The Scent of Music

The music was fading out slowly. It was a sufi one. The jockey had a nice collection. You need to be brave and a true music lover to run hindi sufi music in a bar at 930PM. The uncertainty around the real world was slowly gripping in. It’s like that feeling of a flight, just before it lands, the tentativeness of flying just a few feet above the ground, swaying the body trying to balance itself before making it happen. Like holding oneself before the kiss. Or the anticipation before the first touch. At that moment of anticipation and blurred reality, Soham realized the lady on the other table looked familiar to him. He picked up his phone and went to phonebook searching for a name. He paused at a number. Alcohol is making him brave. He stared at the number for a while. He had last called this number 11 years back. Is it still valid? Is she still carrying the same number? Soham Whatsapp-ed “Hi”. After a few tensed seconds, she did pick up her phone.

Soham works as a Sales Manager in a financial organization. He had started his professional career early, while continuing his education in parallel. Like 95% of bongs, he didn’t have a super rich father and hence had a long journey towards success. Possibly because of that, or due to some other reason, he knew the value of hard work unlike many other bongs. He puts in his best effort in search of the invisible corporate ladder, though it often eludes him. He is on travel almost 2 weeks every month. And Soham enjoys the travel. Throughout his career, he has travelled extensively. He knows beautiful exquisite places in remote areas of Eastern states, which you may never find in the Google map. However this is the first time he is visiting Pune.

It took a while to adjust himself with the morning sun. The curtains were having a narrow gap. And the early morning sun took that chance. Before stretching his eyes to see the time, Soham recalled its Sunday. He could enjoy the extra 15 minutes in the extending warmth of the bed. He stretched out his hand with the AC remote and increased the temperature. It was feeling chilly on a July morning. On a reflex, Soham pulled out his smartphone from the side table and gently pressed the power button. New mail, SMS  & Whatsapp messages are showing their traces. However his eyes got stuck at the Whatsapp notification. Hurriedly he sat up straight. And read the conversations from last night again. The emptiness was coming back. Or was it emptiness?

Soham reached the CCD half an hour earlier than he had planned, as he got a smooth ride without much traffic. Also he didn’t want to take a chance today. It was getting cloudy. It might rain today in the evening.

His flight is at 7:45 PM. Since this place is quite close to the airport, he could easily stay here for two and a half hours. Whenever Soham goes to any of these coffee shops, the most dreaded part is ordering a cup of coffee. There are so many options to choose from. Wish life was like that. Ordering a cup of coffee and lazily finishing it off took 20 more minutes. 10 more minutes to kill. The anticipation is coming back. Outside it has started to drizzle again. From his seat, he could view the entrance. An old tree had one of its branch hanging over the gate. The green tone had become richer with the raindrops. The music playing in the cafe was a known one, but Soham was not concentrating on the lyrics. The sound of rain was seeping into the music. And the known lyrics was becoming unknown. The old memories were invading his consciousness. A mesmerizing numbness was sinking in. The words, spoken and the unspoken ones, from seemingly some other universe were crowding his memory. The sequence of many events were getting garbled. Which one happened earlier and which one was an afterthought? Why did he say that at that moment? Was it immaturity? Would he have reacted differently today?

Amidst this semi-consciousness, suddenly Soham heard a familiar voice after 11 years: “kotokhon wait korchis?” Sahana is standing right across the table. The raindrops have added pearls in her hair. Just like 2003.

Story composed by Shree Chowdhury for Jhaalmuri Puja Special 2014