By: Tanuja Desai Hidier
Our home is often filled with music—singing, playing, blasting off the iPod dock. We often begin the day with a little kitchen disco–interwoven with the toothbrush-haircomb-shoebuckling soundtrack of getting our girls ready for school–where we turn up the tunes (Patti Smith, New Order, Mother Mother, Taylor Swift), dance on the stairs, chairs…and occasionally, the table (highly recommended). I write songs, too –lyrics and melodies (though much of that songwriting happens in the shower, on the tube, and daydreaming down the sidewalk, as well as in rehearsal and recording spaces with, most recently, my musical coconspirators on my ‘booktrack’ album Bombay Spleen).
And now this room is the buzzing hub of our little tunedom. Once filled mostly with Legos, puzzles (missing many a piece), checkers and Clue (missing Miss Scarlet), beloved books, and a menagerie of stuffed jingling toys—this playroom has been swiftly metamorphosing into another kind of play area: a music-making space. I’m not really sure how it happened, but drums, ukele, guitar, harmonica, tambourine and shaky egg bit by bit migrated here and it just kind of seemed to find its flow. Similarly with this drape: I’m not so sure what I did, but just kind of followed the tune of the textile. First I paper-clipped the petticoat up in the middle, bunching it up pantaloons-style to leave my legs a little freer (especially handy for the drumkit, and to make way for a pair of black boots). After rock-n-rolling the fabric around my waist and up through the legs, I brought one end of it over my shoulder towards the front, and clipped it to the waistline, leaving it a little loose like a shawl. The other I wound round my other arm a few times. Spiraled it down. Pulled the end through a chunky elastic bracelet, leaving a bit hanging like a butterfly sleeve.