Ravi Shankar, Nora Jones, and random connections

Last night at Nick’s workshop (The Random Writers Workshop) he had us do an exercise in creative non-fiction. We needed to depict a moment in our lives when we talked to someone in another country. Quickly I jotted down a conversation I had with my longtime friend over the phone, while visiting my brother. Those of you who attended heard the quick conversation; well this is the complete story.

Enjoy!

Ravi Shankar, Nora Jones, and random connections

     My brother’s home teamed with life as we gathered for a not so random, ‘glad you’re visiting’ make shift party in honor of me. It could have been in honor of the sun rising, but I’d like to think it was because of me. A martini glass perched on my knee; I sat in my brother’s Papasan chair, discussing the intricacies of the documentary playing behind the hum of the guests. Michael and I had seen the George Harrison Tribute so many times it was a rare occurrence when something new, could be pointed out. Other people joined around us, sitting wherever a free space opened and they could cop a squat. Eventually the room calmed and the only noise was my brother and me bantering along with the tribute.

     “This sitar player is awesome.” He pointed to the TV as if I didn’t notice the beautiful woman that just took the stage.

     “I know. Seriously, she is the best female sitar player I’ve ever seen.” I replied while I sipped gingerly on my chocolate martini.

     “You know its Ravi Shankar’s daughter right?” He asked and I rolled my eyes, I knew. Every time we watched it he pointed it out. Ravi Shankar was one of my hero’s. His sitar style so brilliant it would bring me to tears. So yes, I knew it was his daughter, the style was unmistakable. “And her sister is Nora Jones.” I remember feeling my eyes widen, memories flooding my mind. I did not, know that Nora Jones was her sister.

     “Wait, Nora Jones? Nora Jones is her sister?”

     “Yes,” Michael looked at me like I was crazy. He probably thought my Martini’s were finally going to my head.

     “No—that’s not true.” I crinkled my nose and shook my head. “I would’ve known that.”

     “Really, it’s the truth.” He said as others confirmed that my brother’s words were true.

     “It can’t be, Zabs would have told me—Nora Jones is his cousin.” I said nonchalantly as I shook my head. Michael paused the DVD, turned to me and tapped his fingers on the remote.

     “Jeannie. You mean to tell me. That Zabs is related to Ravi Shankar.”

     “I don’t know, I mean he would have to be if Nora is his cousin. He told me his uncle was pretty musical. I didn’t ask any more questions.” I shrugged as now I felt the room looking at me. “Look there’s an easy way to figure this out.” I said as I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, scrolled through the phone book and dialed. I know he won’t pick up; it’s much too late in Bangladesh. However, I heard a click and a cheerful voice connected on the other end.

     “Jeans! I just thinking of you!” He said in the broken English I’ve learned to love over the years.

     “Zabs—your uncle. He’s a musician right?” I asked quickly as the crowed glared at me.

     “Yes why?”

     “I’m sitting with my brother and he said the sitar player we’re watching is related to Nora Jones. Isn’t that your cousin?”

     “Yes, my other cousin plays sitar.” He said so matter of factly. My cheeks burned as all these people listened to my conversation.

     “Zabs, when you told me your uncle and his family were musical, you didn’t tell me he was RAVI FREEK’N SHANKAR!” He couldn’t see me, but my hand rose above my head and made wild gestures. It was quite possibly the most exciting news ever.

     “Oh, Jeans! I’m sorry; I didn’t think it was important.”

If you liked this you may like:
Family Antics
Her laugh broke the silence
Creating yourself as a character