Ebullience

Timbre

The world has been a stupid place with full of mindless people roaming around. I have always been a huge part of this world or say these people. There was a time I actually thought about being a famous singer and getting everybody to love me while I couldn't even make my girlfriends love me. Though I know, to have someone love you, you have to give them equal or even more of the same. I never did that. I always thought I loved them when the truth was obvious, I loved music. The whole thing was music, my mornings when I prepared the breakfast for the girl I had spent night with, the way the water cleansed me from inside out while I took a bath and even when at night I had sex with them. The passion, the way my fingers danced on their smoothest curves and the giggles they passed at me when I took them out on dates. All of it was music, in every moment I sang a song. To be honest some of them found it odd and creepy but some of them loved it. They loved to listen to me sing for them, they loved the tenderness in my voice, they said "it reminds me of how gentle and caring your touch is."

All of it had always been music, my songs, those where my timbre. “Mr. Jash Suyal, you're up next!"

"Hello. Are you Mr. Jash Suyal? They are calling you, it's your turn to go over to the stage."

"Umm.. yeah thank you. I just nodded off a bit."

"Yeah. No problem. It's my job."

"Woah!"

That came out just when I opened my eyes and my gaze fell at the face I admired standing among the participants. I honestly thought I had won the competition and that it was destiny that wants me to fall for her. That dimple on her right cheek enhanced her cheek bones, her face was small but long, slim, and her nose was cute. Yeah, that's all I grasped when I saw her nose, little and cute. Her eyes, I was right, they weren't big but truly resembled a freshly grown tree with massive space for exploration and experience. I was mesmerized. All that beauty and no escaping from "woah".

"Well, Mr. Suyal it's your turn. Please wash your face and freshen up, you're up in 5 minutes. Good luck!"
"Ah..huh.. thank you so much. I..uhm.. I am going to freshen up. Could you tell me where the washroom is, please?"
"Ofcourse. It's straight and left, beside the waiting room."
"Thank you once again."
"It's my work. You don't need to thank me for everything. Please be quick."

Her voice, it was intoxicating, much more than I thought it'd be.

I heard a song. I knew it was about to end and that I had to sing after it. I finally came back to my sense. I splashed water over my face; suddenly I realised that song, the singer must be the lady who was standing in front of me. I focused on her tone, her high notes didn't crack like other women's. She was like goddess, her voice was blissful. I mean I might be exaggerating but she was terrific, and I well, terrified a little bit. She was a sweet but a tough one, moreover a competition.

I patted my face and looked in the mirror. I saw myself and for the very first time, saw how I really looked. I stared right in my eyes and found many failures residing but somewhere still existed the latent fire that I needed to ignite. I saw my lips grinning, brimming with confidence. Something I've lacked for a long time. It wasn't the girl, no. She was a escape route to me, I guess. Although I really came to like her; nevertheless the reason was all the other girls I have had gone out with it, all my friends who pushed me to my limits and to the lady who was singing on the stage. Somehow I felt I knew all her problems, may be I won't ever understand but I felt it, I knew how it is for Indian women. No matter where they live there is always a pressure on them to handle the family, to look after all the members. And then if they get the time or could make some time, they might do what they want.

Not all the families followed this, my intuition said hers do. I was glad she could make the time. I'm sure her in-laws support her, her husband as well. At least I wish they do.

I rushed to the stage, there was a guy holding the mic in his hand to hand it over to me, at the stage the anchor was announcing the next performance. He was having trouble pronouncing my name, well I am used to that, it's very easy yet some don't get it easily. I saw the lady and was about to thank her and tell her that she's amazing when the backstage boy pulled me, gave me the mic and pushed me on the stage.

I didn't trip, thank god. It'd have been so embarrassing. I was no hunk or heartthrob whose every move will sway the audience. I was fit but no muscular one. I was tall and quite strong. Although my eyesight isn't healthy, but the girls say I look good with specs. So yeah, I never was or will be the woman's man but I was a gentleman who looks 'sweet' to girls. Only if girls knew what sweet really meant for boys. But I am pretty cool among boys, I mean I know how to play guitar and not so bad looking with a charming voice and above all a party person. The guys like to be with me, more than the girls ofcourse. The girls want attention and I only give attention to my music, they really think I am a spoiler, some do. Some like it that I don't hit on them and follow them around like other guys.

When I was standing in front of the jury I wasn't nervous, I was finding the faces I longed to see, my friends'. And one more now. I knew she worked here but where. Not in the backstage clearly. So I searched for her. Found her nowhere. All I could see was unknown faces, lots of them flooding the ground. I took a deep breath and started singing.

I closed my eyes, I could see the flashbacks of countless scenes. The first time I picked a guitar and tried to play, my father scolded me. He said "it's not a play thing Jash." I was seven then, grown enough to know it was no play thing and that my father had it for work. He was a huge man, not so healthy but had a calming face, as often the musicians are said to have. He had an Indian vibe surrounding him all the time. Classical music had always been a part of him, more than me or my mother sometimes. His big bag like belly, clean shaved puffy face, double chin and dimples on both the cheeks. Hair perfectly set for show and hands always in rhythmic flow. I think my love for music is genetic. My mother loved it too and she loved him because of who he was, his love for music never bothered her. She always had this smile on her face whenever she saw him play the harmonium. I am not able to love someone because I want that person to love me like my mother loved my father. With all of her heart, and with all his flaws; I want to love someone like my mother did.
An ideal couple.

When I opened my eyes the whole place was silent. No rustling of wind made a breeze, no birds chirped. It was disturbing. My mind went to blank. No thoughts ran through my mind. All I could think of was to rush backstage, drink water or may be pour it all over my head to cool it down. I was feeling hot, my palms were sweaty making it difficult to keep a hold of the mic. I was feeling dizzy, suddenly sound of claps echoed cutting all the silence, the applause directly came at me. I was awestruck. I was stunned.

After all these years of hard work, and so many failures, I finally saw how much it means when you're loved, your music is loved, at the same level as you've been loving it.

I was praised, I had been, many times but none of that compares to performing live and being loved at once. I have experienced abuse, humiliation, all of that still hurts but now that it has paid off, I am thankful. I have seen times when I couldn't face my father. There was a time I was forced to leave the stage because I couldn't sing in front of the people; once I was told not to sing ever again because my voice insults singing. I was tormented, shattered by the harsh comments and the most painful was when my father said I was disrespecting the Goddess of music by trying to become a part of it. This moment all I could think was I proved that my worship was not in vain, that the Goddesses never punish those who love their work, who work on their love with honesty. I never gave up, I was disheartened but never stopped praying to my destiny to turn my dreams into reality, to make music my name.
I have a habit of exaggerating I guess. Though when you accomplish the long lost desires, you see that clearly what was blur all your life until one moment, then you know it's not just happiness but a path that no more has doubts. Even if you fail again and again and again, and a million times more, that one moment nullifies all the losses and you focus on what next to achieve. I find it interesting because I know this feeling is worth efforts. Efforts to survive the feeling of being no good, feeling of being unwanted, undesired. The proximity to the feeling of success is worth every inch of wound that bleeds, all the red when turns into the colour of victory is when those blood drops fall on the ground and show your power and presence. I felt powerful and healed.

I smiled and a tear drop fell, nobody could see it with me on the stage holding the mic and smiling. How could someone realise this feeling? Then again it wasn't just power or victory but love that I felt that day. In every clap I felt it, in every word of appraisal I heard it, on all the faces I saw it, and I found my colour prevail, all was red; dangerous, uncertain, powerful, victorious and lovely.
Love, I might've found in music but the love my eyes still longed to see was nowhere near in sight. I sighed and wished for everything to be fine for all those who deserve it.

"Nice song. You're a really nice singer." said the nice lady.
"Thank you. It was nothing in front of yours. You were amazing. I wanted to tell you but they pushed me on the stage."
"Oh my! Thank you so much. That's very generous of you."
"Where are you from ma'am?"
"No no, don't call me ma'am please. Call me Shweta."
"Oh..okay..so Shweta, where are you from?"
"I am from Delhi. Came to live here with my in-laws after getting married. Took sometime to settle down and now here I am."
"My family's from Gujarat, I was born here only. I haven't been to India, although I am planning a trip there."
"A trip?"
"Yeah. Need a break from all this. As soon as this competition is over I'll be on my way."
"That's great. Happy Journey."

I took my leave from her after thanking her and filling my soul with positivity that she brimmed with every smile. It didn't feel that she is only saying it but otherwise. I think I have never met such a person who is as much generous and genuine as she is.
Soon after, I was searching for other faces, especially the one that made my heart skip a beat in all the nervousness I was feeling. My trembling feet and shaky hands with anxious mind nothing existed when I saw her sitting there in that very bench where it all started, among the evening lights but none over her face. I couldn't see but imagine how beautiful she is even without light, without any colours to make her shine. She has her own presence, a presence strong yet hidden; like she is the cloud that floats in the huge sky without being noticed particularly but without which no child can draw a sky, no person can dream to reach so high.

I felt relieved but couldn't gather the strength to go to her and talk. Afterall, she was someone who seemed so far away. Even when she smiled at me, when she wished me luck or when she peacefully sat alone, she was out of reach, like she cannot mix with others, she's a complex colour on her own. Nobody understands it, nobody really knows why it exists and so she never bothers to explain or show.
Nevertheless, it is the beauty that transcends the barrier of thoughts, that really has a meaning, that answers those what cannot be one thing only. That is why she is so different, that is why my eye caught her. She shines on her own, she disappears as she likes. Her presence is strong but she can hide in the shadows like she owns her space. She isn't a mystery, neither she is clear, she is a person with lots of ' yes and no '. She is exquisite, a kind rare to find, the one who empowers the courage and dismisses the fear. Something to cover the red but not to vanish it or make it something else.