But the targeted youth remained oblivious to his words, for he was, what was known in shopkeeper’s vernacular, a ‘vehla mureed’, a man who had no interest in buying anything and came to a shop only for useless chatter. How one dealt with a ‘vehla mureed’ was one’s personal choice, some folks, usually the older ones liked to indulge them and reminisce with them about the good ole days, while most of the younger ones preferred to shoo them away with a stern glance or two, Govind though preferred to take the third route, of respectfully ignoring them until they got bored from a lack of response and went away.
And while that technique usually got rid of them in ten or so minutes, this man who appeared to be a very stubborn vehla mureed lasted more than thirty minutes in to his monologue before it finally dawned on him that the head of his listener was nodding more out of sleepiness than any interest in his words.
“Okay, farewell then. God have mercy on us all. I will come again soon, after the fruit season I will totally invest all my money in shoes.” And with these parting words, he turned and left the shop, although Govind with his attentions presently lost in the young girl standing in the shop on the opposite side of the street, never noticed him leaving, just as he had not noticed anything of what he was saying.
The young boy would have continued to remain in this state of lassitude if it was not for the sight of two gentlemen approaching his counter at that point, prompting him to quickly pull his frame back in to an upright posture. One of these gentlemen, the owner of the shop, who usually remained at the billing and payment desk near the front of the shop, had come on his evening round and he was accompanied by a friend of his, who often came to the shop and was therefore recognized by most of the employees there, including Govind.
“So you master musician, how many compositions did you make then on that flute last night?” the owner addressed Govind in a sardonically cheerful voice as he came up to the counter.
During these past few years, while the grind of everyday life had dispossessed Govind of most of life’s finer emotions, there was this one particular art which the minions of drudgery had not been able to stop him from developing an interest in, the art that became to him a breath of fresh air in this stifling atmosphere of shoe designs, types, sizes, prices and discounts, the art of music. He had a CD walkman player that he took to the roof of his house where under the canopy of shimmering stars he immersed himself for a couple of hours every night in the bliss that was music.
So yesterday when a Banjara (a class of nomadic people) had come to the market selling flutes, Govind had not been able to resist the temptation to buy one, thus giving cause to the shop owner for his present inquiry.
“no bhaji,” Govind answered with a discomfited grimace which in effect caused a satisfactory smile to break out on the face of the owner. Although the effortless symphonies he heard the Banjara play on the flute had made it seem like an easy enough instrument at that time, it had turned out to be a great misconception on his part, for later on even after hours of effort he had not been able to play even a single note out of that flute.
“It is not that easy to play the flute young Mister, you have to work hard for it, work hard.” It was now the turn of the second gentleman to speak; his gleeful didactic manner immediately causing Govind to fear that he was about to be on the receiving end of another of this man’s customary lectures which he was so notorious for amidst the employees of the shop.
“these people that play all this stuff..they have put in a lot of effort to learn it..these things don’t play by themselves young Mister..so learn hard work..that is the problem with you people, you don’t know hard work at all, rather you sit and daydream all the time.” He spoke with a degree of derision before turning to address his friend. “these people are good in only one thing, wasting their money..just take the example of the peon that works at my place..he hardly got his salary and the wealthy fella is off to Hardwar with his family for a vacation..they know well the circumstances of their households, yet they would indulge in reckless spending like imbeciles.”
But before, he could go on any further and point out everything that was wrong with the poor people of this world, he was interrupted by the appearance of a young teenager, the owner’s thirteen year old son, dressed in the latest of branded clothes with a fancy touch screen phone in one hand and the keys of his expensive motorbike in the other.
The boy walked straight to the scene of action, whereon he extended one of his hands out towards his father while his gaze remained fixed down on to his phone, the fingers of his other hand dancing on its screen.
“Pocket money papa,” he said simply, not even looking at his father or acknowledging him in any other way.
The father though did not in the least seem offended by this discourtesy as he pulled out his wallet and then placed upon the palm of his son three crispy hundred rupee notes.
The boy momentarily looked up, though not at his father but at the money that was now resting in his hand.
“movie with friends tomorrow morning..weekend papa..you should know papa,” he spoke, somewhat nettled at his father’s mistake while he once again lowered his vision to his phone.
“oh..sorry son..” his father apologized, before he quickly topped the money in his son’s palm with a five hundred rupee note.
“thanks papa..” coolly said the son before he turned and walked away, leaving behind a proud looking father.
“His demands are just rising every day,” the father commented, more with amusement rather than anger.
“it is no big deal, it all belongs to him after all..if he won’t spend it now then when..this is the age to enjoy life...” His friend riposted, patting him on the back before both of them turned again to face Govind who had sat there through the whole episode wearing a mask of placidness.
“look at those sample boxes behind you..they are all in such disorder..should not you be fixing that..?” the owner pointed out with a frown, one of his bushy eye brows raised sternly.
In response, Govind quickly jumped off his stool and squatted down to begin tidying up the sample boxes when the owner’s friend began again.
“these people, they will never pay attention to workkk…” but once again to his great disappointment he was interrupted in his speech, this time by the arrival of a customer.
The owner greeted this new customer with a shake of hands, followed by his friend, before both of them left him in the hands of the salesman. Govind to his great credit forgot all about his fatigue and readily was back on his feet behind his counter, attending the customer with all due diligence and attention.
For the rest of the evening Govind attended another half a dozen customers and by the time he was finished, the hands of the clock were fast approaching closing time.
With only a few minutes left, he was now standing at the shop’s entry humming to himself the tune of one of his favorite songs while scribbling something on his palm when suddenly a hand came down on the back of his head, smacking him rather harshly.
As a dismayed Govind looked back, his eyes met an image of the angry looking shop owner.
“Standing here and singing songs like a sloth. I told you in the evening to fix up those sample boxes and still they are all disorderly like before, is this any way to work?”
And so the young boy was allowed no repose, not even during the last few remaining minutes of what had been a greatly taxing day as he rushed back to his counter prison and fixed up those boxes.
When at last it ended and he was walking his way back home a thoroughly desiccated soul, under one of the street lights he briefly stopped, and glanced wistfully at what was a half-drawn star on his palm.
*******
Three nights later Govind was walking back home from yet another exhausting day at work when a soulful symphony of a flute emanating from a distance fell on his ears. By the bank of the Ganda-Naalah he walked, ignoring the fetid odors wafting from it while he followed those melo
dious sounds, until he came to a halt at the back of a large abandoned building, which used to serve as the city’s prison in the bygone years.
The symphony seemed to be coming from within the derelict building, and had it not been for the beautiful music drawing his heart towards it with such great vigor, Govind would have thought twice about entering the haunted looking premises at this hour of the night. But for now the only thing that interested the boy was to find the source of this music and towards this end he began to search for the large gap he knew was present in the back wall of this complex which could lead him straight inside.
It was not long before he found it, and without any fear, as if hypnotized, he stepped through the gap and in to what used to be the prison’s backyard, now ridden all over with overgrown bushes.
At this time of the night, around him the wind was whistling through these bushes, while underneath him imaginary snakes were rattling all around, sounds that would have haunted any but the bravest of souls, but for Govind these were like sounds of supporting instruments that were intermingling with the melody of that flute to create a most breath taking concerto.
Finally after traveling through the whole of that treacherous backyard, Govind came face to face with the man playing that flute, sitting atop a boulder, his form lit up by the rays of the moon, it was no one else but the Banjara who had sold him the flute in the market.
A very healthy looking man of a lean built with clairvoyant eyes and a thick black beard along with a red Rajashtani turban on his head, long he remained lost in his own melody, giving no notice to the boy who just stood there inebriated, it was as if both the boy and the man had left this realm, and traveled off to some far off mystical land, where ruled not the Gods but symphonies and harmonies.
Eventually the music ceased and Govind now saw the man gazing at him with smiling eyes. But before he could fathom what to do next, the man much to his complete surprise urged him to sing.
“o brother, why are you being shy? Come on sing me something, come on..”
After overcoming his brief hesitation, as the music loving boy began to sing an old hindi classic ‘jab deep jale aana..jab sham dhale aana..sanket milan ka bhul na jana, mera pyar na bisrana..’ the banjara played his flute to the tune of the song, the two of them breaking out in to a sonorous jugalbandi. Many more songs they played and sang together that night, so that this compound which had for long only heard the dull metallic clanks of manacles and fetters was now suffused in every corner with the jubilant and uplifting spirit that is music.
“Who are you Chacha..?” Govind would ask when time had come for him to leave and go home for the night.
“a banjara I am, selling flutes in the morning and playing them in the evening is my deed.”
“Will you teach me?”
“If you will learn, I will teach.”
“Tomorrow then?”
And the man nodded, smiled, closed his eyes and resumed playing his flute, the notes of which continued to warm Govind’s heart for the whole of his journey back home.
*******
Every night Govind would go to the old prison building, where he would be met by the Banjara who would teach him how to play the flute, teach him the various facets of the beautiful art of music, and indulge with him in many a soulful jugalbandis, and in this manner, six months passed, until Govind became quite adept at it.
Then came the day when Govind auditioned for the position of a singer in one of the local Jagrata Mandalis, and as he stood there on stage, singing ‘o palanhaare..nirgun o nyare..’ much to the appreciation of the members of the Mandli, the Banjara watching on from a dark corner of the hall, knowing that he had given the boy his freedom, clicked his fingers and disappeared.
Today Govind is a successful local artist with those stifling days of working in a shop far behind him. To this day, he greatly misses the Banjara, that sweet smiling man who had rescued him from his life of despair, and had stirred in him a belief in the greater goodness of humanity.
And to continue spreading that belief, Govind now provides free nightly musical classes in Amar Pura, and whenever a young boy or a girl touches his soul with one of their songs, he takes their palm and rewards them by drawing there a star.
*******
Chapter 3 – The confluence of three
1
On the night of 28th of January, 2014, at exactly 9:15 P.M., the dark and cloudy skies above Ludhiana opened themselves up and began pelting the whole city underneath with heavy showers.
Five minutes later…
A man is seen running at full speed on a pavement near Jagraon Bridge, heading towards an old white building where he hopes to find some possible shelter from the rain.
A young boy is standing in a Shagun Ceremony, excitedly subvocalizing some words to his mother, but his mother is unable to make out the aphonic message presently.
A girl and a boy are huddled up against each other in the pouring rain, the boy holding up his jacket over the girl’s head, trying to protect her from getting drenched.
36 hours earlier…
Imagine to yourself two frames, two distinct pictures in front of your eyes that are placed side by side.
In the first picture there is a café, and within that café, near a window that overlooks a small garden, is a table, and upon that table, are seated two girls, two best friends, indulged in a conversation over a warm cup of coffee.
Now look at the second picture, there you will see a sight of a room messy and untidy, and in the balcony of that room, lounging on a couple of recliner chairs, are two boys, two best friends, indulged in a conversation while they enjoy the warmth of the winter’s sun in the sky above.
I need you to focus, focus on their conversations, and to make sure that the two conversations do not mix up and end up creating a cacophony; we shall listen to a snippet of one while the other is put on a pause and vice-versa.
***
“So your final few days of freedom huh! How does it feel?” quipped one of the girls in the first picture to her friend who was getting married in a couple of days.
“Feels quite alright, a little nervous but I guess that is to be expected..” mulled the second girl in reply.
***
“Expectations dude, expectations. Me and Shivani, we have been together for almost a year now, but there are all sorts of expectations that come after you get married and just thinking of them makes me a little jittery. It’s like, it has all been fun and games before, and now things are about to get serious,” observed one of the boys, as he dipped a slice of orange he had recently peeled in to his glass of vodka before taking a small bite out of the alcohol laced delicacy.
“yeah, as they say, the shit is about to get real,” joked his friend, as he yawned and stretched his body against the recliner chair before taking a swig from his own glass of vodka, preferring the conventional method of alcohol intake.
***
“Really I never thought I would end up falling in love with Amar of all people, let alone marry him someday. You remember the day when we first met Amar and Raj all those years ago in Shimla?”
“Yeah, two loafers, wearing those cheap black sun glasses at night on the Mall Road and asking random girls to click pictures for them, totally filmi.”
“Oh, loafers huh? Right! So that is why you were all gaga over Raj from the moment you saw him, because he came across as a loafer?”
***
“And that is why, with how close you two were during those initial months, I thought if there is anyone that is going to end up together in our group, it is going to be you and Meeta, not me and Shivani, we only used to tag along because of you guys.”
“Well at least someone profited out of it I guess.”
“But really dude, I never understood why it didn’t happen for you and Meeta??”
***
“I don’t know, he was just too indifferent towards me, say in a romantic sense. And al
though we have been good friends, and yes, I liked him a lot initially, I never felt that he was interested in me in that way. And I really can’t force myself upon him now, can I?”
***
“Love, the whole concept of it is flawed in my eyes, and I have told you this before many a times. I know you disagree, but for me the factor which brings two people together in this world is needs, they can be physical, emotional or financial, but they are always needs. I don’t believe in the existence of any kind of utopian notion beyond these mere needs, which could make two people want to be with each other. There are always needs involved, and as long as you are fulfilling these needs, people stick with you, if you don’t, then they chuck you, it is as simple as that. For instance, just look at my situation from a few years ago, when I lost my job almost everyone abandoned me, slowly filtered me out of their lives because they no longer saw me as someone availing to their needs. I had learned then that this whole love thing is merely a false charade.”
“Well you know, you are going to end up all dry and brittle in your heart if you carry on fostering these strange notions in your head.”
***
“I guess his head must not be in the right place or something, for him to not notice how much you liked him and all. Anyways, it is not like he is all that rich or something, so I don’t think you missed out on a lot.”
“Well, what do his finances have anything to do with it?”
“Come on Meeta! Do not go all ideal on my ass now. Of course finances matter!”
“Not to me. I have enough capability in me to work and support myself that I do not need to find some rich guy and live off his wealth. Honestly, I don’t see a relationship as some kind of a way to make my life financially secure. With Raj, I just wanted to be with him because in him I saw some goodness that I had seldom seen in others. The way he respects the individuality of everyone around him, how he never tries to control anyone else’s dreams or ambitions, his knack of supporting his friends no matter what the situation, his refusal to pass judgment on people that differ from the set norms, there are many good things about him which make him such a wonderful guy, and money has got nothing to do with it.”