Songs of Love

Is that what you wanted?

Songs about love?

Is that what you hoped you’d find?

When its burning inside

But a song about love’s not enough

Jake Bugg, A song about Love.

She saw him sitting on the square as she strummed on her guitar. Her face lit up for a split second seeing his old familiar face in the midst of a regular crowd of strangers who walked past the city centre everyday. Office goers, housewives out  shopping with their kiddies on prams, tourists in garish clothes, waifs wandering aimlessly. People passed by as she played her songs. Sometimes pennies dropped sometimes a pound and on rare moments a two pound coin. Sometimes a few people would stop if the song caught their fancy and listen. At times there would be a clap or two, at times a request or two would come. She took it all in a detached manner. She played mainly for herself and very rarely did she let her surrounding affect her.

As she continued playing her Gram Parsons song, an old favourite of hers, she wondered if he had spotted her too, or whether he was oblivious to her presence in the square, sitting and sipping on his bitter. His face looked aged, a few years more than it ought to have been. He was wearing a dark overcoat, a posh one, and had a couple of carry-bags placed next to him. They were the branded ones she oh so hated. Big corporations fleecing the poor consumer of their hard-earned money. Or actually not so “poor” as she reasoned, if they willingly paid absurd amounts for such crap. Wasn’t it just apt that he should be carrying such bags. After all now he was a ‘part’ of those million idiots who sucked up to the glamour and glitz of the corporate world. Almost instinctively her strumming pattern changed to a bit harder than it should have.

They had so many dreams together when they were younger. Full of ideas and desires to change the world with their songs, make a difference, live life in the truest sense.  She loved to write and play and he loved to record. Securing a record deal was bigger to him than finding the missing chord to a song. It put her off at times but then again she marveled at the way they ’complimented’ each other. 

“Play us a Jage Bugg missy”, a geeky teenager hollered. At times she knew she’d get carried away by her 70s catalogue. They were her favourites no doubt but she also knew that a busker had to comply to wishes of others too. She looked up at the denim-clad youngster and nodded in the affirmative. In her mind she was thinking of which Jake Bugg song it would be and then she saw his face once more and the lines came almost automatically to her…..”Is that what you wanted, songs about love, is that what you’d hoped you’d find,  when its burning inside, a song about love is not enough”.  ‘Don’t you know love’s not enough’ she ad-libbed, her version of the song seemed more biting than the original. As she finished the song in breakneck speed she lashed out a couple of more ‘angry’ songs.

Her eyes were following him all the while she was singing. A beautiful woman came out of the departmental store and stood next to him. She whispered something in his ears and they both shared a laugh. There were two children by their side now. A boy who would be around 7 or 8, and a girl in spectacles who looked a couple of years older. Their sight was enough to make her sick in her gut. She needed to stop playing. She put her guitar down and adjusted her straps. He shoulders were aching from the constant strain of the guitar. She needed a break, More importantly she needed to calm down. Seeing him in the square with his family hadn’t been easy. She bent down to take sip of cola from her paper cup. As she was sipping, she felt his perfume whiff by her. He had moved on with his “sweet happy complete family”. She took a heavy breath in as her face was still bent down, careful enough to avoid an eye contact with him. It was good he hadn’t seen her.

The square was getting empty now as the clock struck 7 and the shops were closing. She knew she had to move on as well. Buskers had times allotted to them and she had long overstayed her time. She had to make her way to the Grapes Pub. She had managed to secure an opening set for one of the bigger acts of the city. She shouldn’t be late for her bit, she thought to herself. As she was about to arrange her gear back in their covers, a piece of pink crumpled paper next to her feet caught her attention. The paper reminded her of the pad on which they would write their songs when they were still together. She smiled to herself as she picked up the paper, solely on the virtue of its colour. Some kids crazy doodle she thought to herself as she opened the crumpled bit. The handwriting looked familiar to her.

“Saw you today after so many years. Couldn’t take my eyes off you. You still look so lovely. And your voice has aged so much better than mine. These days I can’t even croak. Was happy to hear you play. Although like always your minor chords still trouble you. You were right when you sang “song of love are not enough when its burning inside” Ask me, no one knows it better. “

She got up and slowly started to walk towards the pub for her gig. The crumpled paper lay on the ground yet again. She left the paper there, though she was carrying the words from the paper within her as she walked away.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar

The Way We Were

The trees and hills went in a blur of brownish green as the car whizzed past the lovely scenery. The lashing rains on the windscreen added the perfect soundtrack to the wonderful image nature had painted as they drove across the ghats. The white shirt guy was driving. The green top girl sat beside him in front lost in her own thoughts, as she gazed outside the window aimlessly. The denim shirt guy sat at the back staring into the eyes of the peach top girl. She was talking away excitedly and he was barely hearing her, as his thoughts along with his stare were placed right on her eyes. He was lost. Paul Simon crooned Still Crazy After All These Years in the car radio. It was a perfect mid-week-break morning.

“Should we stop for some refreshments once we cross the ghats”, the white shirt guy asked, just as Paul Simon finished his song. His words seemed to break a few thoughts in the car. The green top girl turned her face from the window to him. The denim shirt guy looked away from the peach top girl’s eyes. And she too stopped speaking. They all looked at the white shirt guy. He’d managed to end a magical few moments with his words. “I’m fine with a break”, the guy from the back seat announced. “Me too”, mirrored the girl next to him. The girl next to the white shirt guy kept looking at him in a mix of amazement and admonishment. “Only you can think of crisps and soda on a day like this”, she finally said. “Chikkis,not crisps”, he replied in his usual deadpan expression. He loved to ruffle her such. And he was happy at his success. Yet again.

As they sat down across the table of the refreshment stop, they made a pretty picture. Milk tea for white shirt, iced tea for green, peach top loved her espresso as denim boy dipped his green tea. Theirs was a silent synchronicity which flowed like sweet wine. They hardly spoke but the vibes were so real and strong. At times they’d look at each other, an acknowledgment of the wonderful time they were all having. Just being there together meant the world to them. They didn’t need words to break the spell.

“I wish we didn’t have to return today”, green sighed. The others just looked at her, each of their looks echoing her sentiments. They just didn’t have to say it. White just held her hand gently squeezed it. Peach and denim looked at each other. Nothing, absolutely nothing could ruin the magic, the day was seemingly filled with

They all picked up various assortments of chikki after they’d done with their beverages. For their families, mostly for their respective children. “You know he’s going to polish these dry fruit ones in a jiffy”, peach proclaimed as she admired the packaging of the chikkis. Denim looked her wistfully, suffering a minor heartbreak at her sentence. He smiled, as their eyes met. “I got to take some jujubes for her too”, he weakly countered. White was paying at the counter for those marshmallows he knew his son loved, as green watched him. “You so dote on him don’t you”, she said, remembering her own son who was away from her in a boarding school.

Denim was on the wheels now as white sat next to him. Peach and green were back talking to each other. Exchanging notes on motherhood and the art of balancing careers with household and other such things. White and denim hardly exchanged a word as they drove along. The evening sun was on its way out painting a bright orange stroke on the blue skies just before it disappeared. Both the guys knew that like the sun, the magic of the day was disappearing too. As they were neared the end of the highway and were about to enter the regular traffic of a busy city, denim looked at white and mouthed a silent thank you. “It was a wonderful day buddy”, he said, as he knew, just like the others in the car, that as they entered the city they had to return to their respective realities soon.

Bruce Springsteen’s Brilliant Disguise played on as the car moved through the city traffic at the end of the day.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar

August Rain

He got up from his seat to put a coin in the jukebox. ”Not Ben King again please”, she implored with a smile. “Naah, it’s Carole King now”, he replied. He went up and put in a coin to play Way Over Yonder. As the female King’s mellifluous voice started singing, he came back with a grin on his face to sit down.

It was a lovely afternoon. The rains outside seemed as if they’d never stop. They were sitting opposite each other in the cafe and not side by side. They never liked sitting that way. It’s so important to be able to see each other clearly, they both agreed. The cafe brought back such happy memories. As they sat sipping on their black tea and espresso, the cheese sandwiches and fish fingers lay untouched. So much of talking interspersed with laughter and those pauses when they’d look at each other and quickly look away. Neither wanted to go there again.

She looked as if not a day had passed. Her smile still went right to her eyes. Every time. Without fail. He always felt happy being with her. It was the same today. After all these years. He, on the other hand, had aged. Sideburns were more salt than pepper. His hair was also thinning. But his youthful smile was still intact and she loved that about him. Like always, she felt relaxed and safe with him.

They stood out from the other couples in the cafe who were mostly younger than them. But they had an intensity and a presence which could hardly be ignored. Even the waiters, it seemed, didn’t want to come in their way. They spoke, they laughed, they argued, absolutely lost in each other.

He kept looking straight at her all along. There was a soft smile that swept across this face all the while. She looked at him sometimes, her eyes twinkling whenever they met his, otherwise her gaze went all over the cafe. She was taking in the atmosphere and the moment as much as she could. She felt alive with him in the cafe. She was savouring every moment of it.

“The movie was lovely. It felt so nice to be in a single screen after all these years”, he said, taking a sip of his black tea. “Oh yes, it was fun. The same uncomfortable seats and that smelly popcorn. Just seemed like old times”, she agreed. “Kids these days can never enjoy movies the way we did”, he said, clasping her hands for the first time that afternoon. She didn’t try and free her hands, nor did she clasp them back. For a moment she simply froze.

“It’s been such a lovely day. The visit to college, then the movie, and now here. It seems like not a day has passed. I can’t tell you how happy I am”. He was saying these words in his mind, trying to put them in a coherent sentence, when he was disturbed by a loud message beep from her phone.

“Mamma come home as soon as you can. Papa doesn’t know anything about the house. Where are you? When will you be back?”

She read the message, smiled and showed it to him. It was as if he’d been rudely woken up from his dream. Outside the cafe, the rain showed no sign of stopping.

“He is so clueless about the house, you know, sometimes I wonder what he’d do without me”, she smiled wearily as she spoke. He didn’t fail to notice the obvious affection and care in her tone.

“I can understand”, he replied dispassionately. He was now coming to terms with the real world after nearly a whole day of dream-like existence. “You must go if you’re getting late”, his heart broke as he uttered these words. “Yes, I’ve booked an Uber”, she said, her eyes fixed on her phone all the while. “It’s nearly here”.

He paid the bill. “We were to Dutch na like old times”, she tried to protest, but he didn’t listen to her. With a swift movement of his hands, he snatched the bill and paid it to the waiter asking him to go. “As always”, she looked at him, shaking her head slightly in mock anger. “Some things never change, do they”, she admonished him, ruffling his hair as she spoke.

She gave him a tight hug as they got up. Her eyes were shut, as she drew a deep breath inside to take in as much of the moment as she could. “You take care and stay well”, she said, looking at him for the first time, the way he had looked at her the whole day.

He kept standing there till the Uber was driving away. The pouring August rain drenched him to the skin, but he didn’t care. After a whole day’s feeling, of time standing still, he finally felt that gap of 19 years which separated them, once again, as the Uber disappeared from his sight. He turned around and started walking till he got lost in the sea of people.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar