17:26

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So finally, after so many months, I again picked up my guitar. I always have had a love-hate relationship with music. It's probably because I sing for a few people. I can hear your interpretation in every song.

I heard your voice, sweet and lovely, a faint folk tune. I'm afraid I'm losing touch. Who cares anyway?  My fingers unconsciously started to play a folk tune you used to sing more often. Your life among the woods, stories you used to intricate in your songs. In January days, when time stopped due to winter, our talks were never-ending. I jokingly used to call you a storyteller. 

Yesterday your friend called! Her accent had a hint of home. To make her comfortable, I started to talk in pahadi. She was talking about your adventures, your songs and stories, and your first love. I think, I was never the first in your life; that's why you left with your first one. Your romantic nature, despite the toxicity and cruelty around you, still surprises me. You've always loved the woods and winters. As you used to say, "Summer is for lovers, winter is for romantics." You have always been lonely among the crowd, I could sense it through your smile and sad little eyes. 

Our visit to Norah Richard's place in Andretta and our talks about her works are still fresh in my mind. When I was in Patiala, I saw the portrait of Norah in one of the university's corridors. Through her portrait, I could hear your thoughts. It seems my thoughts are not my own, like the tune I'm playing is not my favourite. 

"उआरे उआरे रांझूऐ दी झंझ जाए,

लोको जानी जाए ! पारे पारे फुलमु दी लोथ लोको

गल्लां होई बितियां हो !" 

[Loose Translation: On one side of the river bank goes the wedding procession of Ranjhu, while on the other Fulmu's cremation, Oh People! Things have passed...]

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Nidhi katoch
A silent observer in search of her TRUE HOME. If you like my writings, do comment and share... Views are extremely personal and are original writings of mine.

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