Violin Strains...

They say that hearing the strains of a violin early morning sets the pace of the day. Mine obviously did not start well for a long time in my life. In the anonymity of the urban apartment system, I knew I had a neighbor who was learning violin. I could not pin a face to that elusive strain. Yes, I could discern an instrument despite not being musically trained or inclined. It all started one day when I jumped from the bed and begin searching for my cat frantically. The apartment was notorious for a rowdy tom cat and I feared for my pet.She obviously had to be kept away from him! . Now that I think of it, hindsight, I might have let her elope with the tom cat. Yes, you guessed it right, the screech of the violin was what I had assumed as the tom cat announcing its intention. Took me few days to realize it was a violin and not the rapacious cat. I was annoyed. My work ended quite late and waking up later in the day was the norm for me. I was not given into confrontation and the violin waking me every day became the new normal.

Do homeless people sleeping near the railway tracks insulate themselves from the deafening noise?. I need to ask that to one of those I see often. I developed an auditory block which conveniently edited out the early morning screech.

Couple of years rolled by. The city changed its outline. New Sky scrapers dotted the view from my window. On a dreary evening, fumbling in the darkness to locate my lighter, I heard a strange sound. I could feel myself leaning towards the sound. It was like a wet damp towel enveloping me. Like a welcome wet towel on a hot sunny day. Before I know it filled the room.  It’s tune sad and yet hopeful. That magnificent ode to darkness firmly hedged to thin breaks of hopes. There was a sense of urgency in the notes. Like those hopeless souls clinging on to the railings in the face of an oncoming enormous tidal wave, I stood there, fumbling to light the cigarette. I stood there, the sheer physicality of the music carrying me into the realms of hidden memories. I stood there caressing the mushrooming goose bumps on my arms , lost in the land of my memories. A heavy stupor of love, heart ache, lust unwrapped deep within. A deep sense of longing, lashing against the trappings of rationality slowly unlocked the abyss of love. All along I had firmly believed in my adult rationality love to be the trappings of an adolescent soul. They say the violin strain sets the pace of the day. I was not sure what pace it set for someone else listening. The strains I hear make me languid and lost.