The Roving Musicologist

Zone Drain (Mumbai)

For the first two days in India, it seemed a better idea to stay on the mat on the floor, letting the maid kick me around so she could sweep, and nodding whenever the cook spoke to me.  The apartment was small and there were no screens on the windows.  My only view was of a vacant lot, about two acres in size, with an unpaved footpath in front of it.  All day long, there were two constant streams of people going each way.  The haze cut off everything in the distance, and I wasn’t ready to deal with a rickshaw driver yet.

   After a nap, I woke up and saw a child on the path struggling to pull an animal that looked like a cross between a goat and a horse, with large white circular blotches on brown fur.  I had no idea what it was.  Soon my host would be home and ask what I had accomplished that day.

I recorded the sound of this water in the bathroom drain of their apartment.

Travel Post #27: High Pitched Sunrise Temple Chant (Mangalore, India)

The only thing open was this temple and a newspaper stand.

There were only a few pools of light in the streets when I was dropped off by the night bus.  The few desperate rickshaw drivers waiting by the bus refused to give me any directions so I walked around looking for a place to get coffee, but nothing was open.  Then I heard this chant coming from somewhere, and followed it to a place called temple square.

I spent some time sitting with an old man selling leaves that had some religious purpose while the motorbikes and trucks began breaking the silence.  He was trying to sing along to the chant.

More people began to gather around the temple as the sun came up.  I moved next to the bodhi tree and watched a woman circling around the tree repeatedly.

The chant ended and the sun was up.  People were awake.  The shopkeeper across the street insisted I take his picture.

At the time, I didn’t know why.

Mangalore is unaccustomed to tourists.  The guidebooks barely mention it and no one stays any longer than they have to, usually.

As I walked around the next day, a man stopped on his motorbike and said he had seen me praying at their temple.  I was only standing there while the sound recorder was on, but this was prayer in the eyes of this man.  He was curious to ask all of the usual questions, and then he left.

Then I went to the mall.

Travel Post #18: Bells, Dogs, Crows (Mumbai)

Travel Post #14: Radio Chant Outside the Ashram (Pune, India)

The Small Machine made the noise, drawing power from the socket.

Travel Post #13: Mumbai Conveyor Belt Torture Technique

First, Take a night flight from Istanbul

Second, Make sure there is at least one crying baby on the flight.  Find another crying baby to make a chorus of painful situations.

Third, go through customs.

Fourth, Wait for your bag

Fifth, make sure it is 4am in the morning.

Sixth, The conveyor belt welcomes you to India.

Mumbai is much like this sound, only slower.  The city is an assault of everything at once.  An explosion that rolls like a ball.  Then again, sounds like this aren’t for everyone.

Waiting is actually quite easy.