Serendipity

I had a vague notion that I might look into the study of Indian flute while I’m here in Mysore; in my late teens and early twenties I was really serious about classical and jazz flute and I still mess around with the instrument occasionally, so I thought it could be interesting to undertake a little investigation of how they do it over here, especially as flute music relates to the chanting practice that is part of yoga study, as well. The plan, though, was sort of a “maybe;” I hadn’t made any preparations of contacts beforehand, so clearly, my commitment wasn’t all that serious.

But yesterday, as I was eating my lunch, I heard flute music coming from down the street, so later, I wandered down that way and found it was coming from a house that had a plaque on it that read “K.P. Upadhyaya, Flutist.” So, I thought that next time I saw my landlady, I might ask her if she knew the guy and maybe take a few baby steps towards connecting with him.

As it turned out, she showed up at my door last night with some stuff for my apartment, so I asked her off-handedly if she knew Mr. Upadhyaya, which resulted in her marching me over there, banging on his door, and introducing me to him—all much more quickly than I had in mind for it to happen.

I sat in his living room and he asked me if I played the flute; I allowed that I did, a bit; he took me upstairs to his classroom and we sat there and played the bansuri together for half an hour or so.

Now, I’m taking lessons from him, and it’s not just flute, it’s music theory, metaphysics, and philosophy, too. Today he explained to me how music, all sound, in fact, is what he called a “disturbance” in the universal, essential silence. The background observes all, although is unobserved.

It all made sense, in a way that seemed very similar to the views of one of my favorite wacky British empiricists, George Bishop Berkeley.

I didn’t expect it, but I think this is part of why I came to India.

Now, I just have to get myself my own flute.