Words like “Your voice is so sweet kanna” from relatives at family get-togethers are what initially drives a young kid to pursue singing, as a hobby. But the art, science, and technique behind this hobby is what makes them stay in this field for long.
Numerous poems expressing an ode to a Nightingale remain a documented proof of how singing (at least) finds itself in the great halls of artistic communities, if not of a non-artistic community. And let me warn you, it’s just not the voice or the sound, it’s the emotions that even the smallest of instances from the nature express that makes singing what it is. As the drizzling by 5 in the evening puts out a feeling of incoming dread, the crushing of leaves under my feet as I run across a street on an Autumn-y afternoon brings a sense of upcoming joy or happiness. I understand how you might be wondering as to why these emotions remind me of singing. I don’t know why, but I guess it helps me come up with emotions for my songs, as I try my best to do justice to those carefully written, and heartfelt lyrics. At times, I feel like walking up to my balcony, pretend that no one is around, and just sing—sing to as if ask others to stop for a second and take in this calm moment, and forget all the hustle they seem to unwillingly embrace. But a common man won’t take me seriously. For him, I’m just a person who was been gifted a good voice at birth and struck the chord (all pun intended) by luck, unlike other musicians and instrumentalists. It’s not true.
My head, I feel works like that of any other musician. In fact, It is me who has to often bear the added responsibility of expressing while performing; not that others don't. With me, the piece (this world) is only as special. Without me, the world is only as incomplete.
Why? Because I too am a musician. My voice is my instrument.