There is an angel atop the dome of Victoria Memorial in Calcutta. It a actually a very big statue (copper on iron) of an angel set on a huge basin of mercury. The mercury keeps the angel in a state of floatation. The angel carries a flute, and the entire statue is a wind-vane which shows the wind direction. The concept is an engineering marvel, the angel has to be kept afloat so as to enable the statue to swing and swerve with the wind. In recent years, the mercury topping up in the basin has not been regular. Something to do with the cracks that have developed on the dome. The angel is stationary most times. This is a huge pity, for in my childhood the angel was a source of wonder to me.
We lived in South Calcutta..... Keyatola, Sarat Banerjee Road, New Alipur, Lansdowne Road ....... and when there was a storm abrewing or a kal-baishakhi approaching, my Dad would take us to the Victoria Memorial to watch the angel change directions with the wind, and more than ever to hear the music that the angel would play. The angel carried an uplifted flute on her lips and the flute was (and still is) graduated with the notes of the entire octave. The wind blowing through the flute would play a sharp high pitched tune. Hardly to be heard unless one knew how to keep an ear open for it. High above the sound of the storm and the traffic of the city road, our ears were tuned to the music that the angel played. An ethereal music. All it's own. If ever the term
"Music of the Universe" can be applied on Earth, I guess it would be the angel playing it's flute on a stormy April afternoon with a kal-baishakhi raging over the city.
The story given to me by my Dad (and I believe the story, because there is a similar short story by a famous Bengali author) is very interesting. An old story, which not too many people are aware of.
My Dad and his friend Ashok Roy used to frequent Firpo's and other bars. Very much like what 20+ men did then , and do now. Most days when returning from Firpo's it would get late and they would be the last to leave the bar. Outside Firpo's there would be an old man with a violin who played beautifully and what is more he played Western Classical. Dad had a keen ear and was extremely fond of good music. No matter how late or how drunk, Dad would wait a good ten minutes to hear the music, tip the old man sufficiently and then drive home. Once when both Ashok Roy and Dad had had a drink too many and there was a storm blowing, it was decided that driving the old Baby Austin would not be such a good idea. Both of them were standing in the arcade waiting (to get sober? the storm to abate?) and listening to the music of Abdul Mian ..... for that was what the violinist was called. Eventually Abdul turned to go home, and the storm by that time had also lost a bit of it's might. Dad offered to drop Abdul Mian home, specially as he was blind, and the roads were wet. Abdul however refused saying that he knew his way home and he played his violin all the way home. Dad was curious as to how he could find his way home. After a while, Abdul walked homewards, and Dad and Ashok Roy accompanied him. Abdul lived in Khidirpore, a good 40 minutes away, and he said that the 'pari' on top of the Victoria Memorial helped him to direct his way. It was through Abdul that night Dad learnt about the angel atop Victoria Memorial.Abdul would play softly on his violin, and follow the thin reed like notes from the flute of the angel. The river air coming citywards would turn the angel, and the soft breeze would play the flute. The sound of the music would direct Abdul towards the Victoria Memorial, and from there the busy noise of the ship yard would guide Abdul home.
Fifty years back the city was smaller and less noisy. Nights are quieter. Even today I can hear the Khidirpore dock and ships hooters every morning ..... sitting in my ancient-house-by-the-graveyard.It would be entirely possibly for Abdul with his musicians ears and his visual impairment to find his way late at night with the help of the flute music.
My Dad was not born or brought up in Calcutta. He came to live in Calcutta to earn a living. He was not aware of the Victoria Memorial angel. He made it his business to visit the curator and get the facts right. When we were growing up, he took us to the museum at the Victoria Memorial and on top of the dome on one occasion to see the angel. Stormy afternoons would mean the angel playing her flute. We loved it. The thin reedy music was indeed ethereal.
Now, how many knew of this story?
We lived in South Calcutta..... Keyatola, Sarat Banerjee Road, New Alipur, Lansdowne Road ....... and when there was a storm abrewing or a kal-baishakhi approaching, my Dad would take us to the Victoria Memorial to watch the angel change directions with the wind, and more than ever to hear the music that the angel would play. The angel carried an uplifted flute on her lips and the flute was (and still is) graduated with the notes of the entire octave. The wind blowing through the flute would play a sharp high pitched tune. Hardly to be heard unless one knew how to keep an ear open for it. High above the sound of the storm and the traffic of the city road, our ears were tuned to the music that the angel played. An ethereal music. All it's own. If ever the term
"Music of the Universe" can be applied on Earth, I guess it would be the angel playing it's flute on a stormy April afternoon with a kal-baishakhi raging over the city.
The story given to me by my Dad (and I believe the story, because there is a similar short story by a famous Bengali author) is very interesting. An old story, which not too many people are aware of.
My Dad and his friend Ashok Roy used to frequent Firpo's and other bars. Very much like what 20+ men did then , and do now. Most days when returning from Firpo's it would get late and they would be the last to leave the bar. Outside Firpo's there would be an old man with a violin who played beautifully and what is more he played Western Classical. Dad had a keen ear and was extremely fond of good music. No matter how late or how drunk, Dad would wait a good ten minutes to hear the music, tip the old man sufficiently and then drive home. Once when both Ashok Roy and Dad had had a drink too many and there was a storm blowing, it was decided that driving the old Baby Austin would not be such a good idea. Both of them were standing in the arcade waiting (to get sober? the storm to abate?) and listening to the music of Abdul Mian ..... for that was what the violinist was called. Eventually Abdul turned to go home, and the storm by that time had also lost a bit of it's might. Dad offered to drop Abdul Mian home, specially as he was blind, and the roads were wet. Abdul however refused saying that he knew his way home and he played his violin all the way home. Dad was curious as to how he could find his way home. After a while, Abdul walked homewards, and Dad and Ashok Roy accompanied him. Abdul lived in Khidirpore, a good 40 minutes away, and he said that the 'pari' on top of the Victoria Memorial helped him to direct his way. It was through Abdul that night Dad learnt about the angel atop Victoria Memorial.Abdul would play softly on his violin, and follow the thin reed like notes from the flute of the angel. The river air coming citywards would turn the angel, and the soft breeze would play the flute. The sound of the music would direct Abdul towards the Victoria Memorial, and from there the busy noise of the ship yard would guide Abdul home.
Fifty years back the city was smaller and less noisy. Nights are quieter. Even today I can hear the Khidirpore dock and ships hooters every morning ..... sitting in my ancient-house-by-the-graveyard.It would be entirely possibly for Abdul with his musicians ears and his visual impairment to find his way late at night with the help of the flute music.
My Dad was not born or brought up in Calcutta. He came to live in Calcutta to earn a living. He was not aware of the Victoria Memorial angel. He made it his business to visit the curator and get the facts right. When we were growing up, he took us to the museum at the Victoria Memorial and on top of the dome on one occasion to see the angel. Stormy afternoons would mean the angel playing her flute. We loved it. The thin reedy music was indeed ethereal.
Now, how many knew of this story?
