So I did a rock'm'roll duet with a guy playing guitar the likes of which I haven't experienced since, oh, my 6th grade talent show. He knew two-and-a-half chords. Maybe. But the crowd completely ate it up and everyone gave me hugs and I ended up laughing more than I have in a long time. But the search for a set of "American drums" continues.
