Prompt: Imagine looking through a window at any environment that is particularly significant to you. Reflect on the scene, paying close attention to the relation between what you are seeing and why it is meaningful to you. Please limit your statement to 300 words.
Legendary Carnatic vocalist Ariyakudi clears his throat, smiles at the eager audience, and waits as the accompanying violinist and percussionists tune their instruments to perfect pitch. A large, coarse stone tablet serves as a stage, and hundreds of eager listeners, dressed in simple white loin cloths, flock to the sandy fields and sit down cross-legged. In spite of his stature, Ariyakudi humbly wears the same, simple white clothes. To him, race, class, and social status were frivolous next to the grandeur of music, and that is precisely why wealthy landlords sat next to destitute paupers in the audience. One poor woman sits there, thankful because Ariyakudi has graciously refused to charge poor villagers for attending the concert. She is none other than my great-grandmother.
The sun's scarlet eyes stare intently, and Ariyakudi salutes him with a brisk, invigorating piece. The sun, seemingly satisfied with the rendition, retreats downwards, leaving behind a carroty glow in the sky. The concert is delightfully assorted, featuring timeless classics, innovative songs, and even a few of Ariyakudi's own brilliant compositions. As the cold night air slowly descends, the master sings the soulful masterpiece Jagododharana with such moving devotion that nature sheds her own crisp tears.
I have vicariously lived this fascinating experience through the evergreen recountals of my grandmother, who was a teenager when the maestro sung this concert in 1941. Even when I listen to the few coarse, muffled recordings of Ariyakudi that are available today, his music conveys a revolutionary spirit of exploration, devoted commitment, and modesty, the gemstones of his character as both a musician and a person.
Those are the qualities I hope to cultivate as a musician, and more importantly, as a human being.
Legendary Carnatic vocalist Ariyakudi clears his throat, smiles at the eager audience, and waits as the accompanying violinist and percussionists tune their instruments to perfect pitch. A large, coarse stone tablet serves as a stage, and hundreds of eager listeners, dressed in simple white loin cloths, flock to the sandy fields and sit down cross-legged. In spite of his stature, Ariyakudi humbly wears the same, simple white clothes. To him, race, class, and social status were frivolous next to the grandeur of music, and that is precisely why wealthy landlords sat next to destitute paupers in the audience. One poor woman sits there, thankful because Ariyakudi has graciously refused to charge poor villagers for attending the concert. She is none other than my great-grandmother.
The sun's scarlet eyes stare intently, and Ariyakudi salutes him with a brisk, invigorating piece. The sun, seemingly satisfied with the rendition, retreats downwards, leaving behind a carroty glow in the sky. The concert is delightfully assorted, featuring timeless classics, innovative songs, and even a few of Ariyakudi's own brilliant compositions. As the cold night air slowly descends, the master sings the soulful masterpiece Jagododharana with such moving devotion that nature sheds her own crisp tears.
I have vicariously lived this fascinating experience through the evergreen recountals of my grandmother, who was a teenager when the maestro sung this concert in 1941. Even when I listen to the few coarse, muffled recordings of Ariyakudi that are available today, his music conveys a revolutionary spirit of exploration, devoted commitment, and modesty, the gemstones of his character as both a musician and a person.
Those are the qualities I hope to cultivate as a musician, and more importantly, as a human being.