Skip to main content

Drifting Melodies...

Suddenly they heard a thud.. Madhav and Kirtana had been engrossed in and relishing the cacophony of the rock-music from their ear-phones creeping into their ear-buds. But this 'thud' had overpowered their favorite 'melodies'. Dropping their ear-phones on the bed in a ferocious fit of rage, the siblings made their way toward the staircase that led upstairs, where the sound, repeating itself over and over again, seemed to be coming from. The tone grew louder and louder as they neared their destination, proving to be a trail to the music-room, the door of which the children shoved open.

The 'melody-makers,' they discovered, were most surprisingly, the tablas at the corner of the room;these were the sole culprits as far as one's reasoning could go, for there was not a trace of human presence in the room. As though in sheer loss of temper, the instruments began banging and clashing against each other, producing a tremendous, low-pitched, yet rhythmic outcome. Madhav and Kirtana were dumbfounded- this was the most unorthodox manner in which they had ever entered the room!

They shifted their gaze towards the left corner of the room to find the sitar strings getting dismantled and rising in thin air, each playing its note to the audibility of the children. The order in which the strings rose tripled the melody that the percussion instruments had produced and created a tranquil atmosphere.

In the very centre of this enchanted room stood a colossal Grand Piano, its naturals and sharps and flats parting ways to form two rows by the Piano. Distinct notes began disintegrating in thin air. It was a splendid sight as pitch swung up from the keys. The three instruments' brilliantly weaved orchestra provoked a thought in the children's heads- Isn't variety a necessity in everyone's  life? Post this eccentric encounter with music, Madhav and Kirtana, locking their earphones inside their cupboard for a while, booked tickets for the Carnatic Music Festival the following evening.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

What the New Year Means to Me

 What does the new year mean to me? I don't know.  I think it just means that I can give myself another chance to try, fail, succeed.   I think it means that I can spend time with family, differently this time. I think it means that I can connect with people and with myself, in new ways.  I also think that it gives me a chance to see things with a different lens. The kaleidoscope becomes a periscope. I don't know what else. Every year, I put on a new pair of goggles. Every year, I grow, whether I try, or not. Some things may work as I had expected them to, some may not. But who knows?  I will allow myself to be Novak Djokovic in my arena, who hears his name when the crowd cheers for Nadal or Federer. I will allow myself to be Rafael Nadal, who always has a plan, no matter how bleak or bright things may seem, and sticks to it. I will allow myself to be Roger Federer, who glides in, serves, plays and walks out, all in grace and style. I will allow myself to b...

Fact and Fantasy

How much is fact, and how much is fantasy? Winter mornings are dewdrops. They settle like the treble in a song, only to fade away like echoes.  I can hold them on my fingertips, but the next instant they are gone. Elusive. Just like peace. Just like people you don't really know. Come to think of it, I realize that everything in this world is transient. The barking of the dogs in the neighborhood. The incessant crying of a baby. The footsteps of the milkman. The steady, tremulous tone of someone making a point over the phone. The chatter of neighbors. Yet, only a few moments have passed before I can remind myself that transience is, after all, a tricky business. Everything appears temporary because it is warped by time and spaced into a fragment of its entirety. What appears to be a puzzle, is actually just one piece.  I am wearing the most concrete example of this irony of interconnectedness. Of permanence. Of durability. It wraps your hands and skin in the warmth of several i...

(How I Wish) People Were Like Poems

Today, I wish people were more like poems.  A sad truth is dawning on me.  I can't just be. Most things just are. No proof required. No justification. Here I feel like an instance Of a class. Some kind of template  With some methods Instantiated. Many of my methods are public. Others comment on them. If I encapsulate, They pry. If I am abstract, They talk. What's going on? I'm not going to plead any more. I'll just shut all the doors. Make all the methods and variables private. Too many people tampering with the balance of it all. Our lives are not portraits or leaflets to hand out. Media often makes us feel so, but existence is way older, Authentic and organic- than the glitzy hood of social media. Human beings, like plants, need space, nourishment and nurturing To thrive. Are plants dependent on these things? Can they not stand on their own roots? They can, and they do. But you cannot neglect  The environmental variables that make them happen. So don't comment on ...