With my eyes still closed, I’d listen to it again. Within seconds, I’d be wide awake connecting the tune to our old favourite melodies. “You are right, baby. I knew you’d find that song. Now, you can go back to sleep,” she’d say, winking at me, and awaiting my angry retort.
She is good at connecting songs, creating fusions and learning the lyrics. Though it is a rare treat, she sings very well - be it a rap for the song ‘Akele hain’ from the movie Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak, a bass voice duet ‘Hai Rama’ from the movie Rangeela or a classical melody ‘Ini Achcham Achcham’ from the movie Indira. The list just goes on. No wonder, she was one of the ‘most wanted’ members of the Indian Music Association in college. She later became the Secretary of the association too.
“Music makes me happy,” she’d often say. Fast beats that go dhinchak, obscure notes that are typical AR Rahman or classical melodies with a touch of fusion can make her head bob from side to side, as she’d hum along loudly when no one’s watching her or just remain elated with eyes closed.
Have you listened to the famous song by Simon and Garfunkel - The Sound of Silence? There is a line that goes: Silence like a cancer grows… Well, my friend grew to love the sound of silence gradually. After Tilotama’s introduction, she said, “Don’t play music. It makes me sad. It reminds me of the happy days when I enjoyed music.”
Her sister was heading back to the US to be with her family before Christmas. My friend tried to gather all her strength to climb the stairs and get to her sister’s room on the first floor of the duplex apartment. She wanted to help her sister pack. We decided to listen to some music together so she can have us around while letting go of her emotions.
As her sister’s phone reverberated with a song from Atrangi Re, my friend’s eyes were brimming with tears. “I can’t help but cry,” she said. She was always a fan of music composer AR Rahman, while I vouched for Ilayaraja first. They say music is therapeutic. To her, music seemed to be a distant dream of joys. “Please, stop. I can’t bear to listen to these tunes,” she said, as tears rolled down her cheeks. It was an arduous journey as she struggled through every step while descending. Another quiet tear, laden with emotion, flowed out of her eyes as she said bye to her sister. “Be back soon. I’ll miss you,” she said to her sister.
I tried to talk her into listening to some of the latest songs. “Did you know there is this latest Tamil song that is going viral? I’ll send you the link, try listening to one song a day,” I said. “Just let me be, baby. I don’t want to now,” was her immediate answer. I didn’t want to force her, but I missed sharing my latest favourite tracks with her. Even though I sent her the links, they remained ‘unread’ on our WhatsApp window.
The closest she came to was a podcast. At least, there was something that she could turn to. And they kept her company, most often, when I wasn’t there to entertain her with mindless gossip.
I stayed back for a couple of days through the cold winter week and headed home to welcome the New Year with my folks. I didn’t have the heart to leave her behind. It was crushing each time I said bye to her.
My aunt and cousin were spending New Year’s eve with us. We decided to have a karaoke night and it was my turn. I thought I’ll try singing a song that I’d never attempted before. I chose to sing ‘Abhi mujh mein kahin’ from the movie Agneepath starring Hrithik Roshan. There is a line in the chorus that goes: Mar jaoon ya jee loon zara (meaning: do I die or continue to live for a while). I was choking with emotion.
It was heartbreaking. I broke down. I felt torn. I felt guilty for revelling while my friend had shut herself in the sound of silence.
As I wished her a ‘Happy New Year’ the next day, she was barely able to speak. I knew she answered the call for the sole reason that I wanted to speak with her. The last eight New Year celebrations were spent with my friend. She’d swing her head, tap her feet and twist her lips with the attitude of a pop singer. Man, she knew how to fool an audience despite having two left feet.
I felt left out this time. Or was she?
Proud of you Pratiba. Palliative caregiving is not for the faint hearted.
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