Short story  

My love for music

by Yasmin Jaldin

I am seated at the balcony overlooking a little cottage yonder. The view is very clear since it is only a mere three hundred yards from my room. The family is rejoicing, they are dancing and singing oblivious to the surroundings.

One provides music on a serpina. Every evening they have set aside an hour or two to enjoy music. Their lilting voices and the duets they sing of yester year are soothing melodies to the ear.

How I wish I could join them since I love music. I watch them without my father's knowledge.

Their dwelling is very small, but the family of seven is very happy and contented with no care for their poverty. The sole breadwinner is Haramanis, a mason baas.

I see him return late in the evening bringing many goodies for his children and his wife takes much pain to keep their house spick ad span. Their children, three boys and two girls just one and a half years older to one another, now teenagers, attend the nearby village school. I often see them walk to school and I never forget to wave at them.

I am the only child. I attend a school in town and travel by van. I have no cause for complaint since I am blessed with everything having valets at my beck and call. My father is the Vel Vidane of the village and he is held in high esteem by all.

Every morn he would sit in the office room clad in his black coat with shining brass buttons to attend to his official work.

He takes much pride to attend to the needs of the villagers. He is a strict disciplinarian, and my mother has no say to anything, she has to adhere to any given instructions. In other words she is a 'Yes Master'.

Reprimanded

One evening I was caught unawares; father saw me speaking to the elder boy. He reprimanded me severely and I was prohibited never to speak to him again. I spoke in his favour that made him very angry.

'Oh! stop Dad, we are all humans only separated by religion, what is this caste and creed you speak of', I said. Later, I could not fathom how I got the courage to say so to father. I knew he was hurt by my outburst and he would have never expected it from me.

I saw his face redden with anger and I thought he would strike me. He calmed down and summoned mother. She was told that my evening tea was not to be given.

But, I was not deprived of it, since my faithful Appu brought me some biscuits hidden in his waist band. "Don't make your father angry son', said my mother stroking my head. Usually I do not cry for trivial matters, but that day I cried for a long time. Even Appu's soothing words did not change my distressed mood.

My father is not a lover of music; he says it is a bore. How could he say that, I ask myself.

'Listening to music does soothe a mind isn't it' I asked mother. 'But son, some people like your father does not like it, just don't worry yourself' she said.

Our radio is switched on only to listen to the news. In the days of yore, television was never heard of and it was the radio that brought us the news. On the other hand, myself a lover of music yearn to listen to some songs.

Competition

Father failed to understand this. After school until my van arrived, I would hasten to listen to songs tuned in at the tea kiosk.

Since it was the lunch time, many workers gathered at this place and the mudalali increased the volume of the radio.

At this time, many songs by reputed singers were played. Listening to the songs gave me consolation.

I was selected to sing at the Singing competition in school to compete with five others. I practiced a song on 'Mother' by a reputed singer. Appu gave me the music on a teapoy. We sang it very quietly so as not to create a disturbance, especially to my father. It was really fun.

All parents were invited but my father refused to attend saying it was a waste of time. Instead my mother and Appu were present. The thunderous applause I received after my song and the Principal's handshake was most encouraging. I then knew my song was a hit.

I was thrilled when everyone congratulated me. I saw many persons in the audience including my mother wipe away silent tears. My rendition of the song was adjudged first and I received a trophy.

"You have a lovely voice punchi mahattaya, I knew you would win,' said Appu stroking my head. When father was shown my trophy he just nodded and patted me, and I saw he hid a smile.

How I envy the inmates in the cottage, they are poor with fewer facilities, but yet they lead a very carefree life. I wish I could join them? My father would punish me again if he read my thoughts. Something lacked in our home, our family though wealthy with status had no harmony.