Posted:
(Inspired by August Rush, a film on how a little boy searches for his parents, who are separated as well by accident, all connected by Music.)
London, 2020
She was walking on the road. The weather was nice and cool. Traffic was normal. People were hustling and bustling on their way. She crossed the road and came up to the Star Bucks cafe. She stopped and smiled a weak smile. She was feeling numb and cold.
Today was the anniversary of what happened ten years ago. Ten years ago, she was an upcoming singer and composer. She was in Mumbai with her manager cum guardian Niel Oberoi and her father Shaym Bhushan. The two men who trampled upon her freedom, her rights, her feelings.
Today was the day ten years ago when she met him. A handsome man who made her feel so special. She didnt know what he was, what his name was and where he was from. It was a beautiful moonlit night of a romance. She was upset and sitting outside a cafe, when he came with two ice creams and a guitar. They laughed and sang together, and he wiped her tears away. She looked at his good heartedness. They listened to music on her little radio on her cell. They discussed music.
Then looking at the moon, they kept quiet and slowly held hands. He asked her name and she replied Gunjan Bhushan. She was in Mumbai from Delhi for a concert she was participating in. He smiled. That evening, they met up again. She resisted her father and her manager's attempts to curb her. He cheered her up, made her laugh. Then they went to see a musical film. At night they attended a small party held by his friend.
There, they wandered off to the little balcony lit by the moon. They gazed at each other. She forgot to ask him his name and occupation. He danced a few steps with her. Then they stopped. He kissed her lips. She blushed and told him that she had to go back to Delhi the next day. He held her hand and asked her if she minded dating him.
She told him about her cruel manager and her obnoxious father. He held her, his palm on her lips, and told hr he would help her out. Music was their connection, their love, their common trace. She was surprised. He told her he was Samrat Shergill, a member of a famous band called Freedom Brothers, and he was also a poet and writer. He had composed so many songs.
She blushed, and he kissed her lips. She responded. They held each other till fat raindrops descended on them. Rushing inside, he led her to a terrace room, an outdoor room on the terrace. There, he began kissing her neck, her crape. She responded, and they lay down...
The next morning she realised she was late. He dropped her off.
Her father beat her up, and the manager dared to manhandle her, telling her that she was to sing at a concert, and it was too late now. They forbade Samrat from seeing her again.
She never saw Samrat again. She was forced to leave for Pondicherry, where some weeks later she realised she was expectant.
Her father was terribly angry, and waited for her delivery day. She tried to contact Samrat whenever she was in Mumbai, but she always arrived or called minutes after he left a particular place. She was upset that she could not meet him and share the news. She was desparate.
On the day of the labour she fainted and when she became conscious, her father told her that she gave birth to a still born girl child. Gunjan broke down that day.
Today she was in London. She left Shyam and Niel. She came to her elder sister and jiju, Nupur and Mayank, and her little niece and nephew, Khushi and Arnav. She was now working as a music and dance teacher at a small school Nupur worked at. She was happier but for the deep void two people have left- Samrat and the dead baby. Yet she felt somehwere the child was alive. Somewhere there was a feeling that something was amiss.
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