The Playground of Prepubescence
The other day I was listening to some Scarlatti sonatas late at night, and memories of my childhood immediately flooded my mind. Piano music from the classical era does that to me all the time--Haydn, Mozart and early Beethoven.
The sound of piano was a great part of my childhood. I had two neighbours who had children practising the piano all the time, and the sound of classical pieces were always there in the air, like something emanating from the trees and hills which I was surrounded with. Classical pieces always sound rustic to me, evoking scenes of peaceful dalliance with nature: the warm brush of morning sunlight on my cheek, the incessant chirp of birds--those merry troubadours of the skies, flitting from branch to branch, amidst the orchestral cacophony of insects from the forest.
Even today, whenever I chance upon a child practising the piano someone in my neighbourhood, I would smile and feel envious of that happy innocence, which is the privilege of the young. To be able to glimpse that, even a little, from our urban trenches, soothes our weary souls and evokes a promise of a world that perhaps is still self-rejuvenating.
Every generation, hopefully rediscovers that innate beauty that comes from innocence, and that becomes the wellspring of hope that nourishes the adult years. Adulthood is in many ways an expulsion from paradise, a fall that tests our mettle and resolve and forces us to question who were really are. Somewhere inside, there's that kernel of a child who has refused to grow up and longs for a return to that state of grace, which is our birthright.
Can this unresolved yearning be turned outward instead, as a wellspring of creativity? True creativity is simply play, nature's forces finding expression. Forces which the child commands at will but which the adult struggles to marshal. Every great work of art at its core has that signature of that creative child, couched in the sophistication of adulthood.
The child converses with nature through play. The universe intimates its secrets to him. The child understands it intuitively and we adults have to interpret it through laborious words and concepts. Our best ideas are the response of the child to the mysteries posed by nature. And then we clothe the response of a child, in the language of adults, for the scrutiny of other adults.
Our best moments are when we are able to express this inner child in our everyday lives. And that is what I strive to do: to listen, to continue kindling the spirit of play, to engage this child which has never left the playground of prepubescence.
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