Music to Fall in Love by
Shadab stepped out of the elevator on the tenth floor. He was early, he knew—even the guard was not at his post in the elevator lobby and the cleaning crew would not arrive for at least an hour yet. Cautiously, he eased open the glass door to the office premises. If he was lucky and she was there before him, he didn’t want to make any sound to disturb her. As he went past the fax and printer room and the reporters’ cubicles, towards Features, the pristine notes of a thumri[1], rendered perfectly in her melodious voice, washed over him. He silently lowered himself into a chair on the other side of her work station and lost himself in the joy of hearing her sing.
For Shadab, a rugged six-foot-four and the toughest correspondent in the Corporate Bureau of the nation’s most popular financial daily, admitting to his passion for classical music would have been professional suicide. It would be a chink in his tough-guy armour and seriously cramp his style. Mostly to be found in the field, and in office only as long as it took him to file his reports, it was purely by chance that he came upon the treasure of Vibha’s golden voice, nearly a month ago. He’d stopped by office very early one day to collect some important notes for a breakfast interview that he had forgotten there, and had heard Vibha singing complicated khayals[2] and thumris with abandon, thinking that there was no one around except her. Learning from a guard that she was often in office a couple of hours before the workday began, he had found himself increasingly unable to keep away after that. He knew he needed to stop this—his and Vibha’s worlds did not meet anywhere—but her voice held him in thrall!
For her part, Vibha knew the exact moment when he sat down to listen to her on that first day. She had sensed his presence. Well, the first time may have been accidental, but she was at a loss to account for his presence almost every day after that. For the down-to-earth, straightforward, self-effacing head of Features, with her slightly plump form dressed in handloom kurtas[3] in muted earth colours accessorized with chunky handmade jewellery, no make-up except for heavily kohled[4] eyes and Kolhapuri chappals[5] on her feet, it was a mystery. Shadab, as far as everyone knew, was a hard-as-nails, street smart, high-flying journalist, moving in the glam world of corporates and hobnobbing with CEOs. So, why did he keep turning up to listen to her and then slink away without even revealing his presence?
Well, she was going to find out today—she’d had enough of this cat and mouse game! Pausing at the end of the thumri, she asked without raising her voice: ‘Anything special you’d like to hear?’
Shadab held his breath. She must have someone sitting with her today. ‘I’m asking YOU Shadab,’ she prodded. He stood up sheepishly to face her across the workspace partitions, his face crimson. The suave, debonair ace journalist who would grapple with every kind of corporate and political heavyweight without turning a hair was tongue-tied! He tried to find the words to excuse his eavesdropping, or to compliment her singing, but failed. Embarrassed, he turned and started to walk away.
‘Wait!’ called Vibha. He stopped, not turning to look at her. ‘Why have you been coming so often and sitting here? If my singing disturbed your work, you should have asked me to stop …’
‘No, please!’ he protested, facing her. Then, with an effort, he mumbled: ‘You sing beautifully. I could listen to you for hours,’ and as she gaped at him in astonishment, added, ‘I didn’t show myself because I thought you might be angry, or stop singing …’ and started to walk away again.
‘I… you can listen if you want … I don’t mind’, mumbled Vibha, equally red. He looked amazed, and she added with a shy smile: ‘I can tell that you really understand classical music … it feels nice to sing for someone who can appreciate it’.
‘Although,’ she added mischievously, ‘I’m sure most people would be shocked to know of this interest of yours …’
‘Hey! Please! Don’t betray my secret!’
‘Ok’, she said, laughing.
‘You see’, he explained, ‘my mom is fanatically devoted to classical music, and even though none of us at home can sing a note to save our lives, it is I, rather than my two older sisters, who inherited mom’s love for music … gosh! It’s been years since I listened to good music! Twelve years since I left home after graduation …’
And Vibha found her thoughts straying to Shadab continuously the whole day … The office grapevine had it that he came from some small town near Muzaffarpur in Bihar. ‘He is in his early thirties, maybe a few years older than me … but he’s been on his own for twelve years, fighting his way from his small-town upbringing to become the star reporter of the country’s most popular newspaper … while I’ve been buried in my books on art, history and literature, studying for my Masters degree till five years ago, and even now, living in the cushioned comfort of my parents’ home in Delhi … we’re so different … even our religions … but I really like him …’
Irritated, she tried to concentrate on her work, but Shadab’s rueful, lopsided smile seemed determined to haunt her, and she finally shut her computer and went home early, thanking her stars it wasn’t page day! He didn’t turn up to hear her sing the next morning, and she told herself that she was glad.
Heaven knew she hadn’t had much interest in guys … most seemed like superficial idiots to her. Her mother would say despairingly, that she would be best suited for some intellectual greybeard with one foot in the grave and his teeth falling out! So, Shadab, of all people, was utterly wrong … she must be going nuts to think about him so much!
They were from completely different religious and cultural backgrounds and were both strongly grounded in their roots … it was good that he continued to stay away for the whole week … ten days … oh! But she was missing him! How stupid! She’d only spoken to him once in her life … but they’d connected instantly, before ever speaking a word to each other … that first day he’d come to listen to her sing! Her spiritually-minded cousin always said that there was a soul mate for everyone, and she was unable to shake off the conviction that Shadab was hers! Oh! What rubbish! Get rid of such nonsense fast, Vibha!
Going listlessly about her work early morning on the twelfth day, she found herself humming a sad little song, tears just under her eyelids, when she sensed his presence. And sure enough, she looked up to find him two feet away, gazing at her steadily, and she gazed back, her heart in her eyes.
And suddenly, he was with her, crushing her in his arms, his lips fastened to hers like a dying man drinking the elixir of life! She clung rapturously to him, lips parting for the sweet invasion of his tongue and tears of love and joy flowing down her cheeks.
‘I couldn’t keep away’ he said, after they had recovered themselves a little, and mindful of their colleagues who would soon be coming in, settled into two adjoining chairs, even though they couldn’t keep from touching each other’s hands.
‘I kept telling myself that it was all wrong, and that it was good you didn’t come, but my heart kept calling out for you’, she too confessed, looking at him tenderly. ‘So, what are we going to do? You think our parents would ever approve of us together?’
‘Out of the question!’ he said. ‘And yet, I know now that I can’t give you up … and dammit! I don’t want to!’
‘So, what are you saying Shadab?’ she asked, troubled now. ‘You want to have a casual affair with me?’ When he didn’t answer, she said, ‘I know most people have affairs which don’t mean anything, but …’ ‘You mean EVERYTHING to me!’ interrupted Shadab fiercely, ‘so don’t talk nonsense about casual affairs that don’t mean anything!’
‘This is the second time we’re talking directly to each other,’ she felt impelled to protest.
‘Maybe,’ he conceded, ‘but I feel I’ve known you forever, somewhere deep down.’ He seemed embarrassed by the whimsical confession.
‘I know,’ said Vibha. ‘I feel like I belong with you and nowhere else. This just feels so absolutely right! So how can it be wrong in anyone’s eyes?’
They decided to leave the question of parental consent unanswered for the present. The next month was a halcyon period for them, full of walks in the tree-shaded back lanes of Connaught Place, shopping for absurd trinkets for her and silly T-shirts for him at Janpath, eating chaat[6] at Bengali Market, browsing through bookstores and music shops … till they were spotted by Vibha’s orthodox professor father, who had stopped to buy shoes for himself at the same shop that Shadab was buying embroidered juttis[7] for Vibha, laughingly fitting one on her foot himself.
Mr. Tripathi stood rooted to the spot, not believing his eyes, and Vibha, as she looked up, was stricken to silence! ‘Papa’, she whispered to Shadab, who straightened himself in a hurry. ‘Mr. Tripathi,’ he stepped towards Vibha’s dad. Before he could say another word, the older man warded him off with a gesture of loathing and walked out of the shop.
All hell broke loose when Vibha reached home. Shadab called up his parents the same day and broke the news to them as well, getting abuse in equal measures. Within forty eight hours his parents were in his rented two-room apartment in Delhi, his factory labourer father threatening to strangle him with his bare hands!
With matters having been brought to a head, Vibha and Shadab were forced to come to a decision—give up their relationship and tamely marry whoever their parents selected for them, or marry each other in the face of opposition. After intensive soul-searching, they decided to present their parents with a fait accompli[8] and applied to the Registrar’s office for marriage. They kept a low profile with their respective parents, and on the appointed day they went to the Registrar’s office along with two trusted colleagues from office, and quietly got married.
Returning to Vibha’s parents first, they were greeted by hysterical shrieks from her mother and an icy rage, with an order to ‘just get the hell out’ from her father. Shadab’s father threatened to become violent, and things might have gotten out of hand, but for intervention by his mother. Shadab had related to his mother the story of how Vibha’s music had brought them together, and the music-loving Sakina could understand and sympathize with the young couple, even though it was out of her power to go against her husband, or get him to bless them. She took off her own silver ring and unobtrusively pressed it into Vibha’s hand as a blessing, as she left with Shadab’s father, who kept muttering threats of dire reprisals.
Two months later, Shadab and Vibha are living contentedly in their small world. They know that the power of love conquers all, and that one day their parents too will come around … perhaps, when the baby that Vibha is already expecting, arrives and sends an imperious summons to both sets of grandparents!
[1] an advanced genre of singing in Indian Classical music
[2] another advanced style of singing in Indian Classical music.
[3] loose long top, a part of traditional dress in various parts of the Indian subcontinent
[4] Sooty black natural substance traditionally used to enhance the eyes by women of South Asia and the Middle-East
[5] Handmade slippers from the Kolhapur region of Maharashtra in India
[6] a favourite street food of India, made from flour tortillas, yogurt, spices, tangy sauces , boiled potatoes and chickpeas
[7] Handmade fancy shoes, usually sequinned or embroidered from the artisans of North India
[8] An already accomplished deed
At Random 