(Essay)

His name was Carl. I met him at the annual art show at the Howard County Miller Branch Library in Ellicott City, MD. He was one of the three players who provided background music. He played an instrument I had never seen before. It looked like a piano but was something different. The other two were a man and a woman playing a flute and a violin respectively. They were tucked away in the right-hand corner of the large conference room. Their music created a serene atmosphere appropriate for the event.

My wife Bharati had started taking classes in painting with watercolor two years ago. Her teacher Diana Marta, resident artist at the Howard County Center of Arts, had arranged this demonstration to promote the work of her students and also to attract new students. This was an annual event lasting for two hours, from 2 pm to 4 pm, on a Sunday afternoon in the first week of June. Diana’s student displayed their paintings on a shelf along a wall in the library’s corridor. For this year’s art show, Bharati demonstrated making bookmarks which turned out to be the major draw of the event.

I decided to go to the event towards the end just before 4 pm to help Bharati gather her paraphernalia and bring it home. As I entered the large room I noticed several people mingling around, admiring the artwork of three painters. To the left of the entrance door was sketch artist Yuriko (https://bakerartist.org/portfolios/yurikomori) busy sketching a guitar player who served as her model. Directly in front was Katherine with her beautiful paintings including one that had won an award from the Blossoms of Hope organization. To her left was Bharati, busy demonstrating the art of making bookmarks. On the right corner was the trio of musicians mentioned above.

Along the right wall Nancy, the event planner, had arranged a table with water bottles and mini muffins to munch on by the visitors. There were plenty of chairs in the middle of the room for those who wanted to sit. Diana had her table in the center of the room.

There were several young girls around Bharati’s table, busy listening to her instructions on how to prepare a bookmark by selecting a paint of their choice. They created their bookmarks and walked away happily proud of their accomplishments.

I looked at the musicians in the corner and listened to their soothing melody. I was drawn to Carl. He was playing the strange instrument with utter seriousness and dedication. He was a short man with all grey hair thinning at the top. He wore grey trousers and a half-sleeve shirt, white with faint blue stripes. He could have been a character from a Norman Rockwell painting as anyone’s darling grandpa. I could not guess his age, but he could have easily been in his late seventies. He had the stamina to play while standing all the time. His smile proved how much he was enjoying being there.

I did not pay much attention to them until Nancy beckoned me to come where the musicians were. It was 4 pm, close to the event closing time. When I reached them Carl was telling Nancy the name of the instrument. He pronounced each letter with a pause in between;

M.. A..R..I..M..B..A

“Marimba,” he said. She wrote it down.

I found the following description of the instrument on Wikipedia.

“The marimba (/məˈrɪmbə/), is a musical instrument in the percussion family that consists of wooden bars that are struck by mallets. Below each bar is a resonator pipe that amplifies particular harmonics of its sound.”

“How do you carry this thing,” Nancy asked.

Carl said it was easy. The whole instrument was on wheels. He demonstrated how sections could be easily taken apart for carrying.

I was listening curiously. Then something unexpected happened. Carl asked me to play. I said I didn’t know how to.

“Try it,” he said.

I used the wooden mallets and struck some keys.

“Very good,” he said displaying his enchanting smile.

It was not just me. Carl invited some teenagers who had wandered in to try it. He wanted to show off his Marimba realizing that it was not a common instrument one sees often. Yuriko had drawn his caricature. When she presented it to him Carl was overwhelmed. He gave her a bear hug profusely expressing his gratitude. I was impressed by his simple nature and joy in his work.

I took him over to Bharati and introduced him. Bharati was super busy attending to the visitors waiting by her table. Carl asked her if she would like to try the Marimba.

“Sure, I would love to,” she said. “Just give me a minute.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I will wait.”

By the time Bharati wrapped it up it was way past 4:30 pm. Everybody, including Carl, had left.

Only once in a rare occasion, one comes across a genuinely nice, unassuming person enthusiastic to spread the joy he feels with what he does. This was one such occasion.