Prolifically Raw: Forbidden Language

Friday, December 08, 2006

Forbidden Language

It�s a normal Thursday night at our house. Dinner is done, the kids are showered and dressed in jammies. Spencer�s cuddled under a comforter, pillows at his back, while he reads Garfield comic books in front of the fire. He�s busting himself up with how Garfield loves Italian food. �What�s a cannelloni, Mom?� he asks.

�Same as lasagna,� I say. �The pasta is a tube instead of a sheet.�

I unzip a big black canvas bag and get myself cozy on the floor next to Spencer, unpacking my drums between us. The tall one is called a Tabla (pronounced Ta-blah all mashed together), the big round one is called a Baja (pronounced Bye-ya). The Tabla (Ta-blah) is male. The Baja (Bye-ya) is female.

On the other side of the coffee table, Jo Jo (also known as Belle) is accessorizing her paper dolls, also know as Belle, Belle and Belle. She is talking for her dolls in her little girl voice. �And you can have this purse, Belle.� �Why thank you, Belle, you are so kind and generous, you can have this hat.� �Why thank you, Belle, you are so kind too.�

I get myself situated and make the sounds I�ve been taught.

Ta Ka

Ta Ka

Ta Ki Ta

Ta Ki Ta

Spencer keeps right on reading comics and Jo Jo (Belle) keeps right up playing paper dolls but they are making the sounds too.

Ta Ka

Ta Ka

Ta Ki Ta

Ta Ki Ta

Both of them are nodding their heads.

The first time I saw someone play a set of these drums was at a Krishna Das concert. His drummer was this young man from Boulder named Ty Burhoe.

Oy!

When he played those drums, Ty became the most beautiful man in the world. I fell head over heels in love with him. In fact, I was so gone, if it weren't for all those boundary producing precepts that came with my taking Refuge as a Buddhist, (Ty is very happily married and the third precept is...do not get in the middle of previously established relationships...or thou shalt not covet blah blah blah), I would have thrown myself at him without hesitation or shame.

I had a chance to see Ty play again a few months later and it was the same heady, dizzy swoon all over again.

Then I saw Benji Wertheimer play and I realized it wasn't the men who played the drums that sent me (although both Benji and Ty are lovely). It was the drums.

Ta Ka

Ta Ka

Ta Ki Ta

Ta Ki Ta

I�ve taken two, hour long lessons and this is all I know. Of course, there are the variations that my teacher wrote out for me, to spice things up:

Ta Ka, Ta Ki Ta, Ta Ki Ta, Ta Ka

Ta Ka, Ta Ka, Ta Ki Ta, Ta Ka

Ta Ka, Ta Ka, Ta Ka, Ta Ki Ta

Ta Ki Ta, Ta Ka, Ta Ka, Ta Ka.

All of this adds up to two moves on the drums.

I'm supposed to practice thirty minutes a day.

The piano came easy, two years in and I was whipping out Chopin and had thirty classical pieces memorized. Toss me down on the bench of any piano and I�ll create something heartbreaking and poignant, in less than five minutes of plunking around.

The Tabla is a much different story. My teacher is a purist and he wants to make sure I get it exactly right. �It will make you a stronger player later,� he says, �you don�t want to develop bad habits early, it will effect your playing.�

So first, you gotta sit on your butt, legs in lotus so the drums are close to your body. Second, you gotta hold your arms just so, your shoulders can�t lift and all the action comes from the elbow joint, not from the wrist (if it burns, you�re doing it right and you can�t stop when it burns, burning is good). Then, you gotta touch the drum with tender loving care, your fingers barely brushing the tops in some cases and in others, they thwack, but only with a funky side to side wrist action that is not to be duplicated in any of the activities of your daily life.

Why, oh why, isn�t playing the Tabla like typing? I�d be a master by now.

But the drums�
the drums�.
I love these drums.

They are just amazing.

They are a secret language,
a story,
a hidden metaphor,
a dark shadow,
a wine laced breath,
a gentle lover.

These drums are a meditation.

They are emptiness.

They are possibility.

They are freedom.

And, they are forbidden.

Women were not allowed to learn Tabla, to teach a woman was forbidden. My teacher said it was a sacrilege. He says many women don't have good hands. He says I have good hands for playing though. He says he has many wonderful women students.

No wonder I wanted to play them. Anything "forbidden" is my siren song.

Ta Ka

Ta Ka

Ta Ki Ta

Ta Ki Ta

The fire snaps and pops and I say the words while I play. The kids say them too, it becomes unconscious for all of us. It's the new forbidden language, coming from my womans hands, my good womans hands.

It�s cool.

It�s amazing actually. Just a normal Thursday night at the Feather House, me free, doing something that so many women before me couldn�t do and my kids nodding along like it�s no big deal. Just another night ending another day.

Ta Ka.

Ta Ki Ta

* P.S. No, those aren't my hands