Humming is for everyone

I belong to the overlooked and sadly undervalued tribe of music aficionados who cannot sing a song. But since I have no wish to deprive the world of my latent and unexpressed musical offerings, I do the next best: I hum. I have a wide repertoire and my all-weather range straddles multiple ragas and covers all the emotions — happy, sad, and in-between.

Humming, I believe, is music in its embryonic form. It is the fledgling that flaps its hesitant wings on the ledge before stepping out to etch its signature on the sky. Contrast this modest restraint and tentative tone with the assertive rasp of a full-bodied song.

Onerous tasks

Singing also calls for much heavy lifting — like getting up when the world sleeps and shaking the neighbourhood out of its stupor with a sadhna or riyaz. It involves preparatory steps such as locating a guru compatible with your voice and wallet, achieving rhythmic control through trial and terror, testing the mike, formally clearing your throat and so on. As if all this was not enough, they also expect you to possess talent. Phew!

Yet, across all of recorded history, it’s been singers who have ruled the roost. Feted by profligate award juries and egged on by the chatterati, they believe they hold a global patent on glory. But flying under the radar is our wordless melody that can upstage the top of the pops because of its ease of access.

Look at it this way. Traditional music is the auditory equivalent of an oh-so-exclusive gated community that leaves most of us on the outside looking in. Now, those entry barriers have been pulled down. The gift of music has been snatched from the hands of a privileged few and the password has been shared with the rest of the world. Humming is for everyone, even the congenitally and contagiously tone-deaf. It’s democracy written in with musical notations. Untethered to any canon and undeterred by convention, it can be as unabashedly self-expressive as bathroom singing minus mug in hand or shower overhead.

When you embark on a formal song, you need to pay attention to what you are wearing. It would perhaps call for a set mundu or silk shirt and veshti or black tie. With humming, any old T-shirt and old jeans will do. Also, singers need to closely follow the lyrics.

Random inspiration

The best of them focus on a sheet in front of them or their mobile screen. With humming, you are not tied down by the words someone else has penned down. Instead, you let yourself be air-borne by what Wordsworth described as the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings. You can hum about anything under the sun — snatches of random songs, faraway remembrances or the things that happened once-upon-a dream.

Unfortunately, as things stand there are not any contests or awards which recognise and reward those who hum best. But that shouldn’t bother you. When you hum, your audience is singular and the most important person around is yourself.

Humming to yourself is recognised by therapists as a catalyst for personal well-being. It does wonders for the vagus nerve which soothes the parasympathetic nervous system and calms you — and who doesn’t need calming in these calamitous times? When you breathe out to a predetermined pattern, you filter distractions and relax your mind. It makes you better-than-before in any activity that requires concentration such as threading a needle, solving the daily crossword or decoding your darling’s latest commandments texted in haste. You can hum a tune while doing this or that, and both this and that will be better off for the quality of attention you devote.

Best of all, humming is your friend-in-need during life’s critical junctures. Let’s say, you are cornered at a party by the jarringly cheerful emcee even as you were desperately trying to merge into the wallpaper. Don’t panic, help is at hand! When a mike is thrust at you, and everyone insists that you belt out the latest chart-buster, you know what to do. Don’t hum and haw. Just hum.

jairam.menon@gmail.com