A NIGHT TO REMEMBER — A story of mysticism, music and hope
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I have always hated travelling alone. I get bored. I get restless and then secretly start cursing my bad decision of travelling alone. Nonetheless, there are times when something mysterious comes out of such decisions.
I remember the day clear as sunshine. It was a sultry day in May. The year, well, I would wish not to date it. I was travelling back to New York after spending family time in India. As misfortune would have it, I missed my connecting flight. Again, you need a companion to bicker about such situations and travelling alone doesn’t really help.
My next flight was scheduled for 1:30am from Delhi to JFK. I was too well fed and every fiber of my being was aching for that whiff of downy clad bedspread and for some welcoming fluffy pillows. Gate 26A had me as a sole guardian, when suddenly my monarchy was challenged. A tall man, anything or anyone who can tower me, gets labelled as ‘tall’ in my dictionary. Anyway, a tall man, probably late 30s, fair complexioned, wearing his hair in a neat ponytail, with a massive guitar case walked up the aisle and resigned clumsily to the seat right across me.
Ah! Another aspiring musician, I thought. I couldn’t resist stealing glances every now and then as I found his nerdy glasses very interesting. It had black rims and the notch, which, connects the two glass pieces, looked like guitar strings. He had very keen close-set eyes. Okay fine, for the lack of human beings around, I was smitten.
He closed his eyes as he stretched his long legs in front of me. Oh! He did not just dismiss my presence! You never do that to a woman and definitely not to one, who loves talking and hates travelling alone. In that moment, I decisively took it upon myself to defend the honor of the entire clan of XX chromosomes by forcibly striking a conversation.
‘So, you play?’, I asked.
Lazily opening his eyes, he replied, ‘Only guitars’.
What a snob! I thought. A simple ‘Yes’ would have done it. However, it just drove me to ask more questions.
‘By choice?’, I smiled.
‘The last time I checked, yes’, he responded back as he propped himself upright.
Hmm…a guitarist with an attitude. Speak about clichés.
‘You any good?’, I asked again, while regretting my question while I waited for a response. Who on earth would say that he wasn’t, after coming off as a pure piece of work! However, his answer just surprised me.
‘I will be once I can fulfil a promise I made to her. It’s been 10 years, since I last saw her’, he said with a sudden smear of sadness gripping him.
This night had just gotten interesting. Millions of thoughts struck me like lightening. Could be his wife? Well, I wasn’t seeing any ring. Sometimes people don’t wear rings. Could it be a girlfriend, who was no longer in his life? Well, 10 years is a long time to move on. Could it be his mother, his teacher, his ailing neighbor? I couldn’t resist my curiosity anymore. I blurted out,’ Who, a friend?’
‘An apparition’, he said with his eyes fixated on me.
I had goosebumps. It was lonely at that gate and he was spinning stories about ghosts!!! Before I could call him out, he came and sat right next to me and pulled out some photos of a Victorian building. He mentioned that music had manifested in his life through his mother, who was a well-trained and noted Indian classical singer. Music defined him but his coding skills paid his bills. An Indian guy — an engineer, well, no surprise there. As he progressed through the story, I could sense his restlessness. He went on to describe his work visit to Pennsylvania as he showed me the hotel he stayed in. His room number was 502. Very insignificant a detail, I thought.
He had turned in early that night. He claimed that his superpower was sleeping like a log. Apparently, he had once invited a bunch of friends for dinner and had left them hanging at the door, while he happily snored away. He was expecting that night to be no different. He took off his glasses and was just about to shut his eyes close, when he heard the most melodious music breeze into his ears. It was ethereal to the extent of being intoxicating. He realized that the walls of his room were changing colors and strange but beautiful images were shaping up all around him.
What a storyteller! I thought. He mentioned seeing and hearing musical notes, while, feeling a presence in that room, all through the night.
‘Were you not scared? I would have fainted right there!’, I said incredulously.
‘I am not a superhero. Even though eerie, it wasn’t triggering any fear. Somehow, it surfaced all these emotions, I had no clue they even existed in me’, he said.
‘Then what happened?’, I asked curiously.
‘I never realized when I fell asleep. Next morning, when, I woke up, I hurriedly scribbled the notes, whatever of it, I could remember. I could be hallucinating but it was so real. I asked the concierge if that place was haunted. He just laughed and said could be. Ever since then, for the last one decade, I have been working on an album tirelessly.’
I asked,’ Why? It could have been just a dream’.
He nodded his head vehemently and said, ‘I cannot explain what it was. That moment haunts me. Somehow, I feel I owe it to myself and to that presence in that room to recreate what I had heard that night. I will have to come up with a name for the album. It got be 7 letters to commemorate that room number. However, I am not able to finish it with other things taking priority. Someday may be.’
‘Have you shared this story with anyone?’, I asked.
He said with a melancholy smile,’ No. Not yet.’
‘Why on earth not!! It is darn interesting,’ I protested.
‘Because, no one ever asked me If I played by choice,’ He said as he wiped his glasses, which, seemed to fog up for some reason.
I hadn’t realized that the gate was bustling with people by then. Amidst those blaring boarding calls, I panicked for a moment. I didn’t want to intrude his privacy but somehow, I could resist the urge to know more. I managed to fish out a piece of paper and a pen from my bag. Wrote my phone number, my email and name on it and gave it to him. He took it without a word or any expression.
‘Can I tell your story?’, I asked hurriedly as my eyes wandered off to the vanishing queue of passengers.
‘Only when I release my album. I’ll send you a copy,’ he said with a hopeful smile.
I picked up my luggage and asked him, ’Aren’t you boarding?’
‘Not my flight. I will board from 26B, the gate right next to yours’, he said.
‘I don’t even know your name. How will you send me your album? I haven’t shared my address! At least tell me your name’, I pleaded.
‘I will find you when it’s time. Give me any name. How about X?’, he chuckled.
I felt irritated. He told me his story. It could be made up for all I know but I cared enough to share most of my contact details. He didn’t even bother to tell me his name!! It was the last I saw him.
It has been 2 years, since that summer. Not a day goes by without me jumping at the sound of doorbells and expecting a package to mysteriously appear but no luck! At least not until this morning. The bell rang again. I dragged my dwindling glimmer of hope to the door. The delivery guy handed me a thin package. My heart skipped a beat. ‘Who is it from?’, I asked excitedly. He didn’t seem to be much of a talker. I was requested to acknowledge the receipt. As I managed to scribble my name, I noticed an unfamiliar sender’s name and a familiar ‘X’ marked at top right corner of the envelope. I sighed with relief. The wait was too long but he had kept his word and now it was my turn to tell his story.
