My wife and I were taking our Holiday in Kodaikanal. It was mid-July, the town was empty and the vendors blamed the monsoon for coming in so early. After lunch, we decided to go to Saleth Church, one of my favorite spots. There was thick fog around the church when we reached and looked like it could rain anytime.
We heard the sound of Violin when climbing the steps but we were in a rush to see Mother Mary before someone did, before someone could take advantage of her wishes. It was silly of me to have thought Gods had their daily quota.
On the way down, the music was so subtle and seemed like a recording. When I listen more intently, it is clear that the music is, indeed, live. He was a beggar, should’ve been thrown out of home after living a decent life; I guessed by the quality of his composing. He must have looked for work, found all doors closed, despaired, given up, and now here he is… in an isolated church.
His eyes are fixed on the magical world where the music was composed; his hands share with us all his love, his soul, his enthusiasm, the very best of himself, all his years of study, concentration and discipline; though being a beggar himself.
The one thing he appears not to have understood is that no one, absolutely no one, has gone there to listen to him; in fact there was none at that place. But still he continued to play, not for money but for his own happiness. He didn’t notice us too; he was busy conversing with Mozart’s angels. My wife felt sad for him as she said there were none to witness his music at that time, not even god.
That’s a lie. God is listening. God is in the soul, and in the hands of this man, because he is giving the very best of himself, regardless of whether or not he is noticed, regardless of the money he gets paid. He is playing as if he were at the Opera in Paris. He is playing because that is his fate he had accepted, his joy, and his reason for living.
The Violinist ends and looks up, for the first time, he notices our presence. He gives us a discreet, polite nod, and we do the same. Then he returns to his paradise, and it is best to leave him there, untouched by the world, or even by our timid applause. He is serving as an example to us. Whenever we feel that no one is paying any attention to what we are doing, let us think of that Violinist.
He was talking to God through his work, and nothing else mattered.
We heard the sound of Violin when climbing the steps but we were in a rush to see Mother Mary before someone did, before someone could take advantage of her wishes. It was silly of me to have thought Gods had their daily quota.
On the way down, the music was so subtle and seemed like a recording. When I listen more intently, it is clear that the music is, indeed, live. He was a beggar, should’ve been thrown out of home after living a decent life; I guessed by the quality of his composing. He must have looked for work, found all doors closed, despaired, given up, and now here he is… in an isolated church.
His eyes are fixed on the magical world where the music was composed; his hands share with us all his love, his soul, his enthusiasm, the very best of himself, all his years of study, concentration and discipline; though being a beggar himself.
The one thing he appears not to have understood is that no one, absolutely no one, has gone there to listen to him; in fact there was none at that place. But still he continued to play, not for money but for his own happiness. He didn’t notice us too; he was busy conversing with Mozart’s angels. My wife felt sad for him as she said there were none to witness his music at that time, not even god.
That’s a lie. God is listening. God is in the soul, and in the hands of this man, because he is giving the very best of himself, regardless of whether or not he is noticed, regardless of the money he gets paid. He is playing as if he were at the Opera in Paris. He is playing because that is his fate he had accepted, his joy, and his reason for living.
The Violinist ends and looks up, for the first time, he notices our presence. He gives us a discreet, polite nod, and we do the same. Then he returns to his paradise, and it is best to leave him there, untouched by the world, or even by our timid applause. He is serving as an example to us. Whenever we feel that no one is paying any attention to what we are doing, let us think of that Violinist.
He was talking to God through his work, and nothing else mattered.