The sound of a sitar floats through the trees, and you find yourself compelled by the movement of the music. You try to trace it, but it seems to come from everywhere – no, more like it seems to change its position every time you try to move towards it, so that it always sounds like its coming from behind you. Suddenly, the leaves from the trees around you begin to fall, one by one. The wind blows them in circles, only for them to land in a perfect line in front of your feet, leading you to another meditation cave. You follow.
So John has a room for his dreams, and Paul has a room for his meditations. You walk in and see a beautiful sitar, it’s body of polished sienna adorned with delicate swirls and strings being plucked languidly by an invisible hand. You watch as the swirls swim around along the face of the instrument, until they combine and pull apart as a smile.
Of course, this must be George’s room.
George Harrison and Ravi Shankar
The sitar begins to speak, every word as beautiful as the music that preceded it,
“George loved India, he loved Ravi Shankar and he loved me. Do you know how he came to acquire me?”
No, you reply, you don’t.
“The Beatles had an infamous tour in the Philippines, where they happened to insult the first lady of the country by accident because Brian Epstein, their manager, failed to let them know that they had been invited to a party held by her in their honour. Well, actually, he had politely turned down the invitation, because the Beatles never did that sort of thing – but the Filipino royalty had chosen to ignore that little message. The next day, every newspaper in the country was emblazoned with the words ‘THE BEATLES SNUB FIRST LADY IMELDA MARCOS’. As you can imagine, this didn’t go down well with the public; at the height of Beatlemania, they were forced to go to the airport without any security, found no one to help them with their bags and equipment, would find that escalators would stop as soon as they approached and restart once they had carried everything up and started moving away. It was an absolute nightmare: they were being pushed around and members of their entourage weren’t allowed to board the flight until they paid some ridiculous amount of money as a ‘leaving tax’. In fact, when George was asked whether he enjoyed his time in Manila, he responded with ‘if I had an atomic bomb, I’d drop it on them’”.
The sitar punctuates this last sentence with a mischievous twang.
“Humour was different back then, and British humour has always been an arena of its own. But anyway – that experience was the last straw, on top of all the craziness they endured with Beatlemania, which convinced the band to stop touring. It may seem sad, but it did wonders for them as musicians – more time off the road meant more time in the studio.”
You wonder aloud why the sitar constantly refers to Beatlemania as though it’s some sort of disease. Of course the world loved the Beatles, why would that make them stop touring? If anything, it should have made them go on more tours, no?
Again, with that twang. “You don’t understand the magnitude of Beatlemania. They couldn’t hear themselves over the screaming audiences. It was a frenzy; at times, they’d stop playing altogether and just mime. The audience didn’t even realise. It stopped being about the music, and it just became about the Beatles as a phenomenon, four little British moptops.”
“But for the boys, it was always about the music. Which brings me back to my original story – after Manila, they had planned to come to India. However, after that nightmare, none of them were very much looking forward to visiting another foreign country. Still George was determined – he was on a mission, to buy himself a real, good quality sitar.”
The sitar beams. “And here I am.”
That’s pretty wild, Beatlemania and all that. That’s probably the worst thing you could imagine for a musician, performing in front of an audience that really couldn’t give a shit about what you’re playing.
“For the boys, it was always about the music. Even when they could barely stand to be in the same room as each other, in the days nearing the end, they were still creating beautiful music together. Abbey Road, which, as you know, is one of their most famous albums, bloomed out of a time that John and George almost got into physical fights during recording sessions. For the boys, it was only about the music. They lived and breathed it. John would get distracted from his meditation not by thoughts, but by melodies in his head. It’s a beautiful story, really – there are no four better suited to the title of ‘best band in the world’”.
And with that, the smile dissipates back into ornate, still swirls along the side of the instruments face, and the delicate plucking resumes.
You’re on your way out, when something near the door catches your eye. It’s four boxes filled with fan mail, but you can’t quite read the names on the boxes from where you’re standing. Although all of them are quite full, one is absolutely overflowing.
You giggle, and mutter, “oh, John.”
“Actually,” says the snake charmer, who has mysteriously materialised right by your side, “that box is Ringo’s. He used to get the most fan mail because women believed that they had the best chances with him.”
Ferdinand Marcos, 10th President of the Phillipines (1965 - 1986) & his wife, Imelda
