Mish' Fiction

5 years later.

Piyali was surprised to hear her sing. That was Mukundo’s favourite way to use vivadi swar in his compositions. The school was organizing a charity show. Their music teacher had left before the term started and so for the time being she was filling up for her and auditioning students.

“What’s your name?” she asked after the girl finished performing.

“Sumedha Thakur.”

Piyali forgot to breathe for a moment.What was she doing here? Why would Mukundo Babu send his daughter to a hostel and not train her with him?

“You are well-trained in classical music,” she said hoping that she sounded casual.

“Thank you, Miss,” she replied. From their practice sessions, which she sometimes joined, Piyali remembered her as a vivacious child. Why was she looking so sad and sombre? Growing up? Homesickness?

“You have joined in this term?”

“Yes Miss.”

“Which class?”

“Standard eleventh.”

“That’s a tough one. So much to study. But I would really like you to perform a solo classical piece. You will need to practice a lot…”

“That won’t be a problem, Miss.”

Piyali smiled. Her father’s daughter! But what on earth was she doing here?

—

“Music doesn’t leave you, does it?” Debangi complained when Piyali returned to her house in teachers’ quarters. The house was a perk that came with the job. Debangi’s complain wasn’t like earlier. Now that Piyali had a stable job, which supported them fairly well, she wasn’t as insecure about music ruining their lives as she used to be. Piyali doubling up as the music teacher had made her days hectic; that was the only reason she worried about her.

Piyali smiled at her, “It is a Godsend, Ma. With the extra money, I can buy Priyendra’s laptop without digging into savings. Let’s pray that they don’t find a music teacher for the entire term.” Priyendra was now staying in Pune, pursuing his engineering degree.

“Hmm… And what about you? Do you plan to spend your entire life slaving for us?”

“What are you talking about? Who will I work for, if not you?”

“For yourself. Your own family.”

“Do I have a secret ‘own’ family tucked away somewhere?”

“You know what I mean. If your Baba had not left me so helpless and destitute, you would have been married long back, and I would be playing with a grandchild or two by now.”

“Ma. You can never stop worrying, can you? Until I had this job, you were worried about money. Until Priyendra had gotten admission, you were worried about his future. And now, grand children? Can’t we just be happy for a while? Life is good, isn’t it?”

“And we need to ensure that it remains good. You would need a partner, a support, family…”

“We will see when I feel the need for one.”

“It might be too late…”

“Then I would have learned to live on my own. Ma. Let this be final. I am not planning to get married. So you can cut short on your phone calls. I know what all of those have been for. But please. No. And even if you feel it is your responsibility to pester me, do not do it until Priyendra has finished his studies and gotten a job. I am not leaving you to your sewing and mending again.”

—

Piyali saw her sitting on the stairs in a less used part of the school building.

“Hello!”

She was startled and stood up abruptly. “Miss! Good morning, Miss.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I.. I was just going to the class.”

“Fourth period has started. Almost half-way through now. You have already bunked a class.”

She gulped. “I… I am sorry, Miss. I just didn’t…”

“Relax. Let’s sit down.”

She looked at Piyali incredulously.

“I am not encouraging you to bunk classes,” Piyali clarified. Damn the duties of a teacher! “But you have already bunked one. So, let’s sit down. I wanted to talk to you.”

Piyali sat down and Sumedha followed her gingerly.

“How is Mukundo Babu doing?” Piyali had checked her records and was now completely sure about who she was.

Sumedha was startled. “You know Baba?”

“I had known him. Some years ago. How is he?”

“He is… okay.”

“Did he come to drop you here?”

She shook her head, “Thakuma did.”

“And your Ma?”

Sumedha looked miserable at the question. Then she said slowly, “No. She didn’t come.”

“You miss home, don’t you?”

She nodded and grew emotional.

“Sumedha. What is it?”

She stayed silent.

“Tell me, darling. It’s all right,” five years of teaching and dealing with young students had given Piyali mature, motherly manners. Mukundo would have been surprised to see her like this.

“Nothing.”

“You would have been assigned a counsellor, right?” The school did that for all students.

“Yes.”

“Think of me as one too. Anything you tell me is strictly confidential.”

“How do you know Baba? Does he know you?”

Piyali smiled, “You know me too. You probably don’t remember. You were young. Your Baba and I used to practice. Early in the morning. At five. You were also there very often.”

Sumedha looked at her intently. “I remember… vaguely. Baba used to say you were very hard-working.”

“Like you. And I’m sure your Baba won’t mind if you shared your problems with me.”

She nodded. But before she could say anything, the bell rang.

“Next period. Don’t bunk this one. But will you meet me here, when the classes are over?”

“Yes Miss.”

“Good then. See you. Take care.”

—

Piyali comforted the sobbing girl and walked her to her hostel. She would need some time to come to terms with things herself. She stepped out of the campus. A mud path on the western side of campus led to a spinney. It was a secluded place and Piyali’s favourite spot to spend some quite, contemplative time. After seeing Sumedha off, she needed this time. Things had turned upside down in Mukundo’s life. He had stopped performing. His wife had left them. He still had students, but except for the practice time with them, he kept to himself, drinking and listening to records. The gloominess at the home had gotten to Sumedha, who had slipped into depression. She didn’t do well in her board exams. After that her grandmother had decided that hostel would be better than such home. “At least she would have some cheerful company of her friends,” she had said. Mukundo had been devastated, but he hadn’t objected. “I’m sorry. But your Thakuma is right. Study well,” he had told her when she was leaving for the hostel.

“Why?” Piyali had exclaimed more than questioned.

“I don’t know,” Sumedha had replied.

But Piyali knew – she thought so. How could you be so self-destructive, Mukundo Babu? She cried out loud when she was in her safe, secluded abode.

—

“Ask him to come here, Sumedha. Even if he doesn’t agree to perform, tell him to come and watch you perform.”

“He hadn’t agreed to come to drop me. He said he won’t be able to leave me behind.”

“He will come for the performance. Try it. Seeing him would make you happy, won’t it?”

“Shall I tell him about you?”

“No. Let that be a surprise.” Piyali was afraid that if Sumedha mentioned who her music teacher was, who wanted him to perform for charity, it would only deter him from coming.

“Miss,” Sumedha came back excitedly after making the call, “He is coming!”

Piyali hoped that she didn’t give away too much of her own emotions.

—

To be continued

She stood at the door, motionless. She wasn’t surprised that he was there in the practice room, and not in some other city. Holding a Tanpura. He started singing, and then stopped. He tried again and was unsuccessful. He grew frustrated and pushed the Tanpura away. He got up abruptly, but froze to his place on noticing her.

Her face was expressionless. So expressionless that it said volumes about how hurt and angry she was. She was breathing so hard that she had to bite her lips to keep her mouth closed. They stood staring at each other for several minutes. Then she broke the eye-contact and looked away. Keeping her gaze fixed on the ground, she started stepping back.

“Piyali!” he found his voice.

She didn’t heed him though and turned away to leave.

He gathered himself together and rushed after her. “Piyali. Please wait.”

She stopped for a moment, but started walking again.

Left with no option, he grabbed her hand to stop her from walking away. She pushed him away so ferociously that Mukundo barely avoided a fall. But he did brush against a bare pillar and got a scratch. It wasn’t too bad, but due to the suddenness, he let out a slight cry.

That little cry made her forget her anger temporarily. “Oh my God! What… What happened? Are you… hurt? Mukundo Babu…. I can hardly see anything here,” the corridor was not well-lit. She dragged him to the room and he followed quietly.

He stopped her when she bent down to check his injury. “Hurt me all you want, Piyali. But… you must not be hurt.”

“Yeah?” she grew angry again and was sarcastic, “And this is how you do not hurt me?”

“What happened… How do I… I cannot do the right thing by you. My wife… She is Pandit ji’s daughter.”

Piyali looked sideways to conceal her hurt. Of course, she didn’t measure up to the credentials of his wife. She was no Pandit ji’s daughter.

“He was my Guru. This marriage happened because he wanted it. Whatever happens, I won’t break it. It might be an irrational devotion, but…”

She looked back at him and smiled sadly. “And what did you think I will do? Was I going to blackmail you? Break your marriage? Make your life difficult?”

“Piyali!”

“Did it occur to you even once that I cannot hurt you? Ever? It wasn’t like I was going to get pregnant. And If I did, I would rather abort it than create trouble for you…”

“Don’t you dare!” he grabbed her arm so hard that she flinched in pain, “Don’t you dare talk about abortion if you are carrying our child.”

She fell speechless. He came to his senses and realized that he was hurting her. He let her go and let out a frustrated sigh.

“I have been an idiot all these days. But can’t you see, Piyali, how I feel? You are better off staying away from me.”

“No. I am not.”

“What do you want then? You want to become the mistress of another promiscuous artist?”

“Why are you talking like this, Mukundo Babu?” she was on the verge of crying.

“Go away from me. You are young. And I am not a good influence on you.”

She bit her lips, controlled her tears and said, “Yes. Your wish will be fulfilled. I am going away from you. That was the news I had for you on that fateful day.”

“What?” Mukundo had been pleading her for this, but when she said it herself, he panicked. “What do you mean? What news? Where are you going?” She wasn’t getting married, was she?

“I got a job. In Darjeeling. It’s a residential school. As soon as my final exams get over, I’d be going there. That is, in five weeks.”

“What job?”

“Teaching Mathematics. And possibly some responsibilities for running the hostels.”

He was at a loss for words.

“I’m going away, Mukundo Babu. You won’t be bothered by me. All I wanted was to spend some of this time with you. Singing, practicing, learning whatever I can in this limited time.”

“You can’t just go away. You can’t abandon music. You can find a job in Kolkata.”

“Nothing I had here paid well enough.”

“You… can’t… just… go away… like this…”

“You have put me through one week of hell to impress upon me that I should go away. And now you are saying this?”

“I’m selfish, am I not? When I had pushed you away, somewhere deep down, I knew I could have you back. I would have – sooner or later… But now… now that you are saying you are going away…”

“It is for everyone’s good, isn’t it?”

He sighed and changed the subject, “I haven’t been able to sing at all in last one week. Would you like to practice?”

She brought the Tanpura and asked him if he had set the alarm.

“Not needed. Nobody is coming yet.”

—

“Why haven’t your other students started coming?” she asked after a three-hour-long practice about a week later.

“I have only four more weeks with you, right?”

Piyali smiled sadly. “If it matters so much, why have you thrown away your mobile? How will I keep in touch with you?”

“Don’t. Don’t keep in touch with me.”

“That’s so unfair, Mukundo Babu.”

“May be when you come here. During holidays or…”

“If I settle down, Ma and Priyendra are going to shift there too. I won’t be coming here, Mukundo Babu,” her eyes grew moist.

“That’s even better,” he said and tore his eyes away from her. He couldn’t be this cruel to her, and to himself, if he looked into those eyes.

“I don’t want to break your marriage. And even more importantly, I don’t want to take a loving father away from a daughter. But we and all these other things in your life need not be incompatible. I might be going away. But I am not abandoning us. You just have to call me…”

“Forget about all this. Move on in your life. Just… don’t abandon music. Ever!”

“Let me know when you move on. I will also do so then.”

He chuckled sadly, “What do I move on to?”

“Same here.”

—

And there were times when he grew desperate and faltered on his resolution of sending her away.

“If it’s just the money that is taking you away… All you have to do is agree to perform.”

“I can’t, Mukundo Babu. If I could, I wouldn’t have suffered your anger earlier.”

“Fine. Don’t. How much are you earning there? What if I managed that much for you…”

“Mukundo Babu!”

“Money is something I can easily help you with.”

“I am not going to be your mistress.”

“Piyali!”

“You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Probably… you are right. Don’t listen to me. Don’t. Just… Do take care of yourself, Piyali.”

“I will. And you should too. Promise me.”

“Okay… I will,” his promise sounded much less certain than hers. And then he asked anxiously, “You won’t be pregnant, would you?”

“No.”

—

To be continued

“I have never felt this way about anyone, Sonali.”

“I’m sure you haven’t. Because I have never seen you this reckless.”

“I will leave now.”

“Have breakfast with us.”

“No. I will go home.”

But as soon as she came out of Sonali’s house, she received his message. “Where are you? No college today, right?”

A smile formed on her lips as she replied. In the next message he sent her the address of the place where they would have breakfast. It was nearby and she walked up to there.

—

She didn’t have a new dress to wear on her birthday this year.  So, she was surprised when he wished her. “Happy Birthday, Piyali.”

“You… you remembered?”

“I haven’t grown senile yet,” he said good-humouredly, “I have a decent memory.”

“Who said anything about senility?” she flushed.

He didn’t notice the tinge of sadness in her voice. “Come with me,” he motioned her to follow him. They were going to his personal room again.

He set his alarm for 5.45 and brought out Pandit ji’s Sitar. She sat down with it, but could not proceed. Tears started flowing down her cheeks.

“Piyali!”

Hearing his voice made it worse and her silent tears turned into sobs.

He went forward, took the Sitar away and held her. He tried to wipe off her tears, but lost control of himself. It didn’t help that she didn’t resist and gave in willingly, when he gathered her in his arms and lowered her on the carpeted floor. Touching her pliant body, feeling the goose bumps on her skin, licking away her tears and crushing on her quivering lips was intoxicating. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings, nor was she. Later he would only have vague memories of when it happened, when he collapsed on top of her and when they drifted off the sleep in each other’s arms. It was his alarm that woke them up.

“Oh God!” he muttered as he sprang back from her. He looked at her with confused expressions. She closed her eyes and he put on his discarded clothes. “Everyone will be here soon,” he said still not expressing exactly how he was feeling. Probably he himself didn’t know. With that he left. He would need washing up before he went before others, if he didn’t want to give away…

Piyali’s feelings were a strange mix of fear and fulfilment. It was disastrous, reckless, as Sonali would say. And yet… She considered going to the regular practice room to be there with others. But she looked at her clothes and her matted hair. It would be like declaring to the entire world what had transpired just now. She got dressed and smoothened her clothes and hair as much as possible. Then she quietly walked out of the house, unaware of Aporna watching her from the garden. ‘Mukundo Babu was unwell,’ she would explain to her mother. Debangi would grumble as to why he could not have informed earlier instead of making her wake up at four for no reason. But that was fine. She could live with that. Tougher would be to concentrate on teaching students, and listening to professors in her classes.

—

She had almost given up on hearing from him and was thinking of calling him or sending him an SMS, when her phone rang. It was a landline number.

“Mukundo Babu wanted me to call all his students to tell them that he is going out of town for a while. So, there will be no classes. He would inform once he is back.”

“What… Where is he going?”

“I don’t know, Madam,” it was some house staff who was tasked with informing everyone. Including her!

She immediately tried his number. It was switched off. What was she to make of it?

—

She had spent last seven days obsessively sending him messages. She was tired now. Of trying to make sense of things, and of people who constantly asked her what was wrong. Was it the time to admit to Sonali, who always looked at her with questioning eyes, but never said anything, that she had been right? It was a disaster.

Her house didn’t even afford her enough privacy to cry. She had learned to control it. But when she woke up that morning, she felt like she would go mad if things continued this way. She went out and looked for Salim Kaku. He wasn’t yet asleep and readily agreed to drop her.

“Mukundo Babu is back?” he asked cheerfully.

“Yes Kaku.”

“Now, I think you would smile again. You seem to be withering away without your morning practice,” he teased her. She managed to smile back without bursting into tears.

—

To be continued

He switched on the phone listlessly. There was a new message. Must be some alert from bank, or investment advisors, or some useless telemarketer. He went to the message-box to delete it, but was greeted by an unexpected sight. The message was from her! He held his breath as he opened it. What could she have to say? Even though they had each other’s mobile numbers since the very beginning, they hadn’t called or messaged at all. There hadn’t been a need.

“Thank you!” That was all the message said, but he was no longer annoyed with himself. It was sent soon after she had left, probably while she was in the bus to her student’s place.

“What for?” he typed and pressed ‘send’.

He looked at the clock. Will she respond now? What would she be doing at the moment? If she started her tuition at 8.30, she would still be there. She may not…

The phone beeped.

“For caring. And for everything. I will take care of my voice, I promise.”

“And of yourself too. Both are precious.” He replied. If he had stopped to think about what he was doing, he would have restrained himself. But he was too elated to listen to that little corner of his mind where some caution resided.

She sent a smiling-face emoticon in return.

He was restless and could not stay at home. After lunch, he went out and drove around the city pointlessly. He went to Garia haat and then to the place where he had dropped her. He didn’t know where exactly her house was. Then, on an impulse, he drove to her college. Some class had gotten over. Several students were coming out of the college gate. He hoped to see her among them. But she wasn’t there. It might not be her class. He drove back home, his mood slightly dampened, but by no means unhappy.

—

He spent a good fifteen minutes talking to her next morning before starting their practice. And realized that her day was packed. After the morning practice, she went to give tuition at 8.30; then rushed to college. She gave three more tuitions after college. The couple of hours she had in between she spent in the city library near college catching up on her studies. Sometimes she went to Sonali’s house, which was also nearby, and practised there. And when she didn’t feel like either studying or practising, they spent time in the park next to city library. She would reach home by eight, study a little, eat and then sleep by ten to be able to get up at four in the morning.

“Where do you eat?”

“Ma cooks for me at night itself. I carry the tiffin.”

“Breakfast as well as lunch?”

“And evening snacks,” she chuckled, “Going back home in between would waste too much of time.”

“Hmm…” There was no way he could ask her to find more time for himself. But he could find time for her!

—

“Hello!”

“Mukundo Babu!” Piyali sprang out of the chair she was sitting on. Was she dreaming? Had she started thinking so much about him that she was imagining him in the city library?

“Me indeed!”

She shook her head and smiled. She wasn’t hallucinating. He was indeed there.

“I was passing by,” he lied, “And figured you would be here.”

She stood silent smiling politely.

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No. No. Not at all. Sonali was not around today. So, I came here, even though I didn’t feel like studying at all.”

“Let’s go out then. It is difficult to talk here,” talking was not encouraged in the library and they were speaking in hushed voices.

“Okay,” she felt her heart thumping and tried to maintain outward calm.

They ran into Sonali on their way out of the library.

“Piyali, did you know…” she stopped in her tracks on realizing that her friend had company. She had seen his photographs in the papers and had also attended some of his stage performances. But it took her a moment to identify him so closely, in person.

Piyali gulped hard and introduced him. “Sonali. Mukundo Babu.”

“Yes. Of course,” Sonali laughed nervously, “Who doesn’t know him? Nomoshkaar, Mukundo Babu.”

“Nomoshkaar,” Mukundo replied with a politeness that surprised Piyali. He hadn’t been like that with her in their initial meetings.

“I… I just came to tell you that tomorrow college is off. There is a strike,” Sonali addressed her friend.

“Again?”

Sonali shrugged, “Anyway. I will get going… You are busy.”

“We were just going for some coffee,” Mukundo interjected, “Why don’t you join us?” Piyali looked at Mukundo questioningly. Were they? Going for coffee? But he was looking at Sonali.

“Thanks, Mukundo Babu. But I need to be at home. So, I will excuse myself. Bye.”

Piyali silently followed him and hesitated when they reached his car. The memory of her last encounter with the car was still fresh. Mukundo also recalled that and smiled. He unlocked the car with remote key and walked to the passenger door. “Let me do it for you,” he said and opened the door.

Piyali flushed, but smiled and got in. He closed it after her, walked to the other side, got in the car and they drove off to a nearby coffee shop. She asked him to order for her too. He ordered two cappuccinos and some French fries. While they waited for coffee, he asked her about the time and location of her next tuition.

“I will drop you,” he declared and she didn’t object. She didn’t feel like objecting to anything he said. She was experiencing the exhilaration of first love – without quite being consciously aware of it.

She almost choked on the first sip of coffee.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.”

“This is… very bitter…”

“Strong,” he chuckled and corrected her.

“I have never had coffee like this earlier.”

“No? What kind of coffee have you had?”

Coffee was a luxury at home. The instant coffee’s bottle was kept in fridge to keep it from forming lumps and a little was poured in the milk when some special guests came.

“Much milkier… I think…” she tried to answer.

“Do you prefer tea? We can order one…”

“No… No. Let’s not waste it. I will put more sugar.”

“Excuse me,” he called the waiter, “Can we have some milk on the side?”

“Sure Sir.”

“Don’t put more sugar,” he said, “You need milk.”

“I mess up every time, don’t I?”

“What do you mean?”

“The car door. Now the coffee…”

“I’m sure I would fumble much worse if I had to give Maths tuitions to unwilling kids. Liking your coffee milkier is actually quite all right.”

She blushed and smiled. “I had never thought that you could so…”

“So?”

“So… easy going and.. approachable.”

“I see. Do I look like a monster or what?”

“You look all right. It’s the way you talked. Not a hint of smile. Always ready to criticize.”

“That isn’t going to change, Piyali. If a teacher isn’t critical…”

“I know. I am not complaining. Not at all.”

—

“Good morning,” since she didn’t have to go to college after tuition, she went to Sonali’s house. The feverish anticipation and excitement she carried with her all the time these days was making her restless. So, she sought out her friend’s company. But as soon as she reached there, it occurred to her that it was a bad idea. She couldn’t possibly talk to Sonali about it.

“Hello,” Sonali greeted her as she entered her bedroom, “What’s up?”

Piyali slumped on her bed and blurted, “Don’t say anything about it, Sonali.”

“Okay… I assume you are talking about last evening. I wasn’t going to say anything. Because I don’t think you will listen to me. But since you have brought it up yourself, you do realize that there is something to be said about.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Piyali pretended defiance.

“No? Why are you pleading me to stay silent then?”

“Sonali!”

“I am not saying anything. I do not know anyone who is more responsible than you are…”

“Don’t you often say that I am too uptight? That I should loosen up… Enjoy?”

“Sure! And if you have to enjoy, go flirt with someone in the college. There is no dearth of suitors for you. This isn’t loosening up, Piyali. This is disaster.”

—

To be continued

“Mukundo Babu asked you to perform with him? On the stage?” It had been six months since she had started learning from him.

Piyali nodded looking somber.

“Shouldn’t you be like jumping in and out right now? Isn’t it like a dream come true?”

“He is angry, Sonali. Very angry.”

“What?”

“When I told him I can’t perform, he got very angry.”

“Wha… Wait… You refused?”

“Of course. I did. You know very well I can’t perform.”

“Why not?”

“Ma doesn’t like it, Sonali. That’s the understanding. I won’t leave music. But it will never be my profession.”

“Arr… Then don’t make it your profession. One performance can’t hurt…”

“It will hurt her. She would think I am changing my mind. And who knows… I might just get lured into it…”

“And now Mukundo Babu is angry. What did you tell him? Why can’t you perform?”

“I told him whatever came to my mind then. That I have a stage-fright. And that I need to study for exams…”

“But not the truth?”

“He isn’t expected to understand her, Sonali. I am not going to badmouth my mother before him.”

“What now?”

“He hasn’t disowned me or anything,” Piyali smiled sadly, “Hopefully he will be able to forgive me.”

—

“I know that you are lying to me. And I am very disappointed about it,” he told her the next day, “But…” He let out a sigh before continuing, “I don’t know what it is. There is something special about you. I can’t turn you away. May your devotion to music never falter!”

She listened with a bowed head. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She did not wipe them. He did not ask her to. They sat there and no practice happened until others came in at six.

He didn’t mention it after that. Their conversations got back to normal slowly. He even gave her a pass to the concert without showing any signs of resentment.

—

During the concert, two faces stood out for him as he sang on the stage. One was Aporna sitting in the first row, extremely careful about her new Jamdani saree. Second was Piyali sitting in the third row, her eyes closed, tears flowing down as she listened to him perform. She was wearing her red and black birthday dress. The best she had?

“Why were you crying in the concert yesterday?” he asked her the next morning. The concert running till late night had not affected their morning routine.

“You… You noticed?” she was caught off-guard.

“Umhmm… More tears than the heroines of the soaps Aporna watches. Had to notice.”

She gave a small smile, “What can I say… It was your performance… I was overwhelmed.”

“Why didn’t you agree to perform with me?” he suddenly sprang the question at her. He had decided earlier that he wouldn’t. But the question had again started gnawing at him since last night.

She looked up startled; then averted her eyes.

“I am not angry at you, Piyali. I tried, but I couldn’t remain angry at you. But I need to know. Why?”

“I won’t think of disrespecting you even in my worst nightmares, Mukundo Babu. But must you make it so difficult for me? I am a nobody. Too small for you to bother about.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Don’t ask me questions, Mukundo Babu,” perplexed, she rubbed her temples, “It looks like everything I say to you turns out to be wrong. I don’t know what to say any longer.”

“Fine!” he sighed and resolved to not bother her. He would behave normally. He would will himself to behave normally. “But here is something you must know. If by any chance, lack of confidence is the reason, then let me tell you that you are not a nobody, not ordinary. You are very special, Piyali. Very special.”

She felt a chill run down her spine and couldn’t meet his eyes.

He cleared his throat and said, “Let’s start. Maru Bihag.”

—

“So, Mukundo. Sumi tells me that you have a hard-working student to your liking now,” Mohima teased her son good-humouredly. They were having lunch. Sumedha was in school.

“Huh?”

“Piyali. Gayatri Devi’s student. I heard she comes for your 5 ‘o clock practice.”

“Yes. She does. And she is good. It’s a pity that she never got to learn from Pandit ji.”

“Baba wouldn’t teach anyone without money,” Aporna said flippantly.

“What is your problem, Aporna?” Mukundo couldn’t stand Aporna, or anyone, being disrespectful towards his Guru.

“I am just telling the truth. I knew him very well. He was my father, after all.”

“And if he did earn money, it was for your sake only.”

“When am I denying that? He was more practical than you would ever be.”

“Okay. Stop fighting you two,” Mohima intervened, “You fight worse than kids. I am sure both of you respect Pandit ji. We all do. There is no need to quibble over it.”

—

Mukundo had long grown indifferent towards Aporna. But these days he almost hated her. She was such a contrast to Piyali. Or Piyali was such a contrast to her. Whichever way, it was wreaking havoc on him and his emotions. Every time Aporna said or did something that he detested, he felt more and more pathologically attracted towards Piyali.

—

“It was raining yesterday when you left,” Mukundo erupted as she walked in.

“So?” she was baffled. Why was he angry?

“You could have fallen ill. It… It can’t do any good to you voice,” he added the second sentence as an afterthought, to give legitimacy to his fury.

“I had an umbrella, Mukundo Babu. I am careful. It is the season. It rains all the time.”

“I was asking you to wait. I would have dropped you..”

“You were asking me?” she frowned. When was he asking her… Not with words obviously. She remembered that he had motioned her with his hands. Must be asking her to wait. She hadn’t understood. “I… I am sorry. I didn’t realize. But Mukundo Babu, I couldn’t have waited. I had to be there by 8.30.”

“Where?”

“At my student’s home,” she said and seeing him raise his eyebrows, clarified, “I give tuitions.” She wasn’t running her own music classes already.

Mukundo looked less furious, but was still annoyed. She had been confused initially, but when she realized what had happened, Piyali felt overwhelmed. Her father had given her the love for music, but as a provider and a protector, he was inadequate. Even when he was alive, he was never a strong support to her or the rest of the family. Her mother barely managed to keep things together, struggling with all the responsibilities alone. Her brother was younger to her. Her neighbours were kind, but never had she had someone care for her like this, someone trying to protect her, make things easy for her. She would have liked to say something to him, but words refused to come out.

“Shall I get the Tanpura?” she asked meekly.

He nodded.

—

It was raining again, when she had left. But she had discreetly shown him her umbrella – a silent promise that she was taking care of herself. But Mukundo was annoyed with himself. He was letting on more than he should; more than she cared for.

“Baba,” Sumedha’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, “You had left your phone in the practice room. It isn’t even switched on yet.”

“Oh! Thank you, Shona. Come here,” he said wanting to forget all other inadequacies and complications of life in his daughter’s company.

“I am getting late for school, Baba. Thakuma is waiting for me with breakfast.”

“Hmm… Okay. Run along, then. You must not get late.”

“Bye Baba.”

“Bye.”

—

To be continued

Her sitting in the car created a bit of a situation. The passenger door didn’t lock despite her trying twice.

“You need to pull it harder,” Mukundo told her.

The next time she pulled it too hard. It did successfully lock the door, but the loud bang startled them.

“Steady.”

“I… I am sorry… I have never been in a car like… this. Did I break something?”

“No. Relax. What kind of car have you been in?”

“The taxi… Ambassador…” The ambassador taxis usually seen on Kolkata roads could take a lot of slamming; in fact they demanded slamming, else they won’t lock, Mukundo quipped inwardly.

“It’s okay. Shall we go?”

She nodded, still looking nervous.

“Who do you have to take to the doctor?” he asked to divert her from her embarrassment about the door.

“Priyendra. My younger brother.”

“What happened to him? Nothing serious, I hope.”

“No. It’s the flu, I think. Everyone has it these days. But better be sure…”

“Yeah. Where do we go from here?”

“I… This is not the bus-route. I don’t know the way.”

“Tell me the address.”

“It’s near Garia haat.”

“I know the way to Garia haat. Once there, you would know the way to your home, right?”

“Yeah.”

He talked to her some more. Mostly about her studies and college. He was curious about her father, but wasn’t sure if he could ask her about it. Pandit ji had talked about Debendra Banerjee many a times. He admired him. “But he will perish. He isn’t made for this world,” he would lament.

When Piyali asked him to stop the car, Mukundo realized that Pandit ji was right about her father. He hadn’t left his family particularly comfortable.

“Which one is your house? I will drop you till there…” he said.

“Just few hundred meters from here. The car… won’t go in. It’s a narrow gully.” She was embarrassed about her poverty. But she didn’t want to be seen as embarrassed about it. So, she pretended to speak nonchalantly. Yet, her effort showed through.

Mukundo acted as if he didn’t discern any of that. “Okay,” he said and waited until she had disappeared from his sight into one of the narrow streets of the area. The area was only one grade above the slums that were aplenty in the city. The simile of a lotus growing in a dirty pond was quite accurate, he thought!

—

“Mukundo Babu dropped you home?” Sonali grinned.

“Yes. He did. And I idiotically slammed the door of his car so hard… I was afraid I would have broken something.”

“Why are you blushing?”

“Excuse me?”

“You look like he didn’t drop you home, but took you out on a date.”

“You are crazy, Sonali.”

“I think you are crazy. You have always been. About him. Obsessive crazy.”

“Shut up already, Sonali. He is my teacher.”

“It’s not like he is an old man or something. And hey! It is fine to have a crush. Just remember that he is a married man.”

“Married man! You know what! Let’s say you are right. And I have a crush on him. Well – I can have that. Why not? He is so charming. Especially when you get to know him closely. But what do you think I am? Some beauty queen? Or some Lata Mangeshkar of music? He won’t even spare me a glance, Sonali. So, you can put that little, conniving mind of yours to rest.”

“Oh Lord! You are furious. Okay. Just forget it. I tease you about so many people. What’s new? Why are you getting upset about it?”

“Yes. You can tease me all you want. Just don’t say anything about him.”

“All right,” Sonali threw up her hands and said on a reconciliatory note, “Shall we get some gol-gappas? My treat. To lift up your mood.”

“Fine!” Piyali grumbled.

—

Piyali found Mukundo standing in the corridor that led to the practice room, when she came the next morning. Was he waiting for her?

“Nomoshkaar, Mukundo Babu,” she folded her hands.

“Nomoshkaar,” he had started responded to her greeting verbally, instead of his usual silent nod.

“You woke up even earlier today?” she asked. She talked to avoid awkwardness. He was in her way and was making no effort to move. She couldn’t just stand there silently.

“How do you come here this early in the morning?” he asked ignoring her question. After he was done appreciating the poetry of lotus in a dirty pond, it had struck him that she lived at least fifteen kilometres away from his home in Salt Lake City. And her usual mode of transport was bus or tram. How did she reach there before five?

She hesitated. Why was he asking that? “By auto. Why?”

“It would be too…” he was about to say ‘expensive’, but checked himself. “It may not be safe,” he said instead, “At this hour…”

“No. It’s fine. It’s actually Salim Kaku – my neighbour. He drives at night usually. Fetches him good fare. And before going to sleep in the morning, he drops me here.”

“Hmm…”

“He has always been very sweet to us. Especially after Baba died…”

“Has it been long?”

“Five years.”

“I am sorry.”

“Life goes on,” she said wanly. Mukundo regretted probing about her father.

“Come in. Sumi will join us today.”

“That’s good.”

—

They often had casual conversations these days. So, she wasn’t surprised when he noticed her dress and asked, “Some special occasion? You are looking different.” She was wearing a new red and black salwaar-kameez, noticeably more stylish and expensive than her usual clothes.

She smiled nervously, “Nothing special. Ma got the dress for my birthday. So, I thought I will wear it.”

“And your birthday is today?”

She nodded.

“Then how is it not a special occasion? It is one. Happy birthday, Piyali. You could have taken a break today.”

“Break? For what?”

“To do whatever you like.”

“But this is what I like the best.”

Mukundo was pleasantly surprised. He looked at her fondly for a few seconds; then said, “In that case, come with me.”

He motioned her to follow him and they walked some distance to another room. It was relatively isolated from the rest of the house, even from the usual practice room. As she entered it, the sight of musical instruments, books, cassettes and CDs revealed that it was his personal practice room. She watched wordlessly as he uncovered a sitar and brought it to her.

“A Hiren Roy Sitar. Pandit ji had given it to me. Do you want to play it?”

She was tongue-tied and barely managed to nod as tears clouded her eyes. This was a big deal!

“Sit down, then. And stop crying. You can’t sing if you cry.” If Piyali could remember his cold voice from their first meeting, she wouldn’t have believed that this man speaking so tenderly to her was indeed Mukundo Thakur.

But she didn’t make that comparison. She wiped her tears and chuckled in embarrassment, “I’m sorry. It’s just that… You said that Pandit ji had given it to you. If I get to play it… Baba would have been so happy. He wanted me to learn from Pandit ji. He admired him so much. But that couldn’t have happened. You can’t imagine how happy I was when you agreed to teach me. It was like Baba’s wish getting fulfilled through you. And now this… Thank you. There couldn’t have been a better birthday gift for me.”

“Why couldn’t you learn from Pandit ji?”

“I… I don’t know. Baba always wanted it, but never took me there. ‘It can’t happen’ he used to say.”

“Hmm… Anyway. Let’s at least get started. Use your birthday gift before time runs out. Let me put an alarm for 5.45. We should be there for others when they come.”

She settled with Sitar and asked, “What should I play?”

“Bageshree.”

He didn’t interrupt her even once until the alarm went off. He had just lost himself in the melody.

—

To be continued

She was already there when he walked into the practice room. She was more relaxed today, assured that she was there in time. She folded her hands in greeting and Mukundo nodded.

“Get the Tanpura,” he told her, “We will start in five minutes. My daughter may join us.”

She followed his instructions and sat down with Tanpura. She tuned it, then addressed him hesitatingly, “There was something I wanted to tell you.”

“Yes?”

“Learning from you, even one lesson, is nothing short of a dream coming true for me. And I understand how big an opportunity it is for me to be here. I’m really sorry that I was late on the first day. But I want to assure you that I don’t shy away from hard work and it won’t happen again.”

Mukundo was in a good mood having seen his daughter and now expecting her during the practice. He was amused. “Did you write that down and memorize it?” he asked with arched eyebrows. From the way she had spoken, it was clear that she had practiced that little speech.

She startled and fidgeted. This wasn’t the response she was expecting at all and was at a loss about what her response should be. Mukundo gave a slight chuckle, but before he could say anything to reassure her, Sumedha ran in. “Baba. I am in time, right?”

“Yes. Shona. You are in time. Come here.”

“Who is she, Baba?”

“She is Piyali. She is also very hard-working like you.” Their eyes met for a moment, and Piyali could read genuine reassurance in his. That relaxed her and she was ready for the practice.

“I need an alarm for six ‘o clock,” he announced, then turned to his daughter, “Can you get an alarm clock, Sumi?”

“I know how to put an alarm in your mobile.”

“My mobile is switched off. Someone may disturb…”

“Nobody will call at this hour, Baba,” she said and took the mobile out of his pocket. “I set the alarm. Will you start now?”

“Yes,” he patted her head.

Seeing Sumedha take such liberties with Mukundo brought a slight smile to Piyali’s lips. And it also brought back the memories. Of her father.

“Shall I follow you?” she asked.

“No. We can do that with others. Let me hear you sing Bhairava. I will be on tabla,” he replied.

She closed her eyes, thought of her father and silently asked for his blessings. Then she started with aalaap.

“Do that again. Ni-Sa-Ga-Ma-Pa… You can improvise.”

“Try dedh gat.”

“Teevra… not shuddha…”

He helped her by correcting her, pushing her to improvise, and try difficult rhythms. She had been right in claiming that she didn’t shy away from hard work. When she didn’t get something right, or to his satisfaction, she tried and re-tried until she did it the way he wanted. Since he was not singing with her, he was aware of the time and surroundings. At six he didn’t need the alarm. He stopped her practice and had Sumedha unset the alarm before it rang. His other three students walked in just then and they restarted the practice together. Even Sumedha joined them while they practised simpler things.

—

“Can I have your mobile number? I needed…” he asked her the next day. Sumedha couldn’t get up and they were on their own.

“Yeah,” she was surprised at the request, but complied immediately and also noted down his number.

“I had wanted to call you.”

“Why?”

“I made fun of what you said yesterday. I didn’t mean to… I appreciate your sincerity.”

“That’s fine, Mukundo Babu. I didn’t think anything of it. You don’t need to explain.”

“That’s good. When your aim is to learn, you shouldn’t get distracted by petty things.”

“Yes. It was good that you joked about it. It makes you more human. I am a little less scared of you now,” she said and immediately wondered if she had taken too much liberty.

Mukundo was surprised at first, but then looked amused. “Shall we start?” he asked still smiling.

She nodded and got the Tanpura.

—

Gayantri Devi was lying on a cot in her veranda. Mukundo awkwardly stopped in his tracks on noticing Piyali seated beside her.

It had been a few weeks since Piyali had started learning under him and he had thought it appropriate that he should acknowledge Gayatri Devi for her thorough training. But with Piyali around… Piyali herself jumped out of the cot on seeing him. But she regained her composure quickly and greeted him with folded hands. “Nomoshkaar, Mukundo Babu.”

“Nomoshkaar,” he replied managing to put up a graceful smile and proceeded to greet Gayatri Devi. “Nomoshkaar, Gayatri Ma.”

“Mukundo! How nice to see you. It has been ages.”

“You haven’t been coming to concerts and programmes for ages.”

“I can hardly get up by myself these days. Piyali. Shona, will you please bring a chair for Mukundo? Or just ask Munni to bring one.”

“I will bring one,” she replied and went inside. Piyali was quite at home here, Mukundo noted.

“Ma told me you were not well,” Mukundo started conversing with her.

“It’s the age, son. It’s the time to pass the baton. I am so happy that you have taken Piyali under your wing. This girl has great potential. Like her father.”

“Her father?”

“You wouldn’t know probably. His name was Debendra Banerjee…”

“I have heard that name… From Pandit ji.”

“A brilliant man. Not worldly-wise, though. Didn’t know how to run his life. But left his daughter with a deep love for music.”

“I must thank you for recommending her. She is indeed good,” he acknowledged unhesitatingly.

Piyali came back with the chair and asked Gayatri Devi, “Shall I get some tea, Ma?”

“Not for me,” Mukundo refused, “I am fine.”

“How can that be, Mukundo? I don’t remember when you had come home last time. You must have some tea. Tell Munni Piyali…”

“Yeah,” Piyali went in a second time and came out soon. Munni, the house help, brought tea and snacks after a while. Mukundo and Gayatri Devi kept talking. About music, about people in the field, concerts, awards… Piyali remained silent through the conversation. She was in an august company… And feeling quite out-of-place.

Interjecting when there was a pause in conversation, she said politely, “Ma. I will leave now. I have to take Priyendra to the doctor.”

“Oh. Right. Poor, little thing. Flu it is, isn’t it? Okay my child. Do come again soon.”

Piyali nodded and touched her feet.

Mukundo also got up. “It’s time for me to leave too.”

“So soon?”

“Have to meet somebody. I will come again,” he said as he touched Gayatri Devi’s feet and then turned to Piyali, “How will you be going?”

“I will take a bus… or tram…”

“I can drop you home.”

She jerked back in surprise, so visibly that Mukundo hesitated for an instant. He hadn’t said anything inappropriate, had he?

“No, Mukundo Babu. I will be fine. And from here, my home is in the opposite direction to yours.”

“I have to go in the opposite direction only. Come with me. It’s not a problem.”

“Go with him, Piyali. It will save you some time. What is the harm?” Gayatri Devi supported Mukundo and that sealed the deal.

—

To be continued

Next morning Piyali was there at Mukundo’s place fifteen minutes ahead of time. She was already waiting for him when he walked in at five minute to five. He was startled for a moment because he hadn’t expected her to come back.  But he concealed his surprise well. He motioned towards the Tanpura. She picked it up, sat down on the carpet and tuned it. Then they started the practice.

Mukundo corrected her when needed, demonstrated the improvisations to her. After about forty five minutes, however, he stopped interrupting and just asked her to sing after him. Immersed in the singing, they were soon lost to the world. When they finally came to themselves, it was quarter to eight. Mukundo looked around and saw his other students sitting at some distance from them, listening intently. They must have come at their usual time! Then his eyes met with Piyali’s and confusion washed over both their faces. What had just happened? How did they lose themselves like that?

When Piyali grew conscious of other people sitting in the room, her face coloured. “Shall I leave now?” she asked meekly.

He just nodded. Piyali put the Tanpura back in place and left wordlessly, leaving Mukundo behind to explain, or to not, to his students what had just happened.

—

“If you have to give your life after music, don’t die twice as quickly by working so hard at other things as well,” Debangi Banerjee, Piyali’s mother, was annoyed with her. But she also worried about her.

“What are you saying, Ma?”

“You left at four in the morning. You are coming back at eight. You will fall ill at this rate. Stop giving tuitions in the evening. We can do without that money.”

“I know it isn’t much, Ma. But it, at least, covers Priyendra’s school fee.” She herself had her college tuition fee waived off on a merit scholarship. Priyendra was her younger brother who was still in school.

“You have only twenty-four hours in a day, like all of us. And you won’t give up music. Then stop abusing your body. It needs rest.”

“In two hours, that’s exactly what I am going to get, Ma. And Ma. Please stop worrying. I am not going to be like Baba. This is my promise, not just to you, but to myself too. I am not expecting music to earn my livelihood. It’s less than two years now. As soon as I graduate, I will find a job and you won’t have to worry any longer.”

“Not like him,” Debangi muttered under her breath, when Piyali went away to freshen up, “This craze for music and she is not going to be like him!” Then she hollered, “Will you have tea? Or shall I serve dinner directly?”

“I need tea, Ma. Have to study for a while. Don’t wait on me for dinner. I will take it before sleeping.”

Debangi had been running the family by taking up sewing and knitting for neighbours since her husband had died. Even when he lived, he could not have been bothered with earning livelihood, so occupied he was in his pursuit of music. Music for music’s sake. He could never think of making money from it. But some money kept coming because he always had students, most of whom, thankfully, paid on their own accord. But when he died in an accident, there were no savings to resort to. Financial planning could hardly be expected from someone who didn’t know how to make money in the first place.

Piyali was old enough at that time, about fourteen, to understand all this. She understood her mother’s frustrations; her disappointment in her husband as well as music. But for good or for bad, her father had instilled the love for music in her. It was her life, her soul. She couldn’t have given up on it. Despite knowing how irresponsible he had been, she couldn’t hate her father. She had just vowed to not be like him – in the matters concerning responsibility towards the family.

—

Mukundo woke up at four in the morning as was his habit. Instead to going to the bathroom immediately as he usually did, he stayed put on the bed for a while. He looked at his sleeping wife. What a disappointment his marriage had been. He hadn’t been sure about it in the first place. But it was Pandit ji’s wish. “You are the son I never had,” Pandit ji had said, “She has my blood. You have my music. If you come together, you will carry my legacy forward.”

Mukundo wondered if it hadn’t been too selfish on Pandit ji’s part. To have such whimsical ideas about carrying the legacy. How had marrying Aporna helped him in carrying the legacy forward? As far as he could see, he was doing in single-handedly. She had never been interested in music. She couldn’t tell her teevra ma from shudha ma. She couldn’t even tell sa from re. And Pandit ji, who used to be so strict with his students, had never as much as raised his voice at her. He had essentially let her do whatever she wanted. He was probably too conscious of her being raised motherless and had ended up spoiling her in trying to make up for her mother’s loss.

There was one thing that she liked about music. The glamour that came with it. It had come to Pandit ji and it had come to him. And it was probably to continue to be a part of that glamour that she had married him. The stage performances and adulation that followed had her beaming. She used to accompany her father in all his stage appearances and all his media interviews. She did the same with him after marriage. She would never bother to listen to him when he practiced, but she had her clothes and jewellery ready for every stage performance. She might not have time for him otherwise, but always had time to sit beside him during the interviews as loving and proud wife, adding her charming comments here and there. These days they hardly ever shared an intimate moment. In the beginning, his youth and his romantic and physical needs had made him seek her out. But over time that need had fizzled. The camaraderie that should have taken the place of youthful passion in the relationship had never developed between them. A strange resentment had come in instead. Neither of them could have put their fingers on what exactly they resented about the other. But they did. Outwardly, one could point out that it was because of their widely different feelings about music. But somewhere Mukundo knew that it wasn’t the case. He connected better with many friends who had nothing to do with music than he connected with his wife. Yes! That was it. There was no connect. Not through music, not through anything else. It was a strangely indifferent relationship. He was grateful to Pandit ji for a lot of things. But this was something he shouldn’t have done to him. His guru-dakshina had been too pricey. It had ended any possibility of him ever finding a partner, a soul-mate, or even some straight-forward romance.

—

“Baba,” Sumedha, his eight-year-old daughter peeped out from the adjacent room, when Mukundo stepped out of his bedroom, “Can I join your practice?”

Mukundo smiled affectionately, “You are up already? Brushed your teeth?”

“No. But I can do that quickly.”

“Okay,” he looked at his watch, “You have ten minutes. If you can make it before five, come in the practice room. But if you get late, you must not disturb, okay?”

“Okay Baba. I will not be late.”

Mukundo loved his daughter. She was his comfort and reassurance. She was already making good progress with her music lessons, and unlike her mother, she didn’t mind discipline and hard work. These days, she was even trying to get up early to join him in the morning practice. Today, he was going to get her company. And then there was someone else’s company too! He sighed as he thought of her. What on earth had happened yesterday? He did sometimes lose himself while singing, but that usually happened when he was alone, never when he was with somebody. Well, not until yesterday anyway.

—

To be continued

“Hmm…” Mukundo was impressed, but held back on his appreciation. “Too much praise, too early, goes to a young student’s head. It is the job of a guru to be critical so long as there is anything to be critical about. That’s how he pushes the student towards perfection,” Pandit ji, his Guru, had told him. Everything Mukundo knew about music and teaching, he had learned from him.

Piyali’s nervous and questioning eye met his. She had big eyes, the most prominent and alluring feature on her thin, oval face. Her wheatish skin was smooth and had the radiance that betrayed her youth despite the maturity of her singing.

“What do you do?” he asked. She had just sung Raga Marwa for him.

“I am studying. B. Sc. Mathematics. 2^nd year.”

Eighteen, at most nineteen years old, Mukundo guessed. Her music education till then had been good, as was evident from her performance. And she was still young enough to be coached into scaling further heights. He could take her under his wings.

“You will need a lot more practice.”

Her face clouded over. Can’t take criticism? Mukundo wondered inwardly. But Gayatri Devi would have been a strict teacher too.

“I will do my best, Mukundo Babu,” she replied looking determined. The cloud had passed.

He nodded. “You can come at six in the morning.” It was the time he gave to his best students. There were only three others in that group right now. He was placing her there. Piyali’s heart leapt at the idea. But she stayed composed on the outside. “We generally practice till nine,” he added.

The cloud came back and this time he couldn’t ignore it. “What happened? You do realize that learning music is hard work. And I don’t like compromises.”

“It’s not that, Mukundo Babu. Just that at 8.30 I have to…”

“Come at five, then. If you can…” Mukundo threw a challenge her way. It was a good opportunity to test her sincerity. He had almost expected her to withdraw. Other students in his morning batch barely managed to come at six. They would still be sleepy when they walked in. If they did come in time, it was only because of his reputation for being strict and turning away the students who reached even a minute late.

She looked at him agape for a moment. Five in the morning! Did he really mean it? Did he wake up by then? He appeared impassive. This was no joke! She took a deep breath and said, “Fine. I will be here at five.”

—

“Sonali. Sonali! Guess who is going to teach me from now on?” Piyali was exultant when she met her best friend on the way to college.

“Mukundo Babu accepted you?”

“Yes! And in the morning batch.” Sonali knew exactly what that meant. Ever since the possibility of Piyali joining Mukundo Thakur had come up, not a single day had passed when Piyali wouldn’t fill her up with all kinds of information about “Mukundo Babu”. Undoubtedly Mukundo Thakur was the most adulated classical singer of his generation in the city, and probably in the entire country. But Piyali’s veneration bordered on obsession.

“Congratulations! And how exactly are you going to manage all of it?”

“I managed with Gayatri Ma, didn’t I? It was she who spoke to Mukundo Babu’s mother about me.”

“I know that. But you yourself accept that Gayatri Ma has always been extra-ordinarily sweet to you. She adjusted her own time for you…”

“I know, Sonali. I know all too well. But anyway. I am going there at five in the morning. It won’t clash with anything else. Even the first tuition I have to give is at 8.30. I will leave at eight…”

“Five in the morning?” Sonali was incredulous, “How will you manage?”

“I will. Don’t worry.”

“And what does Kaki have to say about it?”

Piyali sighed, “You know very well. Ma never likes anything I do about music…”

“And still, you do…”

“So, what do you think? I am a bad daughter?” Piyali smiled sadly.

“You know what! Sometimes I do think that way. But then, most of the time I just marvel at you. Despite everything, you do not give up on music. Your classes, housework, tuitions to help run the house… And you still find time for music lessons and practice! I wish I were that obsessed about something.”

“I can’t give up my music. I love Ma, Sonali. You know I do. At least you should know that I do. Without her, we would have been on footpaths. But I am my father’s daughter too. And music is my life, my soul.”

“Sorry!” Sonali smiled in embarrassment, “I sometimes take the arguments too far. But you have my support. Don’t worry.”

Piyali also smiled. Sonali and she had been friends since childhood. Sonali always questioned her decisions. But at the end of the day, she did have unconditional support from her friend.

Piyali’s jubilation had vanished the next day.

“What happened? You went to Mukundo Babu, today. Didn’t you?”

“He turned me away.”

“Why?”

“I was late.”

“Late?”

“By two minutes!”

“Arr… For two minutes? At five in the morning…”

“I said the same thing and he had a reply ready.”

“Which was?”

“In music, if you are late by two seconds, you have missed the right time for the right note… and everything is spoiled.”

“What the… Even for all his reputation, this is…”

“But he is right, Sonali…”

“Come on. This is ridiculous…”

“This is discipline. And not only music, everything in life needs discipline…”

“What now?”

“I have one more chance. If I get late again, he won’t teach me.”

“And you are going to go back, of course?”

“Of course.”

—

“How was your new student?” Mohima Thakur asked her son during dinner.

“Not disciplined for sure. I had to turn her away today.”

“She was late?”

“Yeah.”

“By two minutes, Ma,” Aporna, Mukundo’s wife, interjected. “And he turned the poor girl away. I don’t know about music, but Baba has definitely passed on his fanaticism to him.”

“Aporna! If you can’t be respectful towards your father, at least be respectful towards my Guru,” Mukundo glared at her. Aporna just shrugged.

Mohima sighed. May God be with the girl, she prayed for Piyali. Gayatri Devi had sounded so fond of her. She had known her father and after his death and taken over as her music guru. But her own health was failing her now. “I don’t care so much about others, Mohima. But this girl deserves the best. She still has a lot to learn and she is keen to learn. Pandit ji is not alive now. So, I can only look to Mukundo. He should hear her sing once. And then he can decide whether or not he wants to teach her,” she had said.

“But Ma. You know that all my students start early…”

“She hasn’t been sitting around, Mukundo. She has been training since she was a child. First under her father, then under Gayatri Devi.”

“So what?”

“Don’t be so arrogant, my son. Gayantri Devi and Pandit ji were good friends. They respected each other so much. If she is recommending her, you should give her one chance, as a gesture of respect towards Gayatri Devi. She deserves that much.”

Mohima had a point and Mukundo had to agree to her.

“She won’t be able to pay though.”

“You know I don’t care about that.”

—

To be continued