The Artist

"Remember me?" popped a sudden question from a total stranger while I was waiting for my train at the station. Partly, I was wondering about the confidence of the man and partly I was confused if I might know him. Reluctantly yet politely I said "No." 

"I am Pradeep's brother. Station Master Pradeep who worked here."

Perplexed, but assuming that my dress must have been mistaken for the uniform I said, " I don't work here and I don't know Pradeep."

I sat at a bench where I was parallel to this man so that I could not see him but still hear the wonderful predicaments he had been through which he was narrating to a very calm person listening him with utmost interest. 

"I am a musician. You know the most popular composer Dev? We used to work together. We released our first song while we were in college. I used to come first in all competitions. But of course, he is very talented.....and lucky too."

The calmest man on earth was that listener. He knew when to shrug it off and when to nod in affirmation. I don't know why he chooses to sit still and listen to this boastful soliloquy when there was a clear choice to leave. But then he was getting involved; "So what do you do for a living now?" 

"I am a music teacher at a private institution."

The train's compartments were scarcely filled. These two men were continuing the conversation as such. There was a family of four; mother, father and two children. The youngest infant was asleep. There were a group of four students cheering themselves with their weird ideas. And here and there a few lone travellers with earphones plugged in.

Amidst the indistinct chatter, I could still hear him distinctly, "I play piano, violin and flute. My students admire my music. They say that I should have my own YouTube channel, that would bring me fame and recognition...."

Isn't it right? In this time of proliferating social media influence, I believe that everyone gets their fifteen minutes of fame. If he is so damn proud of his talent and desperately seeking recognition, he should do that. 

"...but something holds me back. I don't want to place myself on a platform and beg for likes and subscriptions..."

Well, I think that would be better since there is a choice to see the begging. That's indeed far better than crucifying such friendly strangers.

There began a cry. Yes, the infant the mother had been holding tight had woken up and seems to be distressed. Then I could hear a lot of suggestions; "feed him, he is hungry." "Change his diaper, he is wet." "Close the window, he is cold."

Excuse me people, maybe that baby and, obviously, that mother need some silence. All of a sudden, there was silence. No! There was a flute being played. Something so captivating that the whole lot of creatures hearing it went still. The baby stopped his cry to listen to this marvellous piece of original art. Time and space went still. How long did it take to come back to the senses? 

Somebody has to start the slow clapping to begin an applause. I chose to be the one, an attempt to apologise for my dubious thoughts. Some talents are indeed not recognised. 

My Man

"The progressive man who turns into an amorous beast at proximity." Impatiently I listened to Rita's admiration for her "man". The only thing that made the conversation bearable was her addition of "my ideal concept of manliness". If she hadn't listened to even more stupid fantasies of mine (like building castles in the clouds), I would have fled the scene. Well, I don't know if we could call it a conversation. It was more like a session with a therapist where I listen to her and nod my head occasionally. She didn't really want an input from me. Though I never fancied the predatory violent nature of manliness, I didn't discourage her excitement in regarding herself as a prey. I presume gentle, kind and responsible guys as manly. But I understand that isn't very heroic in our popular culture. 

As we walked down the street and entered the grocery store, Rita said, "Yesterday, he took me shopping in the mall. I think tonight I will cook and call him over for a romantic dinner." Again how am I supposed to respond except for an approving nod? I don't know if it's my nature or my experience that makes me feel pathetic at the insufferable need to impress each other in totally unbiased roles. As we passed the billing counter, I texted Will "I bought groceries for the week." It wasn't any immediate need of the hour, but I often forget things which I procrastinate. 

Rita has been tiring herself in revealing her excitement. As we parted ways to our own apartments, I shook her hand and said, "Good luck with your romantic endeavour" and turned away. I didn't want to disappoint her but I had to signal the slightest remark of my contempt. As I entered my apartment, my phone notified Will's message "Rian is on leave today. I may be late from work. You need not wait for me. Just remember to take out your keys once you lock-in." I texted back "okay." 

I bathed, made myself a tiny dinner, washed my clothes and had a quick view of the day's news headlines. As I set my alarm my phone flashed "Alarm set for 8 hours and 25 minutes from now" which gave me immense pleasure. I felt content with this phase of my life where an uninterrupted eight hours of sleep excites me more than a romantic dinner. I texted Will "Good night my man" and turned on the flight mode before he gave a reply.