A history lesson in a coin

In the early 1970s, soon after my family relocated from Germany to Goa, my father had the presence of mind to shift a basalt stone plaque from the south side of our house (where it was then obscured) to a more visible place. The inscription on it said “CAZA DA MOEDA 1834”. I clearly remember the shifting of the plaque, and the excitement my brother and I experienced on learning that our house was once a mint. We scoured the place all over, hoping to find coins, but found as they say “not a single fotto poiso.”

I took a serious interest in the history of our house as Casa da Moeda when, in a case of history repeating itself, I too relocated back to Goa from England in 2008. My wife drew my attention to the fact that 2009 would mark 175 years since the house had been a mint, and we ought to celebrate the milestone. It took a fresh pair of eyes to appreciate what had been before mine all through my growing years. And so the first Casa da Moeda festival was held that November, and in its preparation I did some in-depth reading on the subject, and even undertook a trip to Lisbon to meet with Casa da Moeda officials there.

Somehow the date 1834 was intriguing. The move of the capital of Estado da Índia from Velha Goa (Old Goa) to Nova Goa (Pangim, today Panaji) had begun several decades before. Was there some significance to the year the Mint was shifted? The answer is still out there. But what I did learn was that 1834 was a cataclysmic year in Portugal’s history, a gripping tale of a War of Succession, whose ripples were felt all the way to this colonial outpost, even to the very walls of our house. I revisited this story again when invited to speak at the Numismatic Conference & Festival at Instituto Menezes Braganza between 7-10 December 2014 and preparing my presentation for it.

The Anglo-Portuguese alliance goes back to 1373, and is still the oldest one in force in the world. During the Napoleonic wars, Portugal refused to be part of Napoleon’s Continental Blockade against Great Britain. As an interesting aside, both countries had monarchs (King George III of the United Kingdom 1760-1820 and Dona Maria I of Portugal 1777-1816) afflicted by ‘madness’ at around the same time, and both probably attributed to porphyria. They were even both treated by the same physician, Francis Willis.

And so it was that when Napoleon’s armies invaded Portugal in 1807, the country was being ruled by the son of Maria I, João (who would later become Dom João VI) as Prince Regent on account of her incapacity due to her illness. When Lisbon was overrun, the royal Braganza family had to flee to Brazil under British escort, to set up a Cortes-in-exile, the only instance in world history where a colony became the seat of government to her own mother country. Napoleon’s victory was short-lived however, because British forces led by Lord Wellesley (later the Duke of Wellington) landed a British army in Lisbon, starting the Peninsular War. This drained the French forces, especially when they were required at the Russian front too. It culminated in British victory at the Battle of Vitoria (1813) in Spain.

Meanwhile, João VI was ruler of the “United Kingdom of Portugal, Brazil and the Algarve”. Interesting how their holdings in Africa and India were left out of the title. Maria I died in Brazil in 1816. After the French were driven out of Portugal, the country was rent asunder by two irreconcilable camps: the conservatives, made up of the landed gentry and the church; and the liberals who wanted a new social, political and economic order. João VI needed to return to Portugal to maintain monarchical rule, so in April 1821 he appointed his son Pedro as Prince Regent of Brazil, and set sail for Lisbon. At his father’s behest, Pedro declared Brazil’s independence from Portugal and became its first Emperor (Pedro I of Brazil), thus ensuring the Braganza family ruled here as well.

When João VI died in 1826, the question of his succession arose. His eldest son was Pedro but neither Brazil nor Portugal wanted the two recently-separated dominions joined together again. So Pedro I of Brazil returned to Portugal to temporarily be Pedro IV of Portugal, but only to draw up a new constitution for Portugal, which would allow him to abdicate the Portuguese throne in favour of his daughter Maria Gloria. As she was just seven years old in 1826, Pedro appointed his younger brother Miguel as regent to rule on her behalf.

The conservatives however now saw Pedro and his heir as Brazilian, and Miguel as ‘true’ Portuguese, and they backed the latter as the true successor. The stage was set for a civil war, with the liberals loyal to Pedro.

Pedro had to act. He hastily abdicated his throne in Brazil, installing his son as Pedro II there, and set sail for England to gather support, and thence to the Azores which were still in liberal hands. Between 1831 and 1834, a civil war raged, with Great Britain and Spain supporting Pedro. He emerged victorious in May 1834. Miguel was banished from Portuguese territory, and fifteen-year-old Maria Gloria (now Dona Maria II) ascended the Portuguese throne. Pedro died in September 1834, months after he wrested the throne back from his brother. Maria II ruled until her death in 1853, incidentally in childbirth, while giving birth to her eleventh child. She ignored advice from doctors to pay heed to the manner in which her own mother had died of obstetric complications. “If I die, I die at my post” was her reply. She is remembered today as “The Good Mother”, Boa Mãe.

Back here in Goa, the conservatives held sway during the civil war of succession. The backlash on the conservatives and their supporters was swift. Those religious orders that had sided with Miguel (now termed “the Pretender” or “the Impostor”) had their silverware and gold confiscated, even the silverware used in celebrating the Eucharist.

Maria II pardao obverseMaria II pardao reverse

So the silver coin you see in obverse and reverse was probably struck from silver procured from confiscated metalware from a church in Old Goa, and it was certainly struck in the building Casa da Moeda Nova Goa that is today our house.

It has D. Maria II in profile, and scarcely does her justice. The reverse has oak and laurel leaves flanking the Portuguese coat-of-arms, a large crowned shield within which are five smaller shields in the shape of a cross, and surrounded by seven castles in the periphery.

Pardau was a monetary unit, and it is confusing to establish the hierarchy, but my reading suggests the following in the 1800s upto 1871: one rupia=2 xerafins=10 tangas=20 pardaus=750 bazarucos-600 réis. I would be interesting to know how one would make a purchase and get change at the market in 1840.

It took a while for coins bearing the figure of Miguel to be removed from circulation and overstruck with that of Maria II. Could the shifting of the Mint to Nova Goa in 1834 had something to do with this war of succession, and not merely to “improve upon the minting process which had deteriorated”, according to the edict (Portaria) of 1834? There is a story waiting to be told.

(An edited version of this article was published on 7 December 2014 in my column ‘On the Upbeat’ in the Panorama section of the Navhind Times Goa India)

This week in Music History: 90th death anniversary of Giacomo Puccini

A special 2-euro San Marino commemorative coin has been issued this year to mark the 90th death anniversary of Giacomo Puccini (22 December 1858 – 29 November 1924). Puccini was the last of a “Golden Age” of Italian operatic composers, “the greatest composer of Italian opera after Verdi”, and some of the world’s most loved operas were written by him.

Giacomo Antonio Domenico Michele Secondo Maria Puccini was born into a musical dynasty going back four generations before him. The Puccini family had held the post of maestro di cappella of the Cattedrale di San Martino in Lucca for 124 years, but little Puccini was only six when his father Michele died and so was too young to continue the lineage. He nevertheless sang in the boys’ choir and later was organist at the Cattedrale. In the absence of a father figure in his life, Giacomo was a bit of a wild child, and it is even claimed he sold some of the cathedral’s organ pipes to buy cigarettes!

He received general education at the seminary, and studied music with his uncle. Puccini’s impetus to devote his life to composing came from watching a performance of Verdi’s famous opera Aida when he was seventeen. He walked 30 km to see the production in Pisa. The story goes that he bluffed his way in without a ticket. He got a scholarship in 1880 to study at the Milan Conservatory, where his teachers included the composers Amilcare Ponchielli and Antonio Bazzini. Milan was the Mecca of its time for opera, with the famous opera house as its high altar of worship, and steeped in the tradition of the great Italian operatic composers. As a city, it was at its peak as well, as the capital of a united Italy. There Puccini wrote the Messa di Gloria, the culmination of his family’s long tradition with church music. Already in this work you see the fingerprints of an operatic composer in the making, and it is often compared with Verdi’s famous Requiem. Puccini’s graduation piece was an orchestral work called Capriccio Sinfonico, which contains a couple of minutes into the composition the same melodic theme he would later use to open his famous masterpiece La bohème to such dramatic effect. Puccini was true to his own voice, his own stylistic sound, from the very beginning.

At Ponchielli’s encouragement, Puccini wrote his first opera Le Villi in 1883. It was entered into a competition which was famously won by Puccini’s contemporary Pietro Mascagni for Cavalleria Rusticana. Nevertheless Le Villi still impressed the right people to help Puccini launch his career as an operatic composer.

His next opera Edgar (1889) was a dud, largely due to the fact that it had a weak plot and a poorly written libretto. For his next opera Manon Lescaut (1893), Puccini announced he would write his own libretto so that “no fool of a librettist” could ruin it. It was fate that brought the duo Luigi Illica and Giuseppe Giacosa to collaborate with Puccini to complete the opera, and it was a huge success. The duo went on to write the libretti for many of Puccini’s greatest operas.

A string of successful operas followed, which are still mainstream repertoire today: La bohème (premiered in Turin in 1896 conducted by Arturo Toscanini); Tosca (1900, arguably Puccini’s first verismo opera, opera with ‘realistic’ depictions of everyday life); Madama Butterfly (1904); La fanciulla del West (1910); La rondine (1917); Il trittico (a triptych of three short operas with contrasting moods: Il tabarro, Suor Angelica and Gianni Schicchi 1918); and Turandot (left unfinished and completed posthumously based on Puccini’s sketches).

Some of the most iconic arias in the entire operatic repertory were written by him: Che gelida manina (La bohème); Recondita armonia, E lucevan le stelle, and Vissi d’arte (Tosca); Un bel di (“One fine day” from Madama Butterfly); O mio babbino caro (Gianni Schicchi); Nessun dorma (Turandot). The last went on to become a football anthem and Luciano Pavarotti’s signature aria after the 1990 World Cup. Puccini’s operas are by far the entry point to the world of classical music in general and to opera in particular to millions all over the world.

Opera producer Jonathan Miller in the BBC documentary series “Great Composers” devoted to Puccini describes him as a “master dramatist, a musical dramatist on a par with Mozart.” Soprano Julia Migenes qualifies this by saying that unlike Mozart’s music, which “goes to the mind”, Puccini’s music goes straight to the heart.

He certainly had an instinct, not only as an orchestral colourist and possessing a great knowledge of the human voice as an instrument, but is able to let the music bubble up to the surface as it were, at just the right moment to reflect the emotional mood of the setting. In Migenes’ words, “he seems to have had a great sense of acting in his music.”

The metaphor is a good one, because Puccini writes his music and plans his scenes the way a master movie director or producer would work with film today, knowing just how long a scene ought to last before it seems like “too much of a good thing.” He obviously learned a trick or two from Verdi’s operas.

Puccini had his ear to the ground to the musical developments brought about by his contemporaries further afield as well. The revolutionary opening of the Prelude to Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde (the now-famous “Tristan chord”) influenced his own prelude at the beginning of Act III of Manon Lescaut, where he quotes a lot of the love themes that have unfolded in the opera until this point. Other influences include Bizet, Debussy (the whole-tone scale from Debussy’s Pelléas et Melisande creeps into Madama Butterfly) and Stravinsky.

There is a little of Puccini in his own opera. In La bohème, he seems to allude to his own impoverished yet bohemian young student days. Apparently he got so involved in writing this opera that he broke down at the point where Mimi dies, saying “I’ve just seen my child die!”

He was obsessed with dramatic accuracy, getting his details right. For instance when writing Tosca, he did field research, climbing to the top of Rome’s Castel Sant’Angelo and the other sites to take in the sounds and use them in his score. The result is a “campanological symphony”, where he mimics the bells of Rome in Act III. Similarly the lake near his Torre del Lago house is believed to have inspired much of the music of Madama Butterfly, “local, Japanese and universal all at once.” He didn’t visit Japan, but invited a Japanese soprano to his house for six months as part of his “research”. For Turandot, he listened to phonographs of Chinese music and called up people for advice. A friend had been to China and returned with music boxes from there. He used one of these tunes to create the theme for Princess Turandot.

Having said that, three of his operas (Madama Butterfly, Fanciulla del West and Turandot) are set in exotic locales (Japan, the Wild West and China respectively) that Puccini never ever visited.

He evokes water again very vividly in the opening of Il Tabarro. He layers the orchestral texture, and it ebbs and flows in varying time signatures, with swells of woodwinds. The basses are the boats, floating on the rest of the flowing orchestral texture.

His passion trickled into his personal life, eloping with the married woman Elvira Geminiani who would eventually become his wife, with a tempestuous marriage punctuated by serial philandering on his part.

Puccini lived in exciting times of modernisation, and technology fascinated him. Thomas Edison was a personal friend, a gifted him a gramophone. He bought an early radio set, cameras, a motorcycle, cars, motorboats, and procured a telephone as soon as it could be installed in his home.

In 1924, he was diagnosed with advanced throat cancer, brought on by his heavy smoking. He went to a Brussels clinic, where the treatment involved surgery and a radium collar, whose side-effects caused him tremendous suffering. Belgium accorded him a state funeral, and his remains returned to Torre del Lago.

Puccini’s death brought the curtain down on a “Golden Age” of Italian operatic composers, but in Miller’s words, he was also a “prophet” and pioneer of what we today regard as popular modern music. He has left his mark on Broadway, with overt adaptations of his works (Rent is based on La bohème; Miss Saigon on Madama Butterfly) and much more subtle but deep influences on the whole genre.

(An edited version of this article was published on 30 November 2014 in my column ‘On the Upbeat’ in the Panorama section of the Navhind Times Goa India)

Meeting other Starfish-throwers in Scotland


It’s such a small world really. I was one of 150 delegates (and the only one from India) chosen to participate in the first of its kind, International Sistema Teachers’ Conference organised by Sistema Scotland last month. And when Jesús Morin Duarte from El Sistema Venezuela addressed us on the opening day, I had the distinct impression that I had seen him before, yet couldn’t for the life of me figure out how this could be possible. It became when I went up to him and introduced myself. I also told him in my rudimentary Spanish how the electrifying concert by El Sistema Venezuela’s flagship ensemble (they now have several more, and just as fine) the Simón Bolívar Youth Orchestra at the BBC Proms festival at the Royal Albert Hall London in 2007 literally changed my life, in influencing my decision to turn my back on a career as a GP in the UK and return home to set up Child’s Play India Foundation, inspired by the principles of El Sistema. “I was in the cello section in the orchestra, so I played in that concert too!” he smiled at me, eyes twinkling. So that’s how I had seen him before. And here we were, seven eventful years later, in the UK again, but meeting under different circumstances. I was no longer a spectator from the sidelines, but one of the Sistema family.

Jesus Morin at Sistema Scotland

Duarte acknowledged the wide expanse of this family when he said “El Sistema is a work-in-progress, improvised and developed every day everywhere in the world. Indeed, we were a manifestation of this. There were 150 of us, from 27 countries spanning North and South America, Europe, the British Isles, Asia, Africa and Oceania.

So if any of us were looking for an instruction manual on how to replicate the phenomenal success of the El Sistema music revolution, quite frankly there isn’t one.

For the uninitiated: El Sistema is a publicly financed voluntary sector music education programme in Venezuela founded in 1975 by Venezuelan educator, musician and activist José Antonio Abreu. It provides free classical music education that “promotes opportunity and development for impoverished children”.

Beginning with 11 children in an underground parking garage, El Sistema Venezuela has now grown to fulfil its promise in its mission statement to hundreds of thousands of children, and will have a presence in every Venezuelan school reaching out to 500,000 children each year by 2015. Its 2009 statistics reveal that it has “102 youth orchestras, 55 children’s orchestras, and 270 music centres—and close to 250,000 musicians.” Their poster boy among musicians is undoubtedly Gustavo Dudamel, a conductor with a meteoric career and already at the helm of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, infusing it with his zany brand of Latin American energy.

Although the Sistema movement remained a Latin American ‘secret’ for the first decade or so, news of its power to transform communities through social inclusion and change has now got the rest of the world to sit up and take notice. The 2007 London Proms concert had a deep influence on many others besides me. Months after it, the UK government invested £332 million in music education. Julian Lloyd Webber noted that they had “an impoverished South American nation to thank” for their “miraculous” performance. He was appointed chairman of the steering group of In Harmony an El Sistema-based British government-led music education and community development project focussed on impoverished areas of England.

What I saw and experienced first-hand in Scotland is even more impressive. Sistema Scotland was established with a grant from the Scottish Arts Council, as a result of an initiative by its chairman Richard Holloway, for the purpose of breaking the cycle of poverty in the economically depressed area of Raploch, in Stirling, where male life expectancy is less than 63 years. Since then they have expanded to Govanhill, another impoverished area with a large immigrant community, and plans are afoot to go to Aberdeen as well.

The Govanhill project in particular ought to silence those critics who believe that certain people from certain backgrounds cannot take to western classical music easily. Govanhill has a sizeable Pakistani population, many of them newly arrived from their country. I heard first-generation young children from Jhelum and Lahore play student arrangements of classical masterpieces such as Dvořák’s “From the New World” with as much gusto, feeling and love as their counterparts from Scotland and Eastern Europe in their youth orchestra. They were able to do this in a matter of weeks and months. For anyone to think that children in Goa from a shelter in St. Inez, or schools in Caranzalem or Aldona, or a hutment in Bardez should be any different from children anywhere else in the world is patently absurd. A hushed silence descended on a busy cafeteria at the conference when I played a video of our kids’ playing to other delegates. The sound of their playing with such confidence and poise drew in everyone’s attention. Seasoned teachers marvelled at the fact that our children had got to this level in such a short time, and with such meagre resources and funding. Imagine what India’s children could do with improvements on both counts.

India is currently riding on a high wave of national pride. If we truly believe in our children, we have to collectively invest in their future, just as Venezuela, Scotland, the rest of the United Kingdom and so many other parts of the world have done. In 2012, the Haitian government signed a pact with Venezuela to roll out a Sistema-styled national project across their country.

Richard Holloway from Sistema Scotland ended his speech with the story of the man who was asked why he was even bothering to hurl starfish washed ashore on the beach back into the sea, as there’d be tens of thousands more he wouldn’t be able to save. And the man replied that pointless as it might seem, it nevertheless made all the difference to the starfish that he did manage to return to the sea. “We are all starfish throwers”, said Holloway. “Let us continue to make a difference to as many lives as we are able to touch.” Indeed.

(An edited version of this article was published on 23 November 2014 in my column ‘On the Upbeat’ in the Panorama section of the Navhind Times Goa India)

“The potential of the youth in Goa is really quite huge”

Goan-origin violinist Sanya Myla Cotta and her mentor Professor Ulf Klausenitzer are in Goa, in advance of the rest of the contingent of musicians scheduled to arrive in Goa from Germany for the upcoming David Menezes Violin competition and the Indo-German Confluence music festival. They spoke in an exclusive interview to the Navhind Times, along with Schubert Cotta, liaison co-ordinator and organiser of these events.

Welcome back to Goa, Herr Professor Klausenitzer! Could you tell us a little about what you have planned for the coming music events.

UK: This is part of the continuing tradition, as we have been doing at each visit to Goa over the years. I am this time in Goa for a month, which is longer than previous visits, so we are able to do more. I am this time round able to give more lessons, and this is important. People here are “hungry” to learn and are so enthusiastic. Teaching pupils who are so eager to learn is wonderful.

The David Menezes Violin competition will be held at Menezes Braganza hall on 25 & 26 November 2014. The five finalists will perform on the second day. The jury, apart from me, will include accomplished musicians and pedagogues from Germany and Belgium.

There will also be concerts of sacred music on 28 & 29 November, in North Goa (St. Jerome church Mapusa) and South Goa (Nossa Senhora de Saude, Cuncolim) respectively, in celebration of the Exposition of the sacred relics of St Francis Xavier this year. We have also been invited to give a concert in Belgaum on 30 November.

Sanya, you are the perfect bridge between East and West, as you have been shuttling back and forth between Germany and India literally since your birth. You inhabit both worlds comfortably. How do you view the music scene here over the years, and how can we make things even better?

Sa C: Over the years there has certainly been improvement, as has the awareness about music in general. There is still more room for improvement, of course. Music should be taught in schools, by teachers properly trained to do this. It will also help create employment for trained musicians. I see also a change among parents of pupils coming to me now. They sit through the lesson, they take notes, and are really interested in the process. And they will bring their children to concerts, I’m sure. Students are coming more regularly, and this time they are even younger, which is good. And of course, I’m been working with teachers as well, as I have done on past visits. The potential of the youth here is really quite huge.

So yes, the future does look bright in many respects. Schubert, you’ve been organising music events for many years, and now the David Menezes violin competition, the Indo-German Confluence concerts as well. What has been your experience from your vantage point?

Sch C: My passion for music made me want to organise events. One impetus was the fact that my own children were interested in and studying music. I felt we have to create the infrastructure. And I’ve always wanted to dream big. Whatever one starts, there has to be continuity to it. Planning events on this scale takes years of planning in advance. Schedules and itineraries have to be co-ordinated, and this takes a lot of correspondence, follow-up and commitment. Once the dates are aligned, one then books the concert venue, which is not always a sure thing. Then one has to appeal to sponsors. The CMM group has been very supportive here, as have our other sponsors.

Competitions had been organised before in Goa during my youth, but they suddenly stopped after a couple of runs. I did not want this to happen to something I organised. When one begins something of a certain standard, one has to maintain it for some years. Then it gets its own energy. We are on the verge of getting there with the David Menezes violin competition. And the reason we built the festival (Indo-German confluence) around it is that this way we also get a jury for the competition, and one event helps the other. And then comes the reaching out to contestants far and wide, making them aware of the competition and encouraging them to participate, and maintaining a standard all the while.

Through the organisation of events, one develops a network of contacts, whom you remain in touch with, and these are helpful for the future.

Then there is also the publicity, with invitations to the press for coverage, and encouraging from the public a culture of concert attendance, which gives these events a sense of occasion. To this end I also add a touch of glamour to these events, dressing up the stage and so forth. This makes these events inviting to those who wouldn’t otherwise have attended a concert. I feel this is important in the initial phase. There will come a time when it will be less and less necessary. One hopes that by this time, we’ll have achieved a robust concert-going public.

Now that you are in a position to offer more time for Goa and India, Prof. Klausenitzer, what are the plans you have in mind?

UK: I hope that the need for pedagogy can be addressed, and I would like to spend more and more time in Goa teaching, if the conditions to make this happen can be created. Goa with its natural scenic beauty is ideally poised to be an attractive destination for musicians and pedagogues, and it can easily become a cultural hub not just for India but for the whole world. All it takes would be the investment in a truly purpose-built concert hall with really good acoustics, and the rest is already there. With the Cotta family and yourself, there is already a good team working towards making Goa a significant destination for music, for concerts as well as for pedagogy of the highest level. Together we can make all this happen.

(An edited version of this article was published on 22 November 2014 in the Navhind Times Goa India)

In print: What were those ‘Italian ladies’ singing about?


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shawshank redemption

The 1994 American drama film The Shawshank Redemption is one of my favourite films, and ranks #1 among the “Top 250 list” of Internet Movie Database (IMDb). It has a great cast, an irresistible plot reminiscent at least in some respects of The Count of Monte Cristo in that a wrongly-accused protagonist is jailed for years in a prison from which escape seems quite impossible. But whereas the escape begins the story, setting off a spate of revenge in Monte Cristo, in Shawshank the whole film builds up inexorably but nevertheless surprisingly to a spectacular jail break by Andy Dufresne (Tim Robbins), and the most audacious settling of scores with his corrupt, unscrupulous warden.

One particularly memorable scene from the film captures the essence of the film, its message of inner freedom regardless of external circumstances.

Dufresne has been assigned to the prison library and receives a library donation of LPs (long-playing records) that includes a recording of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s opera buffa or comic opera ‘Le Nozze di Figaro’ (The Marriage of Figaro). He plays an excerpt from it on the public address system, and is punished with two weeks of solitary confinement for his stunt.

The excerpt he plays is the Letter Duet or the Canzonetta Sull’aria for two sopranos. The music that is broadcast throughout the prison via the public address system lifts the spirits of the inmates. Dufresne’s friend Red (played magnificently by Morgan Freeman) is the narrator through the film, and describes the episode:

“I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don’t want to know. Some things are best left unsaid. I’d like to think they were singing about something so beautiful, it can’t be expressed in words, and makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you, those voices soared higher and farther than anybody in a gray place dares to dream. It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away, and for the briefest of moments, every last man in Shawshank felt free.”

Freeman’s lines eloquently belie the notion that one needs to ‘understand’ opera and its libretto in order to savour it and enjoy it, something that keeps many people at bay from even giving opera a chance.

But what were “those two Italian ladies” singing about? The aria is a duettino (short duet) from the third act of the opera. Countess Rosina Almaviva dictates a letter to her maid Susanna (who is bride-to-be of Figaro, valet to the Count Almaviva). The philandering Count has his eye on young Susanna, and the two women set a trap for him, to expose his infidelity.

The letter invites the Count to a rendezvous that night with Susanna, “under the pines”. The title “Sull’aria…che soave zeffiretto” translates into “On the breeze..what a gentle little zephyr (wind).” The text of the dictated letter contains just three lines, and is suggestive: “What a gentle little Zephyr; This evening will sigh; Under the pines in the little grove.” The duo conclude their aria singing “And the rest he’ll understand.” “Susanna” will of course be the Countess disguised as her, and the Count will be caught red-handed.

The letter-writing lends itself perfectly to the structure of this beautiful aria, with the Countess first dictating a line, and Susanna repeating it as she writes it down. The strings have an undulating line, where they simply ‘open out’ the chord progression as ‘arpeggios’. A simple expedient, but in the hands of Mozart, it becomes sublime. The woodwinds almost become participants in the conversation, at first giving us a foretaste of the Countess’ opening line, and then ‘answering’ in a three-way dialogue.

There is some irony in the choice of this particular aria in the film. The aria revolves around exposing duplicity and infidelity, while Dufresne is framed for a murder resulting from his own wife’s extramarital affair.

The singers in the ravishing rendition you hear in The Shawshank Redemption are Gundula Janowitz (the Countess) and Edith Mathis (Susanna), with the orchestra of the Deutsche Oper Berlin conducted by Karl Böhm, recorded in 1968 and packaged onto a 4-LP box set. It is one such set that Dufresne blows the dust off, removes the record from its sleeve, and gently places in on the turntable and the stylus right at the beginning of the aria. It lets us, the viewer, know that Andy Dufresne is a pretty discerning classical music buff. He not only chooses this recording of the opera from among all the other records donated to the library, but is able to zero in on this precise aria.

The film helped renew interest in not just the opera or this aria, but also this particular recording. The Wikipedia entries for both the sopranos, Janowitz and Mathis mention their contribution to the Shawshank Redemption soundtrack. Edith Mathis is considered a true Mozartian singer, and this is one of her notable Mozart recordings of her career. Likewise, Janowitz is highly regarded for her role as the Countess Almaviva.

And cyberspace is full of accounts of people who describe the music at this point in the film as the most beautiful they ever heard in their lives, or who it made them weep for its sheer beauty.

Nearer home, Patricia Rozario and Joanne D’Mello sang it in Goa at their last public concert.

The opera (1786) has its libretto (text) written by the great librettist Lorenzo da Ponte (1739-1838) and is based on the play by Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais (1732-1799). Mozart loved exploring themes inspired by the spirit of the Enlightenment, reflecting the environment he was living in, where the man on the street was beginning to strike back against the institutionalised oppression of the aristocracy. The Marriage of Figaro has it all: servants who are smarter than and able to outwit their tyrannical, insolent masters. It predates the French Revolution by a mere 5 years, and Napoleon would later go on to observe that the Marriage of Figaro, both in the form of the play by Beaumarchais and Mozart’s opera, were the “Revolution in action”.

In the Beaumarchais play, the “letter episode” (tucked away in Act Four of the five-act play, which took four and a half hours when performed unedited) is over in a few sentences, perhaps under a minute. Trust the genius of Mozart to turn this little episode in the libretto into the most divine, achingly beautiful three and a half minutes of music ever written.

(An edited version of this article was published on 16 November 2014 in my column ‘On the Upbeat’ in the Panorama section of the Navhind Times Goa India)

In print: Reading between the lines — and on them as well!


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To read or not to read

There is an inside joke in the music world that goes like this:

How do you stop a ‘classical’ musician from playing? Take away his sheet music.

How do you stop a jazz/folk/bluegrass/popular musician from playing? Put sheet music in front of him.

This has a strong ring of truth to it. There are of course always notable exceptions to the contrary, but generally musicians trained to play what is regarded as ‘classical’ music tend to be musically literate, often to the point of being unable to play without sheet music; whereas those who opt for other genres are less dependent on music scores, often to the point of music illiteracy.

I grew up learning music at a young age in Goa, at the St Cecilia Music School in my vaddo of São Tomé. I must have been five or six. We began with solfeggio, and only when we were considered ‘literate enough’, was an instrument pressed into our hands. I still remember the day I was called out of solfeggio class to try on a violin for size. It felt like a rite of passage, a coming of age, even though I had had a few violin lessons privately at home already.

But there was a gradual dichotomy among us; those of us who moved on to playing ‘popular’ and jazz music gradually ‘liberated’ themselves from the demands of sheet music. I remember an older boy defensively taunting us for not being able to ‘freak out’ on our instrument as he was able to, when it became obvious he couldn’t read a music score in front of him. Indeed, a music score in that respect can be seen as a ‘prison’, with its ‘bars’ and the prison bar-like appearance of the musical stave. Freedom from a musical score can allow a musician to give full rein to one’s expression. There is no compulsion to play “the same thing” over and over. But is one ever playing “the same thing” ever, even in a notated score? Each reading is necessarily subtly different, however imperceptibly. There are limitations to notation; as much as it tells us, there is much it cannot, no matter how explicit the signage and musical terminology regarding tempo and expressiveness.

There is a definite downside to this ‘freedom’ from the score, however. I have so many friends and acquaintances in Goa, who, like me, began with a solfeggio education with their mestre in their parish, and perhaps even learned to play an instrument, usually the violin, to a certain level, before being seduced by the charms of popular music or having to put music to the backburner due to academic pressure. This meant that they over time lost their ability to read music. In fact, some of them argue they never did have it, although I can clearly remember that they did. And now, despite being passionate lovers of music, and genuinely wishing to be part of a community music activity like a choir, and being able to pitch really well and in general having all the other qualities required of a choral singer, they feel terrified by a music score. There is consequently an over-reliance on MIDI files and video recordings of each individual line of a part harmony score. To be fair, one can achieve results this way as well. But the process takes much, much longer. And there is the real danger that if a line is wrongly played out in the MIDI file or video, a whole section or more could mis-learn their part.

This is really unfortunate, because with basic music literacy and sight-reading skills much new ground can be covered by a choir and exciting new frontiers can be explored. It is commonplace in England for people for different walks of life who did not know each other previously, to congregate over a weekend, and sing from scratch all of Handel’s Messiah or Mendelssohn’s Elijah oratorios. They are not professionals, but rank amateurs, and are able to do this merely because they can read a score.

The good news is that sightreading and sight-singing is easily acquired though practice, by learning to the detect patterns in the ‘shape’ and contours of the musical line, and learning to accurately measure the distance or interval from one note to the next. Over time, one will learn to recognise an interval of an octave, or a perfect fourth or fifth, wherever it may occur in the musical line. Anyone who has been able to plot a line or a curve on an x-y axis at school can learn to read music. The principles are the same. A music score is essentially a graph of music pitch (how high or low a note is) on the y-axis, against time on the x-axis.

In the end, the analogy with language still holds. Being able to read the printed or written word, while not crucial to sustaining life, is certainly important in expanding one’s thinking and getting ahead in life. Similarly, while one can certainly become a musician without being musically literate (the famous tenor Luciano Pavarotti, for instance, had limited music-reading skills, which affected his ability to learn new parts or to follow the orchestral score), whole new ravishing treasure troves of sound are just waiting to be explored and savoured if one makes the effort to learn to read.

What about those who feel that their pure, divine Muse might actually be stifled or silenced if they had the temerity to try and learn to read? The Jazz great Louis Armstrong comes to mind. When he was asked if he knew how to read music, he replied “Not enough to hurt my playing”. Make of that retort what you will. I think he was trying to say that knowing to read music does not necessarily mean you have something to “say” in musical terms. However, if you do have something to say, then learning to read and write music will actually help, and make you a better musician.

(An edited version of this article was published on 9 November 2014 in my column ‘On the Upbeat’ in the Panorama section of the Navhind Times Goa India)

In print: Crossing over to the Dark Side: Romancing the “Cinderella of the Orchestra”




Like so many of us in Goa, my formal introduction to music learning was at the violin. All my major music achievements have been on this instrument. So why is it that, half a lifetime later, I find myself cradling its larger cousin, the viola, in my hands?

I became aware of the existence of violas and violists in Goa when I began playing in various string ensembles in my teens, and later with the Bombay Chamber Orchestra. But while I was aware of the differences (bigger, heavier instrument, tuned a fifth lower than a violin, read a different clef), somehow my curiosity did not extend to seriously trying out a viola myself, let alone taking it up.

But then in the 1990s I got employed in England, and a whole new world opened up. Orchestra rehearsals were much more intense and prolonged, and this is when I really got interested in the instrument. The choice of works (by Vaughan Williams, William Walton, Antonin Dvořák) also exposed me to the sheer chocolatey rich timbre of the instrument, and the lush writing for it in orchestral and chamber music.

Also, any observer of the classical music scene in India, especially when it comes to ensemble playing will soon note that there is a serious deficiency in the lower strings, both in number and quality. While pedagogy for cello is in a league by itself, it is quite possible to make the switch from violin to viola.

On one of my biannual return visits home, I dropped in at Furtados and bought myself a viola and took it back with me with the intention of learning to play it. But the demands of my medical career, and my violin playing in chamber groups and orchestras taking up the scant free time remaining, ensured that this happened at a plodding pace at best.

On returning to India, I auditioned in 2011 to play violin in an orchestra here. And when conductor Vijay Upadhyaya enquired if I’d be happy to take up the viola as there were no takers for those positions, I leapt at the chance. We had a concert in six weeks, and I knew it would give me the impetus I needed to really learn to read the alto clef and to find my way about the instrument.

Since then, my life has changed. Although I still get asked to play violin on occasion, I get called out much more as a violist when it comes to chamber and orchestral playing. That’s the wonderful thing about being a violist. You’re far more in demand than you would be as a violinist. Violinists are a dime a dozen.

Playing one of the solo viola parts in Bach’s Third Brandenburg Concerto at the 2013 Monte festival was a real turning point for me, a baptism with fire, my first ‘big’ viola achievement, considering I was just two years old on the instrument.

The viola and violists are the butt of many good-natured jokes, on account no doubt of the unwieldiness of the instrument, its deeper tone, the paucity of virtuoso writing for it, and the relatively simpler part writing for it in chamber and orchestral music compared to the violin.

But we are in extremely good company. You’d be surprised to learn how many great composers actually themselves preferred playing viola to violin in ensembles. Let’s start with the ‘big’ ones: Johann Sebastian Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert. Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach wrote about his illustrious father: “As the greatest expert and judge of harmony, he liked best to play the viola, with appropriate loudness and softness”.

But there’s also Monteverdi, Johann Stamitz, Mendelssohn, the great violin virtuoso Paganini, Dvořák, Vaughan Williams, Eduardo Lalo, Ottorino Respighi, Paul Hindemith, Darius Milhaud, Benjamin Britten, Frank Bridge, Carl Nielsen, all the way to Miklós Rósza and Kenji Bunch. Hindemith was a very respectable violist in his own right, besides being a composer.

My friend George Trautwein had introduced me in 1989 to the recordings of the viola greats from the past, Lionel Tertis and William Primrose. But in England, I was also exposed to some superlative viola playing by contemporary stalwarts. I was able to hear Yuri Bashmet, Rudolf Barshai and Pinchas Zukerman. I particularly remember the electrifying performance at the 2006 BBC Proms of Lawrence Power playing viola (who happened to be from the same town I was working in as GP by then) to Maxim Vengerov’s violin in the wonderful Sinfonia Concertante by Mozart. Power really demonstrated the ability of the viola to sing, the lushness of its tone. And the writing for it is just as challenging as for the violin. And why not? Mozart was master of both.

And although the repertoire for viola is not as copious as for its more histrionic (and highly strung?) cousin the violin, there are some sterling concertos and other works for viola and orchestra, notably by William Walton, Telemann, Bartók, Bruch, Bowen, Bainbridge, Casadesus, Hofmeister, Hindemith, Martinů, Milhaud, Musgrave, Penderecki, Piston, Pletnev, Rolla, for some strange reason all the Stamitzes (Anton, Carl and Johann). Berlioz’s Harold in Italy is a viola concerto in all but name. Richard Strauss’s tone poem Don Quixote is scored for viola, cello and orchestra, with the cello representing the eponymous hero, and the combined forces of viola, tenor tuba and bass clarinet his comic sidekick Sancho Panza.

In so much ensemble writing in general, the viola far from being just another ‘layer’ in part-writing, is actually the glue that holds the composition together. Try listening to a Mozart string quartet or a Dvořák symphony without the viola line, and it becomes obvious. Dvořák and Vaughan Williams in particular wrote some wonderful orchestral parts for viola, and violists are eternally grateful for this.

And the vantage point in the orchestra is unique. The viola is close to the violins and the cellos, as well as to the woodwind and brass. I’ve learned so much about the genius of the great composers, their brilliant ensemble writing from this plum location.

The belief that only those who can’t cut it as violinists take up viola is so unjust. All the good violists in my circle are wonderful violinists as well. In fact, once you take up the viola, the violin seems like a facile instrument, as it suddenly feels so much smaller, and the shifts and stretches seem far easier. Paganini knew this well. So did so many other violin pedagogues like Max Rostal and Oscar Shumsky. The great living violinists Pinchas Zukerman, Shlomo Mintz and Maxim Vengerov play both with consummate ease, and have parallel careers as violists as well.

So come over, violin colleagues, to the Dark Side! A whole new world beckons.

(An edited version of this article was published on 2 November 2014 in my column ‘On the Upbeat’ in the Panorama section of the Navhind Times Goa India)

In Print: Is that Handel calling? Ombra my phone!


Music and ceell phones

The inveterate quizzers among you will know that the famous Nokia ringtone is a snippet from bars 13-16 of Gran Vals, a composition for solo guitar by Spanish composer Francisco Tárrega. And there are so many other ringtones that are snatches of other classical music tunes (The ‘Lone Ranger’ excerpt from Rossini’s William Tell overture, Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, to name just some of them). Music to your ears? Well, it depends.

The ubiquitous mobile phone has been receiving a large dose of attention on music websites, forums and in the news in general. This compact little device is rightly or wrongly being regarded as an indispensible appendage to people in all walks of life, regardless of age or income.

There are several functions on the mobile phone that bring them into conflict and controversy in the concert hall.

First of all, its very intrinsic function as a phone. It is routine at concert venues around the world for announcements to be made advising patrons to take a moment to switch off their phones. I learnt to my chagrin (thankfully not at a concert!) that merely switching one’s phone into silent or even flight mode does not ensure its silence. If an alarm has been pre-set for a certain time, it will go off regardless. So the only fool-proof option is to switch if off.

However, I am sure that many of you will have been at a concert (or in the cinema or in church) where a phone did go off. In fact, many of us have gotten so inured to such an occurrence that it even somehow seems ‘normal.’ What’s the big deal, one might ask?

Plenty, in fact. Here’s what German pianist-conductor Christian Zacharias had to say after he stopped playing a Haydn piano concerto in mid-performance after a phone rang (twice!) in Gothenburg concert hall, Sweden: “Sometimes it is just too much! …Especially when you get to this moment where the music gets more and more silent and more magical, then I say No. People should realise the music lives on something completely different…The general attitude is sometimes just awful. Music provides a rare moment when our mind can go and focus on one thing. We have prepared this (the music), and this is the least you can do to honour it, in listening, and being there in silence.”

Joyce diDonato defused a similar situation at Teatro La Scala Milan when playing Desdemona in Rossini’s Otello by turning to the audience to ask if it was Rossini calling to comment on her performance of his aria.

One quick-thinking concert violist Lukáš Kmiť incorporated the Nokia ringtone into his performance when a phone rang (thankfully at the end of a movement but ruining the moment nevertheless) while he was playing a Bach suite at the Orthodox Jewish Synagogue in Presov Slovakia. He played a little set of variations on the Nokia tune to much amused applause before resuming his recital.

A phone went off during the closing pages of Mahler’s Ninth Symphony as Alan Gilbert conducted the New York Philharmonic at Avery Fisher Hall in 2012. The malefactor was found to be a rather shamefaced elderly subscriber who had recently purchased an iPhone and obviously hadn’t figured out how to shut it up. Apparently he has still not lived it down.

The other function any self-respecting smartphone today has is the camera and video option. These also come with their own catalogue of issues.

Last year, Krystian Zimmermann, one of the world’s leading pianists stormed off the stage at a concert at the Ruhr Piano Festival, Essen Germany. The reason? A concertgoer was filming as he played. He requested the person to stop but he didn’t, upon which Zimmermann interrupted the recital and walked off.

Zimmermann returned a few moments later and said “The destruction of music because of YouTube is enormous.” He explained that he had lost recording assignments because the recording companies pointed out to him that those works were already in the public domain through YouTube. I have had visiting performers to Goa tell a similar story. The director of the festival at which Zimmermann played went to the extent of labelling illicit recordings of live concerts as “theft, pure and simple.”

Another issue is that the often appalling quality (visual, audio or both) of the recording can further jeopardise the prospects of a musician, especially one starting their career. A performer having an unusually bad night can have it return to haunt him/her through a recording in the public domain for a long time to come.

Concert violinist James Ehnes has written an insightful article titled “Smartphones in the Concert Hall” for the Huffington Post. He describes an episode where an audience member filmed his performance, and Ehnes’ reaction swayed from “surprise and mild annoyance” to even feeling a little flattered for a moment. He contemplates that a YouTube recording could even widen his reach, getting to nooks and crannies where a live performance never could. But then he makes a compelling argument: “This is how I make my living, and recording a performance changes the economics. When someone buys a ticket to a performance, they are paying to hear that performance once. One could say that it’s a rental, not a purchase. And they are paying for themselves to hear it, not for their friends, families or internet followers. There are those who might accuse me of being miserly, feeling that it is my duty and privilege to share the art of music, but consider the parallel: if I pay someone to mow my lawn, that doesn’t mean that at the push of a button they should mow my lawn again for free, or mow the lawns of my neighbours and friends. A job is a job, and bills are bills. A one-time mow doesn’t cost the same as a weekly lawn service.”

(An edited version of this article was published on 26 October 2014 in my column ‘On the Upbeat’ in the Panorama section of the Navhind Times Goa India)

Give me Hope, Mozart!

Cosi fan tutte

It is not unusual for directors at opera house around the world, when staging operas even in the standard repertory, to transport the setting to a time and place far removed from that mentioned in the original libretto. In fact, it is almost de rigeur for this to be the case.

Don Giovanni set in a ghetto, Norma uprooted from pagan Gaul into puritanical 19th century America, a puppet-show version of Wagner’s Ring cycle, Rigoletto as bartender to his Mafioso don instead of the Duke. It’s all been done by now. It doesn’t even raise eyebrows anymore. Sometimes it works, a lot of the time it doesn’t. But opera directors carry on regardless.

So it should come as no surprise then, if Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s opera buffa (comic opera) Così fan tutte were set within a Syrian refugee home in 2014 instead of 18th century Naples. But this is the real thing. In May 2014, a group of over seventy refugees from war-torn Syria were housed a world away from the strife, in the tranquil ambience of a Franciscan monastery Oggelsbeuren in the district of Biberach in southwest Germany’s Upper Swabia. They became participants of an unique opera project.

The opera title Così fan tutte literally means “Thus do all [women]” in Italian, and is popularly used to mean “Women are like that”. The enigmatic title is taken from the words sung by the three men in the cast (Guglielmo, Ferrando and Don Alfonso) in Act 2 Scene 13, just before the finale. Don Alfonso, an old philosopher, lays a wager to the two young officers Guglielmo and Ferrando that their fiancées (Dorabella and Fiordiligi, respectively), in whose fidelity they have unswerving faith, will cheat on them given the first opportunity. The whole opera is built upon this idea.

Mezzo-soprano Cornelia Lanz, in an interview to BBC television, explained,”Our director (Bernd Schmitt) had the idea to put the setting of Così fan tutte into a refugee home… because the whole bet idea can derive from boredom. And where is there more of this than in a refugee home?”

Lanz, who plays Dorabella, has dreamt of playing a part in Così fan tutte since her teens. The concept took flight after she contacted Father Alfred Toennis, who is founder of the charity Give a Home, in Oggelsbeuren.

When the idea of this opera project was first mooted to the refugees sheltering at the monastery, there was some hesitation and even scepticism. Among them was Ahmad Osmani, who had been imprisoned for six months by forces of PresidentBashir al-Assad’s regime. But he was won over as well, and now describes the experience as “a great thing in my life.”

The rehearsal sessions involved daily physical, breathing and vocal exercises, language and diction workshops, and rehearsals with the chorus and crew to assimilate Syrian songs and dance into the production. The rehearsals had an open-door policy, and visitors were encouraged.

The opera project went a long way in integrating the refugees with the local village community. It has also given the refugees a new sense of meaning and purpose, and put an end to the humdrum monotony of their existence in their newly adopted country. Eighteen- year-old Mayza Chemali spoke to BBC TV of the transformative effect of the opera on her perspective and outlook for the future in Germany. The refugees and local villagers, and the opera production crew all worked together to set up the stage for the opera.

The opera also provides a medium for giving the refugees a voice, and to spread their message to a much wider audience. Syrian freedom songs and some stories of individual refugees have been incorporated into the libretto of Così fan tutte. Osmani explains “We are here because of war. We are asking for peace, this is our message. We are looking for peace. Stop war. Enough blood. This is our message.” His weary eyes betray the horrors that he has seen first-hand.

Lanz met regularly with the refugee community and through conversations and rehearsals, heard the stories of their turbulent lives and felt the need to”instil a strong and clear message of hope and peace” into the adaptation. “I am very touched and very hurt by what war does to people”, she said.

Lanz wishes the message of peace to transcend the conflict in Syria. “In the middle of a rehearsal, one of the refugees got a message that some of their family members in Syria had been killed, and that signifies why we want this opera to be a message of peace for Syrians, and also for the whole world.”

This unique production of Così fan tutte premiered in Stuttgart at the Theaterhaus on Sunday 5 October 2014.

(An edited version of this article was published on 19 October 2014 in my column ‘On the Upbeat’ in the Panorama section of the Navhind Times Goa India)

In Print: NCPA’s ON Stage magazine, October 2014 issue

June is always a special month for Child’s Play India Foundation, thanks to the World Busk initiative (www.worldbusk.org), in which we have been actively participating since its inception in 2009. This year we had two events, in Panjim and in Aldona, featuring the combined forces of our Suzuki violin children from both those locations. And our ensemble Camerata Child’s Play India comprising young musicians from the wider community performed as well. It was created in April 2013 with one of its goals being to eventually give a platform to our own Child’s Play kids to play in public some day. I was thrilled that Irfan Shimpigar joined the second violins for these concerts.

He played along with us at our well-received concert at Santa Cruz church in August too. Our violin kids stole the show again. One of the highlights of the programme was Georg Philipp Telemann’s famous viola concerto in G major (TWV 51: G9), played by Pablo Travé Gonzalez from Spain. It was Camerata’s twelfth concert since its creation, and it continues to enrich Goa’s cultural life.

Our young violin teacher Stefi Cruz did Child’s Play proud, representing us in the Commonwealth Youth Orchestra in three concert performances in the Royal Concert Hall Glasgow, and St. James’s Palace and the Commonwealth Secretariat, Marlborough House, London as part of the build-up to the Commonwealth Games Glasgow 2014. We were among just two institutions chosen to represent India in this partnership.

We have had a number of volunteers visit and work with us as well. In July-August, we were happy to receive again Santiago Lusardi Girelli and four young musicians (violins, viola and flute) from the University of Seville, Spain. In August we were also visited by Anya Hirdaramani, an Indian-origin Sri Lankan girl currently studying in the UK. She really helped us to strengthen our cello project at a crucial time for us. She taught me the rudiments so that I could work from scratch with a new batch of seven children, the youngest barely six. In a matter of weeks, they are able to play single-octave scales beginning from open strings (C, G and D) and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. A German volunteer is now working with them since early September, and will be with us for a year, during which time he will teach not only the children, but me as well and a couple of older children who have the flair for the instrument and could possibly become teachers. One of them is already working with the younger children to ensure that practice sessions happen daily.

India needs all the help it can get in developing pedagogy for strings, and it is even more acute for viola and cello. It is for this reason that I took up viola a few years ago, and now it is as a violist that I am more in demand, although the violin is still my primary instrument. Since June, I have begun teaching viola to three very bright, enthusiastic 11 year old girls at Child’s Play, and they are able to play scales and simple tunes with gusto. They played at their school on Teachers’ Day, something that gave them a tremendous shot in the arm.

We were visited in July by Avi Mehta, graduate of the Sistema Fellows Program at the New England Conservatory, and actively involved with Sistema USA in Boston. He flew into Goa specially to visit us at Child’s Play, as he has a keen interest in El Sistema-inspired programs around the world. His feedback to us was very encouraging. It was instructive to learn that many issues faced by music education programs (for instance, the struggle for funding, the shrinkage of time for practice and music lessons due to encroachment by mainstream school work) are common across the world. Avi’s observations helped crystallise in my mind what it takes to have a successful project. It is the magic combination of five ingredients: dynamic, inspiring teacher; enthusiastic and hardworking children; supportive collaborator (e.g. the principal of the school or supervisor at the place where the sessions take place); adequate space; and just as crucially, enough time every day spent with the instrument.

In Hamara School Santa Inez where we first began Child’s Play, we have the first three prerequisites. We are even gradually winning the battle for time, although it is still not enough. But the issue of space continues to dog us, and needs to be addressed very seriously as we grow.


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