I am in India for the second time in my life, five years after the first. Things I most remember from my first trip—a mad fusion of sound and color and beauty and decay--are very much part of my second trip. An almost unbearable level of external stimulus exists here that reminds me (in much larger scope) of New York City. I always give myself twenty-four hours in Manhattan to get my game face on, and then I hit the streets. India is the same for me, but on a massive scale.
I was troubled about coming to India in December. I love Christmas. Not the commercial Christmas—I boycott Black Friday by spending the day donating to charities—but I love the array of sacred music everywhere—concerts all month long. My favorite, the Grace Cathedral Choir of Men and Boys, remains with me for the entire year. I always think of the song In the Bleak Midwinter because the lights in the Cathedral are dimmed as the sacred music spills forth, often on the eve of the darkest, shortest day of the year.
But no solace here. India is constant noise, regardless of the hour. Street dogs barking, cars honking, trucks rumbling up the street, motorbikes everywhere, construction at all hours—a hurly burly (as in noisy confusion, tumult) that pounds through you. But I am an urban creature—given the choice, I vacation in cities all over the world. So I spent yesterday getting my Bengaluru game face ready, and planned to venture out.
Unfortunately I'm jet lagged and couldn’t sleep, so I got up at 5 AM to read. All of a sudden I heard this odd sound. I located it as external, and I opened the door of my balcony. Lo and behold—it was the Muezzin from a nearby Islamic mosque, issuing the predawn first of five calls to prayer. Hauntingly beautiful—I know it is a cliché, but it really was haunting—and I stood entranced, the Muezzin’s voice calling the faithful to praise Allah, the predawn prayer including, “it is better to pray than to sleep.”
Here I was, lamenting the absence of sacred music and when I least expected it, music arrived. A Muezzin’s voice mixed with the still, dark, bleak midwinter December morning in India, and the sounds of the Adhan issued forth. Come to prayer. Come to prayer.
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