1

One of these days, on an enchanted evening we sat in open air. Above us, God’s skillful hands created magic from the heavens as the sun bade adieu. Hence colours, warm beautiful hues spilled forth in a clear summer sky. The fiery reds and the balmy yellows blended and spread generously, making room for a hint of purple here and there. The purples became deeper as the moments passed, and soon paved way for an even, unending dark blanket of blue. We watched the sky at play together- my friends and I. We sat wondering when the concert will begin.



The round, Greek amphitheatre-esque venue had brick steps instead of seats. The stairs descended from all sides into a round platform where a mundane stage was set. Fluorescent lights were focused and refocused till perfect, illuminating the arena in rich neon greens. Black silhouettes travelled back and forth, carrying heavy instruments from a minivan to the stage. One of them tested the screeching mikes as an open challenge to our eardrums. But the setting was breathtaking- the lights glistened and flicked ever so slightly, caressing the stage and the gallery above. As a soothing breeze blew to match the surroundings the seats filled up quickly. The venue was soon overflowing with excited chatter from all sides.


The cool night air twirled around each of the nameless faces in the gallery, tying them together into the same palpable anticipation. Mostly strangers, they were pulled collectively to the same event. Looking down at the stage occasionally, their faces conveyed a mixture of excitement and impatience at the countless unfamiliar people on all sides.


Enclosed safely in our own little bubble, my friends and I- a mess of fervent teens remained completely oblivious to the world outside. Cars continued to screech by demanding the attention of the mob but inevitably went unnoticed; the whine of their engines dying into the blurred night. Badam-wallahs and popcorn-boys were definitely the busiest that night, as possible customers yelled for refreshments from almost every step of the gallery. Even in the midst of all the commotion, a small voice from behind did not escape my notice- “It’s all over the internet, their fanpage confirmed it too. It’s the guy’s first show tonight.” I pretty much whirled around to face a younger boy who seemed to excuse my bizarre reflexes with a smile.

“It’s Requiem, apu” he explained animatedly “If nothing goes wrong then they’re introducing a new member tonight!” he said, and got busy explaining the same to everyone else who asked. Word travels faster than light, they say; and proving it correct, the crowd soon seemed to discuss nothing else. After all it was Requiem, one of the more popular bands in the underground scene. But a question lingered on everyone’s mind- who would they accommodate in their already strong, well-organized lineup?


When the babble of the crowd had more or less ceased, there was a stir in the front rows. The two sets of doors on the makeshift stage were both temptingly agape. Lights thrummed from the opening, on and off, on and off. Lights set up around the stage changed colours from blue to green to yellow. Those at the front could just see into the entrance and eye the security guards over, both of them significantly bigger than any of the onlookers. Like lions, they breathed heavily and bristled threateningly under the wary gaze. A quick announcement on the microphone soon claimed the crowd’s undivided attention. And then silence fell, a hush almost overwhelming.

The silence was kept for only a second. There was stillness... And then…


A cheer tore through the calm, reigniting the buzz in the air. A metallic melody soared from the stage, closely followed by an epic bass line, a heavy drum beat. Someone began to sing- an unmistakable growl of the celebrated lead vocal. ‘Hemlock’ had taken the stage by storm. I am a lucky girl tonight, I mused.

The whole, chaotic evening had been in preparation for this one moment. In this moment, we strangers are woven together by freedom; a freedom in the expression of music. But eager fans, including me, had one final attraction to witness- the mighty Requiem and their brand new surprise.


2

I glanced at the concert leaflet clasped tight in my hand. By then two other bands after Hemlock had performed and left the stage. When the lights flashed yellow I skimmed through the day’s lineup- Requiem was on number four.

Let’s see what you guys have found.

For a moment, it seemed that time had simply stopped then and there. Some of my friends had tried stirring up a conversation, but nobody was in a mood to talk. Popcorn and cola was passed from this end to that, sometimes to complete strangers. Those few moments had tied us together in friendship, in undivided attention, in longing and in restlessness. But then there was an announcement, and some silhouettes- five of them, emerged from behind the makeshift doors.

The five original, ever so awesome members of Requiem.

A large group to my right had already started to hoot at the top of their voice.

Then a sixth figure was seen emerging from the backstage.

Louder hoots this time, followed by a few excited, girly screams. This new member took careful steps, consulted with a senior nearby and slowly advanced to take center stage. A yellow spotlight was focused directly, and solely on him. Yellow phosphorescence flooded his entire being.

For a moment, nobody spoke. All eyes were on this rather tall, slender boy of about my age. Like the rest of his bandmates he was dressed in a black t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. Long dark hair, long for a boy’s standards, reached his shoulder and created a sharp contrast with his ghostly pale skin. A rather strange looking instrument case hung from his shoulder, a case that he soon got busy rummaging. Out came a long, thin and silvery stick- as if a magician’s wand at the ready. The crowd gasped as they found out who he was; a person unlike any other- the flutist of a metal band.

Fred the lead guitarist held his guitar tighter, ready to play an accompaniment. The new guy exchanged a quick nod with him and took the flute to his lips.

Isara

A silent, spellbound audience seemed to breathe in this newly created ambience. In those few moments his flute told us tales- tales of sights unseen, of words unspoken. His expert fingers closed just the right opening at just the right time; hence a smooth, flawless melody swept us off our feet. Magic seemed to have finally found a place with us, magic and nothing else.

But unlike other flutists he did not sever ties with his audience; he kept his eyes wide open. He gazed at his now captivated listeners, trying to scan every nook and corner of the amphitheatre. He was apparently reading faces, expressions, thoughts- everything. It was probably something in-built, an urge to read people’s faces. But at one point, his furtive eyes stopped their seemingly unending search.

His eyes met mine.

I had never felt so exposed, so ‘caught in the act’ in my entire life. Truth to be told, I was gaping at him too. It was rude to stare; quite the school-time lesson I had been taught. Except this time, some two hundred other eyes were doing the same. Like a deer at the headlights I was flustered, my frightened eyes in a desperate search for cover. However, his remained fixed on mine; and I read, what looked unmistakably, like a smile in them.

Encouragement?

The flutist’s captivating solo performance followed a deafening roar from our end. His five legendary seniors took turns in patting his back, and then Fred whispered something in his ear. Another ‘nod’ took place; the new guy took centre stage again and mumbled a shy greeting to his mesmerized fans. A name was revealed, an identity, an existence. As if a flimsy explanation was given to a great mystery, merely a phenomenon. And then there was a smile; a melancholy smile which was directly and unquestionably, at me.

Other songs had started in full swing. These were Requiem’s popular tracks destined to become all-time greats; from the thought-provokers to the revolution-enkindlers, the party-starters and the stadium-shakers. Our new flutist was the perfect fit in this already perfect band. Perfection was taken to a whole new level in just one night. Everything fell into place as the music continued to captivate, to enthrall and exhilarate. In the midst of all that, a pair of grey eyes followed my every move. I delved into his eyes that were now an open book, and a curtain lifted.

His cold grey eyes emitted a warmth unknown to many. Yet a hunger, a longing rested there. As if in some part of his smiling eyes he hid a forlorn tale. As if he were helpless, heartbroken, torn to pieces. Perhaps he had loved one day, perhaps he had some place to go home to. But something fell apart; something went missing in those batting false lashes. Perhaps the eyes that he would seek comfort in wanted to look elsewhere for a change. Maybe they were too smoky, too ‘cut-creased’, too busy and too tired of his presence. Smoke, ugly grey smoke filled his life slowly. Smoke came from dry ice, from smoke machines, from sheesha, from betrayal. Soon he had trouble fitting in; a trouble more troublesome than most teenage troubles. ‘Fitting in’ became more than just an everyday chore, and love seemed to disappear in a floodlight of success.

He was lonely, he was cold. He was stuck in a realm of illusions. Illusions of fame everywhere.

And he needed a savior.

His eyes pinned me to the ground, threw countless questions my way. I was almost up on my feet; I was ready to give anything to be by his side. But then…

My eyes saw something that night that I would never have seen before. They saw inability, my own inability to challenge what made him suffer. The hundred something people that swayed to his music had fallen prey to it, so had I, so had everyone else. It was a difference, yet more than a difference. A difference between the cool and the uncool, the dreamy and the practical, the revolution-starters and the onlookers. I realized that I was helpless in a world of illusions where everything had a stereotype. A little different and boom!- an instant label of ‘misfit’ seemed to coil around your throat by an invisible noose. Love and betrayal go hand in hand in this world of make-believe; ‘trust’ hides itself in closed spaces as the vices bask in limelight. A bandwagonof cool roams the streets of my city, a wagon we all want to board. But once on board there is no getting down, no going home to ones values; to oneself.

His eyes remained fixated in mine, still searching for some hope in my mundane brown ones. I simply lowered my defeated gaze.