Reminisce

Chapter 1 - Already?

'Knock knock.' 

Mama opened the door. 'Did you get the milk?'

'Yes.' I paused. 'Ma, I'm leaving for Kinnaur tonight.'

She looked up. 'Already? You just came yesterday.'

I shrugged sheepishly. 'Some friends and I wanted a post-college trip, you know, to sort of commemorate the end of this intense academic journey.'

'Intense academic journey, he says,' my mother muttered, rolling her eyes. 'Well, then you better start packing.'

That was the best part about my parents - no further questions asked, they simply hauled me off to Decathlon to get me a rucksack and a sleeping bag. We went to the supermarket and got some chocolates and energy drinks for the mountains - which I knew we would devour in the bus - and headed back home. Dad called me by his side, and I watched him magically fit enough supplies to conquer Russia in winter, in my little Rucksack Of Requirement. Mama made dahi-vada, with an amazing khajur and imli chutney that I started drinking when the vadas were done - until she had to snatch the vessel from me. 

Quietly, I wore my socks and shoes and picked up my over-sized bag. I smiled at my parents. 

'Be careful, beta,' my Dad said. 'Keep informing us at every step, of your location.'

'Yes.' My Mama piped up. 'Come back alive, or I'll kill you,' she added, not even trying to hide her huge grin. It was her standard parting joke. 

I exited the door, looking back for just a second. One day I would be leaving for good. 

'You and I both know, everything must go away...'

Chapter 2 - The Train

It was 16th May, 2017. This bus was a City Lands service, departing at 10:15 PM from Vidhan Sabha Metro Station, Delhi. I had to make my way from Vaishali Metro Station, Ghaziabad, so I had a lot of time on my hands. 

'You auditioned for Ragamalika yet?' Yuddhajeet asked me. 

'Err, no. I didn't even hear about it.'

He sighed. 'Well, the main auditions are done, but I can have one set up for you tomorrow.'

'Thank you.' 

I still didn't know how I'd gotten in. I didn't really know classical music - I was just playing notes. The flute was an instrument I'd loved since my childhood, but had only gotten a chance to learn some ragas in 9th standard. 

'Beta, mark my words, whatever you experience, whatever you find or do, whatever job you pursue - in the end, you'll choose music.'

I still remembered Dada's words. He was right - I had chosen music. I had chosen Ragamalika - the club that I didn't even deserve to be in until my final year. 

My reverie was interrupted by a girl who rushed into the train, She looked flushed, trying to manoeuvre three large bags on her own. I offered her my seat. She smiled at me and sat down, promptly reaching for her mobile. 

'It's 13 and a half, isn't it?' Nityasa declared, with a mixture of glee and pride. 

I nodded, smiling as she counted out the time signature in front of my eyes as I hummed the tune. Taka-taka-takita taka-taka-takita taka-taka-takita taka-taka-taka. 7-7-7-6. I looked at her; I had this strange feeling we would do something absurd and awesome one day. 

'Rajeev Chowk Metro Station. Doors will open to your left. Please mind the gap.'
I alighted. Well, more accurately, I pushed through the wall of people - who didn't care whether we left or not - with all my strength, holding on to my bag for dear life and dodging other feet that threatened to untie my shoelaces. I made it. I shrugged off my battle wounds, and proceeded to the yellow line. 

'Our first show, man. Feels so good.' Akshay uttered softly as  we were exiting Food King. Nrityaranjani - The War, had just ended. It was the tightest, most kick-ass NR we had put up, as we would find out later. We wouldn't have a recording of it, though - as we would find out later. 

We watched the seniors and the dancers of our batch leave for Meera bhavan - it was a tradition to drop off the girls back to their hostel after every show. Well, my batch didn't care much for chivalry, so me, Akshay, Rahul and Vasudev rushed back to our bhavan, and sat under the stars, discussing about life and music and everything in between. We vowed right there and then to continue music, whatever may be. After a lot of pseudo-wisdom and superficial philosophy, Rahul probably summed up the discussion.

'You know what,' he said. 'Let's keep doing this.'

I boarded the second train. Vidhan Sabha was just three stations away.

'Remember, kids,' Isha said. Her voice; though as strong as her, was tinged with sentimentality. 'This is a gift. Don't waste it. Make it a part of your lives, no matter how small. We'll all have jobs, careers, problems in the family and the outside world - but this will stay with us, and it will help, in ways you'll not even realize. We're leaving now, but we're always there if and when you need us.'

We walked back to ANC, after the farewell. I handed Isha an ambigram I'd made for her. It read 'Isha' one way, 'Inani' another. She hugged me. 

It was over - a batch was gone. 

'Vidhan Sabha Metro Station'.

I put on my war face and heaved through like a Juggernaut. I exited through Gate No. 2, rushing up the steps. The excitement was getting to me. We were catching a bus to Shimla - the only planned part of the trip. I had no idea that this would turn out to be the best trek I had done.

I reached the top of the steps, glimpsing two very different silhouettes against the harsh street lights.

Chapter 3 - Bow to the Sky

'Naman,' I called out. He looked up, putting his earphones away. 'What all is in that tiny bag?'

'Some extra clothes, shoes and a pair of sunglasses.'

I sighed. 'Typical TDC packing. Please don't tell me there's a selfie-stick in there.'

Naman Sehgal was a year junior to me, who had volunteered to come along for this trek at the very last moment. I knew him from Backstage and as a fellow EEE warrior. 

'Akash? Tell me there's food in that...is that a school-bag?'

'Yeah, bro. Don't worry, I always carry food around. You just have to stop me  from eating it all.'

Akash Agarwal was from my batch, who had inisisted on tagging along before even I had finalized the plan. Like me, college had ended for him, and he wanted to go out with a bang. We had stayed in the same building during our PS-2 in Bangalore. 

'Well, no problem. The three of us combined have packed very well.'

A bus arrived. We gathered ourselves and walked forward. We had booked it through Redbus, as most college students do nowadays. I showed the m-ticket for the three of us and we got on. As  we settled in, Naman commented, 'Looks nice.' As we would find out later, I would put those words right next to those of the captain of the Titanic, who'd said, 'It's unsinkable.' 

We left, and the nightscape seduced away my attentions. The haunting sepia and black canvas complemented the eerie violet and volatile sky; like two demons fighting over a sea of black souls. The ground was littered with bright lights, masquerading as stars; perhaps compensating for the true gems hiding behind the blanket of smoke and sadness produced by this concrete wasteland. 

We travelled for miles, and yet the sky seemed to never budge. We all were just infinitesimal sparks in an infinite brain, traversing mere micro-fathoms to get nowhere. So why not go somewhere beautiful?

This was how I wanted to live. Travel, music, art, sport, food - and everything, or nothing, in between. But the human and the artist would forever fight over this - two demons fighting over my sea of black souls. 

But it didn't matter. The bus was moving. We were going there. 

“Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.”― Jack Kerouac

Chapter 4 - Two-Tyred To Go On

I didn't even realize that I had fallen asleep, until I woke up. We were standing a few metres ahead of some toll booth, and a glance at my mobile told me it was 1 am. It was a weird place to stop - there was no shop, no restroom, not even some shady bushes to desecrate. All the passengers were seated - what was happening?

On closer inspection, I saw that the driver was missing.

'How about The Tale Of The Three Brothers?'

The tale in question was an allegory of the age-old concept - if you ran from death, feared it and lived your life avoiding it, you would lose. Instead, if you lived to the fullest, unafraid (unmindful, rather) of death, you would embrace it gladly when it came, which would be your victory. 

Sangamam was a very interesting show. We would attempt to depict a story or a popular segment of it using music and dance - this was the first time in many years that such a contemporary theme was being chosen.

Harry Potter for the win. 

'The engine has shut down.'

'The driver has absconded with the engine.'

'The conductor is sleeping in the front - he doesn't even know what's going on.'

'I told you we never should have booked this suspicious sounding travels in the first place. What kind of a name is City Lands?'

'Let's call the owner and threaten to call the police. And ask for a refund. In that order.'

It's so much fun to see how, from the general populace, emerges those archetypes you see in every disaster. 

The first to strike down, with righteous thunder and lightning, is the indignant, sonorous aunty.

The second, is the big brother, who tries to take charge and sort everything out, because it's the right thing to do.

The third, is the wise uncle, who sees the entire proceedings with a knowing smile, commenting on the inevitable collapse of society and the government and eventually, the entire human race.

The fourth is the sensible didi, who sympathizes with both sides and tries to arrive at a compromise, while calming the sonorous aunty down. 

The fifth is the apathetic observer, who makes no contribution except deciding to write about all this someday. 

'It was a brilliant show, people. A popular theme, music  suited to each mood, and brilliant choreography. Now we dance.'

'And beat up the secretary,' someone chorused from the back.

I still remember me, Akshay and Rahul making a fool of ourselves, dancing with androgynous, creepy movements, letting loose. There would be embarrassing recordings which our juniors would see and lose all respect for us (or gain it - the human mind works in mysterious ways), but in that moment, we didn't care. Only the fun and excitement and the spectrum of emotions in that moment mattered.

Every moment is like that. 

'So,' the sonorous aunty yelled into the phone, 'This bus doesn't have an engine, and now you're telling me the bus you're sending has two flat tyres. Does your company specialize in almost buses?'

All the passengers burst out laughing, in unison. I couldn't help but crack a smile. We were all going to reach four hours late - some of us had meetings, conferences, appointments to keep. Others had loved ones waiting for them; it was a major setback. But in that moment, everyone chose to laugh. 

I reclined and drifted back to sleep. We would be all right.

Chapter 5 - Run To The Hills

My eyes opened to the soft morning light caressing brown hills peppered with trees of various greens. The sky was a clear azure, with white clouds added like brush-strokes by an idle painter. Below, I could see a rivulet snaking its way through a gigantic, rocky maze, meandering towards an inevitable end. It flowed with discernment; strong and turbulent over the rocky patches - calm and languorous over the still parts. Perhaps we should all learn to be like water. 

'You guys are seniors now, so act accordingly.' Ananthu stated, with his characteristic scowl. 'Juniors will look up to you and take notes. Don't do anything you wouldn't want them to.'

We had juniors now. I was never a people's person, so I didn't really bother getting to know any of them - but you can't do shows together without some level of bonding. Again, I got to know them as dancers and musicians, and their weird personality quirks which Raag seemed to bring out in everyone. 

I was in no position to be a senior to anyone. I needed to focus on improving myself, playing and composing classical music.

I knew I was being selfish. There was no reason I couldn't be both when the need arose - friendly and proactive when the atmosphere was light-hearted, stern and commanding when something had to be done; and practice would always take precedence. I would come, play, and leave; sometimes add to the wit and crassness of the jokes - sometimes be the butt of them.

I had much to learn from water. 

We turned a corner, and I locked eyes with the first snow-capped peak. It seemed to tower above the entire landscape, unmindful of the ceaseless toils and tragedies of the human realm; eternal, unmoved. Even the clouds could not hide it, choosing lesser hills to obscure. The snow was a palette of its own; soft blue from the scattering of the clouds, sparkling white from the harsh sunlight, milky grey from the shadows. Perhaps that is why people yearned for the mountains - they were a symbol for strength; unaffected by insecurities, worldly paradigms, ethics and opinions and prejudices. 

Pranav was practically a savant. How did he and I deserve to be in the same club? And how did I deserve to be his senior?

Why would he stay? After Rohan Shankar left, who would teach him; who would help him grow? 

'Listen, you're not really a classical musician. This is your second year - either buck up, or leave. Frankly, you're not good enough to be in the club. It's better to leave, practice and learn for a year, and then audition again. Maybe things will be better.'

It was decided. I was going to leave Ragamalika, learn from whatever resources I could find, and then see whether classical music was really my forte. 

What would have happened if I had left? We all should be allowed at least a sneak peek into the life we would have had if we had got on a different bus, boarded a different train, opened another door. Maybe I would have lost some friends, but gained more skill. Maybe that wouldn't have been better. 

This is why I had come, to leave all these questions behind - to lose myself in the mountains, and then find myself again.

'Shimla! Last stop!'

“Travel far enough, you meet yourself” -David Mitchell