T.R Mahalingam (1926 - 1986) is one of the greatest Indian musicians, and arguably one of the world's finest as well. A child prodigy, he picked up the flute at the age of five secretly against his father's wishes. He picked up the arcane nuances of Carnatic music by himself, and learnt to play in three speeds - the hallmark of a rounded musician. His first concert was at the age of seven. Mali, as he was called, lived an eccentric life - his brilliant musical career cut short by alcoholism and recluse. He died at sixty of a cerebral hemorrhage.
John Frusciante, two time guitarist of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, also a child prodigy, studied the works of Hendrix and David Gilmour, and was inducted into the Chili Peppers at the age of 18. At the age of 22, the trappings of a rock-star lifestyle pushed him into manic depression, forcing him to live as a recluse in his Hollywood mansion for six years, refusing to see the outside world, indulging in macabre paintings and furthering a life-threatening dependency on intravenous drugs. A fire ultimately destroyed his mansion, and he was barely alive when rescued - almost dead from potentially fatal infections caused due to improper intravenous injections. It turned out to be his return to the world outside, and he went on to make award winning albums with the Chili Peppers before quitting the band in 2009 again to pursue solo work.
What do these two musicians - arguably among the finest of their times and genre - have in common? They both claimed to see God while playing. Mali said he could see God five minutes into his playing, and that either made him think it useless to continue, or motivated him to continue hours beyond the scheduled concert end time, confusing concert attendees and organizers. John Frusciante was asked why he doesn't make mistakes while playing. He replied that he felt himself to be in the company of God, and that he only serves as a medium of the infinite creativity God possesses - and of course, that is the reason he doesn't make mistakes.
I am constantly amazed at this humble attribution of their genius - no doubt also the product of dedication and constant practice - to a divine entity. What must it be like to experience such elation? To feel such control in the midst of brilliance, that your mind doesn't know better than to take recourse in calling it the presence of God? We the 'normal' people, working on normal deadlines in normal jobs, and hurrying to meet normal trains that will take us to normal destinations, don't know what it's like to experience expertise on a plane that is beyond normal comprehension. So I guess we'll never know.
Is it true that we have to know much more than we do, in order to discover even more, all that we don't know?
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