The tinkling of silver, a pleasure overdose
The charm of the moonlight, a musical turn
The warmth of the summer, the flowers of a fern
A whiff of vanilla, the laugh of a rush
The stretch of a rainbow, the youth of a blush
The Lord must have thought of so many a thing.
When He made the fair voice that could so beautifully sing.
2006
The indigo twilight had given way to the night studded with
stars. The young traveller gazed silently into the night as the train wound its
way through the tiresome journey. For a
man who led an incredibly dynamic routine, the monotony of the journey was a
prosaic compulsion. His thoughts wandered aimlessly even as his heart yearned
for the next two days to race by so that he could finally catch a glimpse of
Mumbai— the city of dreams where he wished to find his fortune.
A group of travellers in the neighbouring compartment had
started singing a folk song, and though he couldn’t quite catch the words because
of the local dialect and accent, he soon found himself humming the tune even as
his fingers tapped the seat lightly.
Somewhere in the middle of the song, before he even realised that the
verse had changed, a new voice had participated in the group. He had abruptly
stopped humming as the voice continued the song from where the chorus had
stopped.
Despite the rattling of the train, the spitting of the
engine, the occasional incongruous chorus, the voice reached his ears clearly. He
involuntarily inclined his head, but since the beautiful singer was in the
compartment behind his, he could not catch a glimpse of her. He lightly guessed
that she wore glass bangles as everytime she raised her pitch in the song, it
was followed by a characteristic clinking of the bangles when she probably
raised her hand in beat with the music. He smiled as he shut his eyes and listened
as she sang into the night, he listened spellbound, as the melody, the rhythm,
the sweetness and the sheer texture of that voice fell on his ears and
strangely touched his heart.
He didn’t know when a deep slumber kissed his eyes. The next
morning when he awoke, the train had come to a halt at the next station and as
he strolled upto the door in order to get off the train to stretch his limbs, he noticed
that the singing troupe in the next compartment had left. He paused awhile,
then smiled ruefully and got off the train into the dappling sunlight, humming
a tune that had long since strung his heart. It was the very essence of the
Raag Bhairavi.
2013
“I think you didn’t read the notice outside honey. This is a
singing competition, not a crowing contest.”
Abhimanyu and Veer cast a sideways glance at each other as
Ruhaali Rajput squawked at the poor contestant cowering on stage. The shoot was
supposed to have been wrapped up two hours earlier but because of their
co-judge’s melodramatic digressions, they had been been stuck in the studio
drumming the table while she complained about the “blaaaand coffee”, “jaaaaaarrring singing”
and “wanna-be-singgongs-wastin-mai-taaaaiiim”.
The production house had been
bearing up with her starry tantrums solely because these carefully directed
outbursts were garnering a flood of TRPs and at the end of the day, it was an
undeniable fact that she was an incredibly gifted singer. Veer
Khanna was one of the most celebrated music composers that Bollywood could
boast of currently, with a flair for music that touched the ethos of classical
tones and brushed with the essence of pop. Abhimanyu Singh was the young singer
from Ranchi who was slowly being immortalised in the industry for a voice that
had “showered in magic” as the young crowd put it.
“Babe, I think that’s enough” murmured Veer and Ruhaali
synchronously lowered her pitch allowing the contestant to scurry away as the
crew signalled a shot break.
“How many more left?” asked Abhimanyu sprawling in his seat running his hands
through his hair. “One” grinned Veer and the duo high fived behind Ruhaali as
she applied oodles of gloss.
“This is such a tiring profession” she said leaning back
against her seat and fluttering her fake eyelashes at the ceiling.
“Why don’t we call the next person in and finish this off?”
asked Abhimanyu, glancing at his watch and winking at Veer.
The other two reluctantly assented and the shot resumed. A
young woman, probably in her mid-twenties entered the room. Though her hair had
been clipped into a fashionably messy bun, one could guess that they definitely
reached her waist when she left them free. She had worn a westernised kurti
with one of those flashy traditional jackets that Abhimanyu had gotten used to
seeing when he had first come to Mumbai. Her left hand was adorned with a stack
of jade bangles and he noticed that her right one held the mic comfortably and
confidently. Her skin tight jeans hugged her tapering legs and she wore
stunning flats which blended with her attire.
“Hiii” said Ruhaali in her tinkling voice and looking ostensibly
into the sheet before she said, “So you are Geetanjali Bannerjee.”
“Yes” answered the woman. Veer smiled encouragingly, while
Abhimanyu who had been going through the report sheet looked up when he heard
her speak.
“Where are you from?” asked Veer fiddling with the pencil.
“Ranchi.”
“Your gaon sweetheart!” chattered Ruhaali looking at
Abhimanyu who continued looking at the girl.
“What can you sing for us?” he asked her quietly.
The girl smiled when he spoke and gushed out, “I’m a huge fan
of yours, so I chose your song Awaaz Jaadoo Sa from Jawaan Dil actually.”
Before he could reply, Veer said, “Haan, haan of course,
please start!”
She sang undeniably well. Ruhaali, for a change, decided to
let a contestant finish a song. Abhimanyu could already
see Veer marking a huge tick against her name. As he leaned back, he smiled as
he noticed her left hand moving with the beat, the bangles clinking
rhythmically, though they didn’t quite produce the same sound he’d heard so
many years ago. By the time she had stopped singing, he was so mesmerised that
he almost forgot to clap till Ruhaali did.
“That was really good”
said Veer thoughtfully, “you sing beautifully.”
“AaawwwmiGaawwd that was so beautiful Geetanjali. After hearing
all those toadies sing, I so loved your voice, honey. You couldn’t have sung
more beautifully" said Ruhaali. Geetanjali smiled happily and then expectantly turned to
look at Abhimanyu.
He looked at her for a while and then turned to Ruhaali and
said, “If you think she couldn’t have sung more beautifully, then you haven’t
heard her sing to the beat of a handful
of glass bangles on a chugging train from Ranchi to Mumbai seven years ago.”
He smiled at the stunned woman on the stage and said, “Sakhi
Ri Mohe in Raag Bhairavi, wasn’t it?”
Looking at her overwhelmed face, he told her quietly, “I
have never forgotten that journey, the voice, nor the song. I hope you get to
sing it in the finals one day.”
The night sky was velvet which the stars did adorn
She sang so blissfully, a magic was born
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