Arjun sat on the sofa, changing the songs on his play list agitatedly, tiring easily of each one. Either he didn't know the whole song, or the lyrics were bad, or it was too tough.
He felt his mother's touch on his shoulder.
'What is all that frustration for?
He felt his mother's touch on his shoulder.
'What is all that frustration for?
I pity the music player.'
He plucked out the headphones and flung the iPod along with it on the sofa.
'The culturals start tomorrow.
The music competitions is day after.
The seniors are banking on me.
And I haven't even chosen the song yet...'
She sat next to him, and rubbed his back. He slumped down on her lap. He even let her ruffle his hair, which he had stopped her from doing ever since he joined college.
I think I can help you there. I have saved some new songs in a playlist... you know... the ones that you haven't heard ... maybe you'll find something interesting...'
Mothers know their sons best - he did find that magical song.
The beautiful love song, sung in his earnest voice moved almost everyone in the audience.
'I can't help falling in love
Blame it on the Spring
The green lawns
The drifting swans
The trifling breeze
The clear blue stream
The curved bridge
Where you stood like a dream
Swathed in diaphanous mist
Every girl present there felt, that he sang the song just for her.
The song helped him meet and marry his future wife Kanishka.
II
Arjun stood in the kitchen, making dhal and parathas. Masala chai simmered on another burner. The kitchen was an absolute mess. It didn't bother him though since the cleaning lady would take care of it in the morning.
Marriage was fine but it involved sacrifices, chief of which was his inability to meet his friends often or have late night parties with them. He hated having to behave so responsibly all the time.
Now that his wife was away after their first big fight, he wanted to make the best use of his time. ‘Freedom from bland cooking! Freedom from rampant nagging! Freedom from over snooping! Freedom from sermonizing!’ he laughed out loud. He felt rather proud about how he was able to vocalize his frustrations poetically. He slathered more ghee over an already soggy paratha with vengeance.
Now that his wife was away after their first big fight, he wanted to make the best use of his time. ‘Freedom from bland cooking! Freedom from rampant nagging! Freedom from over snooping! Freedom from sermonizing!’ he laughed out loud. He felt rather proud about how he was able to vocalize his frustrations poetically. He slathered more ghee over an already soggy paratha with vengeance.
he was tingling with excitement for the evening that lay ahead.
Finally, he was having all his friends over. All they wanted was a simple meal, loads of fun, his songs and chai to keep them going till the wee hours.
There was a lively song that was on everyone's lips and he was eager to present it that evening.
He sang it loudly experimenting with dance moves to go with it.
In his enthusiasm, he failed to notice the generous drippings of ghee that had enriched not just the parathas, but the floor as well.
He feet slid down and he fell in a perfect straddle that any gymnast would have been proud of. But since he didn't have the training, he felt a little dizzy and intense pain. He watched helplessly as the paratha burned and the dhal and the the tea spilled over shutting out the flame. He dragged himself painfully towards the stove to turn it off.
As he contemplated lifting himself to grab his phone, he heard the key turn in the door.
Kanishka had chosen to cut short her visit and come back early. She helped him up, contritely, her eyes brimming with love.
III
Over the years she pruned and perfected the retelling of their 'story' to her children and to any one else who cared to listen of how her husband, had loved her the very instant that he had set eyes on her and how he had wooed her with his song. She would say how inseparable they were and of their first fight and how, upon her early return plagued as she was by pangs of guilt, she had found him slumped on the kitchen floor, crying his heart out for her.
She would also tell them of her firm resolve to never leave his side, ever again…
And that, my friends, is how myths are born.
