Running for India III- and then I glided on the tide of humanity
On 20th Feb 2011, I ran the 20th Austin half-marathon with 20,000 other fellow runners- of which I knew about 20. Just before the break of dawn, the fireworks went up in the air, and the runners took off with the silhouette of the Texas Capitol wishing them luck. For some of us at the back, it started more with walking than running for the initial few minutes. The running cloud drifted forward, diluting and spreading, but never enough to see more than a patch of 15 inches of empty space around you. But then, the world has a habit of making room for you when you know where you are going. As we made the first turn of the course, the sound of Taiko drums welcomed us aboard. To me it was a welcome to the meditative journey the long run was inviting me to.
The running crowd filled up the roads, and what was left on the sides was filled by the cheerers. No matter where I looked, I just saw infinite heads. The road seemed to breathe with the collective sound and movement-pulsating and dancing as the runners sprinted up and down the hilly course. If at first the runners and the supporters seemed to bear no relation to each other, they then fused into a single unpartitionable experience. Together everyone blended in, as parts of the whole, making an intriguing fusion of challenge and celebration.
Yet, each individual runner brought a unique flavor to the flowing body-in age, in size, in appearance, in the color of their athletic garb, in spirit. The couple who married at mile 22.5 and finished together as happily married and fresh as can be. The man with only one foot sprinted ahead with resolve. So did every eighty-year old I saw. The young girl who struggled and cried her way forward, but never stopped. The man whose T-shirt read ‘My kid made me run’ and matching every stride was his son who was physically challenged. For age never stands in the way of achieving what you are determined to do. Neither does handicap.
The cheerers were equally distinctive- the one who shouted ‘Go, random runner!’, the ones with vuvuzelas and the fancy whistles, the shy ones who weren’t sure what to say, the worried ones who weren’t sure if they had missed out the specific runner they had come to cheer for, the relaxed ones who just came to enjoy the spectacle with their lawn chairs and morning coffee, the musicians who played live music that uplifted the spirit on difficult patches, the kid who offered me a banana when I just needed it, and the one who was competing with his sister on who got more high fives from the runners! No matter what they did, or said, just them being there, was often enough to help the runners plunge ahead. For some the race was about focus and timing, for others it was about spreading a message. For some it was both. But whether you started the run with a reason or not, living through this experience and getting acquainted with the character of the city itself, was enough to leave you completely inspired. And what a remarkable tour of the city it was!
For a long time on the course, I ran with an old man. Often one of us would stride ahead, then slow down a little on a harder patch, and soon the other would catch up. By mile 7, we were familiar enough with each other’s presence to exchange an affirmative nod or smile at water stops. And then at mile 10, he waived at me, barged ahead, and was gone beyond my horizon in sixty seconds. So old, yet so young, I wondered. I wish I could have kept up with him. I would have loved to talked with him after the race. But my 10 mile accomplice had disappeared in the crowd, and I slid back into my thoughts intercepted in between by the interesting sights of people all around.
A beginner runner that I am, I still run with pristine intentions of enjoying running. I haven’t learnt the art of making it complicated yet. So, no complicated gadgets to monitor my heart-rate, no abstruse timers or GPS, no fancy shoes, no music player with the right playlist to match my rhythm. It did not matter if it was not the right time of the day, or the right temperature. I was just enjoying the running, scrounging water and Gatorade at every stop, smiling at every cheerer who stood there on the side, reading every placard there was in those innumerable hands. The only expectation I had was to do it better than what I did when I ran the same distance before, and to do it in decent shape. If the day was a little too humid and the winds a little too heavy, it did not bother me too much. If it took slightly longer than I wanted it to, I was still happy. I kept it simple, and my body was happy to oblige. I couldn’t ask for more, could I?
I ran the half marathon in two hours and six minutes, and finished just in time to cheer for a bulk of the other runners I knew, and all those who I did not. Hey, I was there before the guy who finished first in the full marathon category, and shouted out, ‘way to go!’ as he took his last steps towards the finish line! More importantly, I am glad I was there before Sid got to the finish line and could be a part of his fantastic finish (Sid is the fastest and most focussed runner in the AID running group). For the next two hours, Adi, Shrawan, Archana and I, roared out loud to encourage every runner who needed that push and that uplifting smile. I thought it was like getting the best of both the worlds, getting the runners’ high (exhaustion followed by exhilaration), and the cheerers’ high (shouting at the top of your lungs that leaves you as exhausted as the runners and then delighting in their finish). We even managed to get the cops commissioned at an intersection to shout out for the runners. The spirit of enthusiasm is quite contagious.
I can go on writing about the race and the experience of the event itself. But there was more that I signed up for. This article will not be complete until I touch upon that. When I took up the challenge of running this distance, I had also committed myself to raising awareness and funds about grassroots development in India. A LOT of people supported me in this journey. Some of them, very dear to me, who I know will always support me no matter what. Some, who encouraged me with all their heart and that’s all that mattered. Some, who were touched by the cause that these funds will support. Some, who have taught me the most meaningful lessons of my life. Some, who spread the word, and asked their friends to read my experience. Some, who did not even know me, yet stepped forward and donated generously. Thank you! At the end of the day, whether you did it for me, or for a larger cause, you have taken a step forward to help someone who really needs help. All the blessings are for you to keep!
Keep posted, until next year. For that is when I take on an even bigger challenge- going the entire 26.2 miles, and perhaps beyond!
Life at 5 mph
I haven’t written poetry in a while. But recently, a conversation with a friend made me go back and look at some from the time gone by. I wrote this one in December, 2010. I have spent quite sometime at the Town lake trail, and even more so last year. My more recent memories of it are full of runners. So it was interesting to go back and reflect on the time before I knew anyone there i.e. the time of unknown knowns.
Saturday morning, its late December
There is me, the water, and the Town Lake Trail
and of course, the regulars. The unknown knowns.
The water is cold, the air colder
there is something sublime about the cold,
Inclement. Indulgent. Fresh.
hits on my face, enters deep down
and vanishes into my resolve.
as I walk alone.
I stop briefly at Pfluger Pedestrian
to greet my overlooking friends
of glass. Steel. Concrete. And bold structure
I move on, yet they stand tall
smiling at me from the same spot
meditating friends of lonely times.
An unknown known jogs past me
our eyes meet, mine and his dog
an invite to join the exploratory tour
of pure, unadulterated fun
not today I said
I am not running
today I shall walk, my pace
and breath in symphony
contemplating my life at 5 mph.
Running for India II- half way and beyond
“..at first you may pant sharply
in and out with every step.
so what?
run a little more,
dancingly, joyfully,
loving this gift we’ve all been given
and little by little
as your run lengthens
your breath will lengthen. “
~ The Zen of Running by Fred Rohe
I have been running for a while now. My first long run was a 2 mile loop and that had left me breathless and exhausted. And then slowly and gradually the runs became longer yet easier, rewarding, and dandy. In the process I had some of the most engaging and interesting conversations with my regular co-runners. If not for them the transition from the initial 2 mile to a daunting half marathon, would never have been so much fun. Neither would have been the enthusiasm with which I look forward to my runs. The week after week of runs has earned me some wonderful friends, admirable acquaintances, and a love for the dignity of running itself.
Running, like walking, provides me a visually-pleasurable experience- by the water, o’er the hills, on the sidewalks, on concrete, on tar, on grass, over bridges, by roads covered in snow- at a pace where I can look around and breathe in the beauty and diversity of the surface I venture onto. There is art on the roads that we never even notice when we drive. Never have I been more aware of maintaining a rhythm between my breathing and the touch of ground- breathe-in-step-breathe-out-step, breathe-in-step-breathe-out-step. The distance, the cramps, the fatigue humble me. The fight to go longer despite fatigue, the exhaustion, the rhythm, the lightness of being gratify me. I am not running for winning, or competing with someone else. I am winning over my own limitations. I am defeating my own old self and strengthening my potential in every new run. Its teaching me patience like no other activity before has. I have used myriad ways to encourage myself to keep going- pep talks, singing-both silently and aloud, thinking that I owe it to those friends and volunteers who generously and selflessly take time out to offer us water and energy drinks, imagining the smiling face of a poor child that will benefit from the funds that I am raising as I run, and those who have donated their hard earned money because they trust and support me. The beauty of it is, I don’t have to, but I want to keep going.
The times when I am so damn tired that I just want to give up and even pep talk does not work, all I need to do is focus on my breath, on my now, on just that present, and hold onto my ground one step at a time. Isn’t that what life calls for too? – one step at a time..the rough patch won’t last forever. Going slow when the going gets rough, walking a little if that’s what it takes. Keeping hydrated. Stretching when all is done and every single day. Keeping injury at bay.
My first official race was the Decker Challenge Half Marathon. 13.1 miles. 12th December 2010. The course was very hilly and the weather was very windy and chilly. I was tired and the last mile was the longest mile ever. Yet when I was 100m away from the finish line, the encouragement from unknown faces and voices, shouting out and reaching out to you to take those last few steps gallantly was mind blowing. The runners’ high. The gratification. The smile on your face that wouldn’t fade away. A major milestone that was forever removed from my psyche as a barrier. A half marathon was very much achievable. It was time to go beyond. Running a full marathon will take yet another 13.1 miles beyond that. That is no mean task. And I am still nowhere near it and don’t know how long it will take me to get there. Maybe this February, maybe next. I know sooner rather than later I’ll get there. The process is painful and daunting. That elusive finish line is far far away. But I am still looking forward to it and I am lovin’ every bit of this learning process!
If you are reading this, and have forever procrastinated putting on those running shoes, do take the first step. Trust me, you will be amazed at how far it will take you!
Running for India I-The idea of running a marathon
As a kid, the only sport I was good at was running. Or any sport that required running really fast. There I was – the shortest by every standard, in every age segment I ever competed in – and yet I could dash ahead of the tallest athlete in the race. Oh, I feel the rush of the excitement, even now as I think of it!
But my contribution to the running team was limited to short races, 100m, 200m, 4 X 100m relays, and to stretch it really far, 400m. I remember the one time our Sports coach instructed me to run the 800m for a race. The first 200m was a breeze and I was by far ahead of anyone on the field, the next 200m exhausting but doable, I puffed and panted and gasped for breath as I did the next 200m, but the last 200m was beyond anything I thought could be humanly possible! I had already hit the wall, and the only thing I wanted was to vanish in thin air. Even as my body screamed in pain with every step I put forward and begged me to stop, my mind was awfully aware of the ticking timer, and the bashing I would receive from the coach when we get back to school.
That vivid imagination was enough to prevent me from stopping and giving up, but not to give me the magic energy I needed to thrust forward. Needless to say, I was the last athlete who crossed the finish line. My team and the cheerers still clapped for me, but that exhaustion humbled me. After that day neither I nor my coach wanted me to run the 800m challenge for the school team. And so every year when our team would go to compete for the zonals1, I would only be the sprinter for the 100m and 200m categories.
Since those were the first race events of the day, my job as a runner would be over within minutes of reaching the venue. After that I would stand on the sides of the field as the longer runs took place – the damned 800m, the ill-fated 1200m, and the unthinkable cross-country! Standing there as a spectator, cheering for my school team, I had my moments of silence when time slowed down and I gaped at the awe-inspiring physical strength those runners had, sharply in contrast to the agony of the one time I ran 800m. But I also wondered if I could do it too, if I ran that distance again, and again, and again. Didn’t the instructor always say that the strength on the field was more mental and less physical? ‘Some day, maybe,’ I mused to myself.
Soon though, I graduated from school, and sports too became history after that. I never got the opportunity or took the initiative to compete in college sports. I honestly didn’t even think I stood a chance amongst those full-sized, professional-looking muscular athletes. I was happy to define the parameters of my physical fitness with brisk walking and the occasional short jogs.
The Mumbai Marathon started in 2004, and that’s when I was really introduced to the idea that some people actually thought of running 26.2 miles! That is insane, I thought. But I also wished for the strength to do it myself. That is when the idea germinated.
When I came to US, marathons were everywhere. Every city had its own special edition. It was amazing to see how many people took up the challenge. The more I thought of the distance, the more it divided me into two parts – one that sent a shiver down my spine with the thought of running that distance, and the other that wanted me to take the plunge and overcome the dread of that 800m race from a long time ago. I volunteered for races, and cheered for the runners as they made their way to the finish line – some shouted out loud, some even cried. I could feel the exhaustion, the pride and the adrenaline rush. I wanted to be in their shoes.
Now, wanting and doing are two very different things. And a marathon is a different league altogether. And as much as I wanted to run, I procrastinated running, unable to find the courage to break those mental fetters. Then last year, I saw a video that shook me2. It was a about a team of a father and son (Team Hoyt) that has participated in 238 triathlons, 22 duathlons, 68 marathons, 27 Boston marathons3. These numbers are astounding, and more so when you get to know that the son suffers from cerebral palsy4. The son cannot walk, run, bike or swim. Yet they run as a team – the father runs and pushes his son in a wheelchair – and together they have crossed hundreds of finishing lines. I felt humbled and completely inspired. I knew I was running the marathon next year – or at least a half marathon.
It’s amazing how everything started to lead me in that direction once I decided that. I started to bump into unrelated people who had run or were training for marathons. This is when I got to know about the ‘Run for India’ program organized by AID (Association for India’s Development)5. AID is an entirely volunteer-driven non-profit organization that works towards grassroots development in India. The projects that AID funds span a myriad spectrum: rural development, awareness about social causes, gender inequality, caste discrimination, advancement of agricultural practices, relief and rehabilitation after natural disasters, improvement of the quality and accessibility of education etc. The idea is simple, the cause is beautiful and the process is transparent; you present yourself with the mammoth challenge of running a full marathon (or half), and reach out to your family and friends to donate for your cause. The funds that get generated are utilized for development projects in India.
As I wake up early, put on my running shoes and my sleepy smile, and head out in the chill of the still dark Sunday morning, to feel the rhythm as my feet beat on the drum of Austin roads, I know I am not alone.
Am I up for the personal challenge? Yes, I am, and I will Run for India!
- Zonals were competitions where athletes from different schools across the city competed against each other. The winners of the zonals would then compete at the State level and so forth.
- Video on Team Hoyt: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z22s5DzqQdQ&feature=related
- Team Hoyt website: http://www.teamhoyt.com/index.html
- Cerebral Palsy- is a condition, sometimes thought of as a group of disorders that can involve brain and nervous system functions such as movement, learning, hearing, seeing, and thinking. For more:http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000716.htm
- More on AID: http://www.aidindia.org/main/
This article was first published for Nazar on 5th Nov 2010.
Cellular propriety
This happens around quite a bit – you get an awesome seat for a performance or a movie or anything you have been dying to watch, and just when the best part comes, the cell phone trapped deep in the pocket of the guy sitting next to you cries out most outrageously, and by the time it is salvaged from the deep crevices of his pocket, oh dear, you have missed out the best part!
Then, there is this concept of private-conversations-turned-public. People who take public transport would very well understand what that is. And I have had the misfortune to witness several break-ups, someone exclaiming ‘Fuck you, Ass hole!’ on the phone so loudly that you would rather be startled if it was you who was being addressed. The one that still makes me sad, was when this guy on the phone started crying because of a marital discord. Then there is that lady, who is perhaps not used to taking the public transport, and gossips about her own kin so theatrically over the phone, that you would think there is more drama in that than the book you are trying so hard to read.
The worst, and the one that forced me to write on the subject, was when taking the Delhi Metro (which is indisputably a very well maintained service). There are frequent announcements requesting the commuters to respect public etiquette – one of which is to not play music aloud. Just five minutes after the announcement, a middle aged man started playing music on loudspeaker on his cell phone. At first I thought it was just another ring tone, but then it went on endlessly. I looked up at the man, and for two minutes fixed my gaze at him, to make him notice that some people may not be enjoying his music or actions. He looked back at me, increased the volume and smiled nastily. What was he thinking? Was he getting a kick out of abusing a system?
These ‘hard to miss’ conversations and actions leave you with myriad emotions – irritated, amused, sorry, annoyed, sometimes curious, but almost always make you wonder if people even give it a thought. Cellular phones have made connectivity in life not just a convenience but also a necessity. But to turn our ‘convenience’ into ‘inconvenience’ for someone else is not acceptable. How hard is it to keep the ring tones silent when in public places? Or to refrain from talking loudly or to be considerate of others? Maybe someone is sick, or has a head ache, or has nothing but just wants to be at peace. The ornamental status of cell phones is history, let’s give cellular propriety a thought.
The guileless charm of life?
No one wants to die, even people who dream of heaven, don’t love the thought of death. The instinct tells you (whether you are a human, a bird, a worm, a butterfly, a plant or a bacteria) to fight it out to live…and that you will see through the great tide of adversity if you could find that little safe haven for shelter while the sky cries to flood and the earth seethes to burn. The trick (or luck?) is to find that shelter.
Yesterday wasn’t the usual hot day. Well, days usually go by inside the buildings, yet the hot air often lingers on through the evening to give a testament to what the afternoon had to offer. So to see a dark cloud cover and streaks of purple discharge dazzling through the sky felt like a relief. ‘At least it would get a little cooler’. But what was the next thought that came to mind? ‘Run! get home as fast as u can- lest you get stuck in the storm’. Shelter. Safe. Home.
I did manage to reach home decently dry…to find a blob of feathers squeezed in the little space between the door and the floor mat. ‘What is that? No, it’s a baby bird. Is she injured? Can she fly? Is she fledging? How did she get here? How long has she been lying here?’ The closer I went to her, the more she tried to squeeze in that space, eyes tight shut, body stiff, perhaps cold too. She was the size of my hand, but both of us were scared of each other. It made sense that she was scared of me- big, unlike her, unacquainted, potential predator. I was scared because I scared her. I knew if I went any closer, the beak will strike in defense. So I stepped back. ‘What should I do? What kind of a bird is she- with a striking yellow beak? Would her mother be frantically looking for her? I know I should not be feeding the bird. Its pouring. If the rain doesn’t kill her, the cats that I often see around will. Oh, do something!’ I fished for a small cardboard box (glad, I was lazy to not throw the box when the last package came), poked holes in it, padded it with soft paper towels, and went back to this little guest. With a paper towel in hand, I tried to gently caress her back. Initially very very stiff, I could sense her body relax a little. ‘Well, that’s a start buddy’. Caressing was fine, though I still didn’t have the courage to lift her off the ground. The next task was to make her enter the box. ‘Oh boy, did I think we had become friends? fool!’. After 20 minutes of coaxing, and unlimited cycles of closing and opening her eyes, she moved a little. ‘Good, doesn’t look injured. But looks very uncomfortable walking’. Inch by inch, with a little poking, there she was in the box. I got the box inside, put another soft tissue over her, shut off the lights of that room, went to the other room. Two unrelated lives under one roof (maybe there were more, but at least I was cognizant of the two of us). I checked after a few minutes to find her sleeping. Blissful. Beautiful. Safe.
I am a lazy morning person. I almost never hear my alarm ring. And I never get on my feet the moment my eyes open. Neither of these happened today, I woke up to a chirping sound, and the moment I heard that I jumped out of the bed. ‘Wow, was that her? Hey, she is still alive!’ When I approached the box, there she was on her little feet, very much alive, but stiff as a stone when she saw me. ‘Did she make that sound? or was it from outside?’. It was time to challenge her skills. I took the box to the patio and left it there. Five minutes. Nothing. Fifteen. Nothing. The box was very shallow, but may be not shallow enough for her. Another idea dawned, I took the box to a nearby shrub and tilted it, this made her get into a very uncomfortable position. I knew till the time she senses me around, she wouldn’t budge, so I went back home. Fifteen minutes later, the box was empty. I looked around the bush, under it, close to it. Nowhere. ’Where did she go? Did her mother find her? Did she manage to fly? Yaay! Did a cat see her instead?’ These will in fact always remain as questions in my mind.
They say our lives are defined by the summation of our recollections and memories. For me, this would make a sweet memory. For her? may be not.
Things I don’t understand..
1. Why do people like to be super-connected..or alternatively, why do people dislike spending time with themselves? If you can’t enjoy your own company, who else will?
2. When someone says I like to bike, the usual response is ‘ wow, thats cool!’..when someone says I like to walk, the reaction goes ‘Oh ok’..isn’t being able to walk all day cool?
3. Why are the most-uncomfortable-footwear-ever (read pointed heels) considered fashionable, and the plain-old-tried-and-tested-very-comfortable running shoes (ok, they should be clean!) not? Why doesn’t comfort decide fashion? Why do people even care about fashion?
4. Why on earth do women (I guess men too) go crazy about make-up or make-up clad people? Why does ‘cosmetic’ represent ‘aesthetic’?
5. You meet a random person and you have an interesting conversation. Why is the conversation interpreted differently depending on whether this ‘random person’ is a male or a female? Why do you have to worry and hope that a message of sexual interest isn’t getting across even though you would have conversed the same way irrespective?
6. Why does Murphy’s law work when it shouldn’t?..lol (for those who don’t get the conflict: Murphy’s law states that “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong”)
7. Why do buses arrive early when you reach the bus stop dashing-and-panting a minute late, and late when you get there early? (I am not alone! “Mr. Conductor loathes me“ )
8. Why does mail sent by regular post (the kind for which you don’t get a tracking number), always get lost!?
9. Why doesn’t my university invite a Ig Nobel prize winner to give a seminar? http://improbable.com/ig/winners/
10. Why do people look forward to getting drunk/ high etc. so much? Why is the sense of losing control so lucrative?
(There’s got to be more things, but nothing else is coming to my mind right now.)
Pianistic virtuosity-Anton Kuerti
Since I know how to play not a single musical instrument – I sometimes miss how intricately difficult a piece is to play. But even though I may not know the mechanics, the sound and its feel tells me a lot. I appreciate music from its sound-now dramatic, now sad, now ecstatic, now calm, now fast, now slow, now subtle, now playful, now melancholic, now rejoicing. Based on this amateurish appreciation I have also come to learn that good music, of any genre, makes you feel the mood that it creates, and not-so-good music, simply leaves your ear drums irritated. Well, I’ll keep my analysis of not-so-good music for some other day, because today, all I have is praises for some wonderful music I heard yesterday. 
Anton Kuerti is one of the best pianists in the world today, and I had the pleasure to hear him perform here in Austin. About 70 in age, but nowhere near a 70- year old in energy, he was not just a wonderful performer but also a wonderful teacher. He recreated the magic of Beethoven’s “Appassionata” and the “Diabelli Variations”. What he did before he played the Diabelli Variations, is what I am extremely thankful to him for, because it certainly enhanced the quality of my experience, once I could notice the details. He dissected apart the variations to show how astonishingly repetitive yet so overwhelmingly interconnected they were. I found the sensitivity for his audience to help them in appreciation, quite humbly respectable. As he recapitulated Beethoven’s intensity, a friend remarked how he reminded of Beethoven himself in appearance, I couldn’t help but agree.
I enjoyed the 33 variations a lot more than the first half, one because I could notice the nuances that my ear was trained to do just a few minutes before, but also because of how I felt while I heard the sonata. I closed my eyes as the modulations and the continuity of the music swept me into different worlds. It was a beautiful kind of concentration, that left me in awe. I painted on the canvas of my imagination with colors and textures as the sounds of the variations spanned a panorama of musical textures and human emotions. My palette with its dash of colors- reds, yellows, greens, violets, blues, blacks, in all forms, resonated with the vibrance of the sound surrounding me. There were times when my thoughts did transgress into other worlds-people, experiments, and then suddenly the reverberations of a new note and its repetition would catch my attention- and quite certainly leave the connoisseur in me amused.. 
Who? Selfish! Me?? Naah!
I have thought about this subject of self-centeredness of our lives several times now..and although my thoughts are not absolutely coherent yet, I think I can put it in some words.
“He doesn’t care about me” “I was hurt” “I should be the center of attention” “I felt bad” “She thinks she can take me for granted” ” I want things to be done this way” “She is so selfish not to see I felt so bad” “I will make her suffer cause she hurt me” “Why does he never do anything that I want?” “I know what I am talking about you better not get into my way”
How often do we think of such sentences? Often, maybe? Such thoughts full of “I,me, myself, my way, my world, my choice, my likes, my dislikes, my happiness, my sorrow, my love, my passion, my interest, my everything”..what are these if not an obsession with ourselves..the obsession to control others..the obsession to run the world on our terms..The more I observe people, the more I notice that people use such sentences a whole lot when they are calling other people selfish.
I am not necessarily saying that one should not think about what “I want”, but doesn’t it get a little too ironic sometimes? Just some fodder for thought..
The melody of rhythm
the melody of rhythm
I was at the live music concert of Bela Fleck, Zakir Hussain, and Edgar Meyer- all three virtuosos of their own instruments, and all three world famous for their works. Blame it on my ignorance, I knew only of Zakir Hussain- and after all which Indian does not know of Zakir Hussain! Whatever my state of mind and expectation was before I went inside the concert hall, I came out mesmerized equally by all three, and their spectacular performance.
Fleck was playing the Banjo, Hussain was with his array of tablas, and Meyer was at the double bass. Let me start with Meyer first, one does not need to be trained in music to understand how difficult an instrument Bass clearly is. Also with such a low pitch, the sound of the instrument naturally blends with the background when another instrument is played with it. But inspite of that the uniqueness of the contribution of his instrument in the music trio was no less evident- like it was providing an aura, a halo to the melody!
Zakir Hussain- what can I say of the man, I have grown up seeing him on TV, have heard his recorded work, but never seen him perform in person. It took me 25 years and a journey across the world to finally see his performance. And what a joy it is! The excitement, the passion, the energy, the speed, the taal, reflects not just in the sound of his percussion instrument, but also on his face and in his expressions. At times when I tried to concentrate at his fingers on the drums while listening to the music, I was amazed at the speed at which his fingers danced on the multiple drums in front of him. It appeared as if his fingers danced in air, while the drums made sounds in appreciation of their performance. The on-stage rapport between Fleck and Hussain, was something I especially enjoyed! Every time Hussain tuned his tabla with a hammer, Fleck had an amused look on his face, and the exchange of looks and actions was quite entertaining. 
Fleck with his banjo was more than spectacular. If I were to pick one instrument of the three, I would say it was the sound of the banjo coming from the perfected hands of Fleck that was the most beautiful, and added sweetness to the overall melody. What struck me the most was how different each of these instruments was from the other, so much that one might not even be able to imagine how well they would go together. But honestly, the three made it sound wonderful-well they are the best at what they do, but they were excellent even in the team work. The sound from each instrument was unique by itself, but together they blended into one another, like everything flew with the water of melody. Often this water would start flowing slowly, gradually picking up pace, gush, momentum, volume, immersing you in it and then entering your body. The music flew through you, pulsating with the heart, flowing with the blood to every tissue and cell. It uplifts you, soothes you, lightens you, smiles at you, and then blends into the sound of hands getting together to clap in applause. You cannot but help to give a standing ovation to such work. I may not remember the music they played, or how the instruments sounded together, but I shall always remember the lightness of being I felt sitting there and the effect it had on my mind. Mesmerising!
