Musical Harmony
Avleen Mudhar
I make my way to the piano with a black collared shirt neatly tucked into my pleated black skirt. The half-inch heels on my flats echo in the auditorium, silencing the audience. I take a seat on the bench and position myself towards the starting key. I turn my head to see nothing beyond the luminous stage, except my nine-year old self.
There I was, intimidated by the lustrous Yamaha grand piano at age nine, embellished with gold rims and eighty-eight keys. I stood in my living room amazed by its intricate inner design of strings attached to soundboards coupled with its signature curve. I inched forward towards the behemoth and was immediately welcomed by its woody smell.
Being a curious nine-year-old, I placed my index finger on the keys one at a time, admiring each note in its purest form. White key, black key, white key, black key, white key. I played in this order, as Beethoven played in his highly acclaimed piece, Für Elise. Attempting to assimilate pianists like Beethoven and Tchaikovsky, I placed both my hands flat on the piano and pressed the keys in no particular order. A cacophony of differing pitches and tones echoed through the room. I waited for the tones to dissipate, then began to ponder, how exactly does one play the piano?
Each morning, I found myself downstairs to see the grand piano basking in the sunlight, waiting for it to be tuned and played. Still unable to properly master the piano, I searched, ‘Piano,’ on YouTube and found an array of great musicians playing the piano. Of course, the pieces that were played were way out of my reach; however, I was still attempting to master their hand and back postures.
This time I sat on the duet bench with my back straight up at a ninety-degree angle and my fingers cusped inwards towards my palm. I began to play a C major scale, but my fingers had tangled upon themselves. Flustered by this, I pulled up YouTube again and this time searched, “Piano Scales.” Now, not only did I understand the placement of my fingers during each scale but also how to read notes in treble clef and identify them on the piano.
Feeling accomplished, I made my way to my parents and exclaimed to them that I was able to play the piano. My parents exchanged looks, each littered with curiosity. They followed me as I made my way to the piano. Just like I practiced, I sat on the duet bench with my back kept straight at a ninety-degree angle and placed both my hands on the keys cusped as if I were holding tennis balls. I began to play the C major scale, first with my right hand, then with my left. Finally, I combined both my right and left hands, to produce flawless C major scales with differing octaves. After finishing, I heard the last notes echo through the room. Just as they began to fade, my parents began applauding. I sat there looking at my parents when a smile crept across my face.
Brought back to reality, I saw my mother’s face in the crowd. She had a glow to her face, adorned with a semi-smile. I still remember that semi-smile the first time I played in front of her.
“Great job, but what more could you play?” my mom questioned then. One moment I felt proud, but the next I felt below average.
I stared at the piano sitting in my living room in silence, wondering what pieces I could begin to play for the first time. The first piece that came to mind was Für Elise. In fact, I had gotten the first portion of the piece down with the repetition of the two notes but was eager to try the rest of the piece. Now that I was able to read the treble clef, I printed out the sheet music and began to slowly match the notes on the sheet to the notes on the piano.
I would integrate playing the piano into my daily routine for about thirty minutes. After every week, I would attempt to play the entire piece. Week after week, I would struggle, quit, then try again. My fingers would cramp each time I played an arpeggio. But one day, I thought I gave up. I hadn’t returned to the piano for weeks.
“I haven’t heard you play recently?” my mother said. That’s when it hit me. She had been listening to me struggle and play this entire time. Even though she wasn’t in the same room as me, she could still hear me trying to master the piece.
I turn back from the audience to the piano and begin to play. The piano emanates a soothing tone that calms my body. My hands continue to press keys based on the sounds produced. I am no longer tense but rather tranquil. After the piece ends, I feel poised, and the applause from the audience reassures that confident feeling. I did it. After seven years of individual training, I have finally gained adequate piano skills. I look off into the audience and notice my parents, but this time with full smiles on their faces. They aren’t just satisfied, but impressed as to how far along I have come since the first time they saw me play.
“I’m so proud,” my mother says, teary eyed. Even though she was never physically present when I played, I knew she listened each time to when I hit a wrong note, struggled, and then hit the right note the second or third time. She knew it was difficult, but never said anything, because she wanted me to continue to struggle and find a way to succeed on my own.
I embrace my mother tightly and whisper in her ear, “You were listening the entire time.” She pulls me away from our embrace and kisses me on the forehead.
Avleen Mudhar is majoring in cell biology/neuroscience and English and is in the class of 2025. She writes, “I grew up in a small town in New Jersey, Plainsboro, where I currently give back as a volunteer EMT at the Plainsboro Rescue Squad. I aspire to become a dental physician; however, in my free time, one may often catch me with a book in hand or demolishing my opponents in ping pong.”