Pinch Of Salt

“Excuse me!”

“Yes?”

“Can you please drop me till the highway? I can’t get hold of an auto rickshaw. I’ve to reach somewhere.”

“Sure, get in!”

She looked very pleasant. I’ve never been too keen on giving lifts to people, even the ones I knew, but this time I couldn’t deny. She looked earnest, sincere, and worked up. I was going the same way so there was no extra effort required from my side.

“Where do you work?

“I don’t yet, I’m appearing for an interview, so I’m really tensed and I don’t want to get late!”

“I understand, relax. Where is your interview? I mean where should I drop you exactly?”

“HDFC bank, near the highway.”

The traffic wasn’t pleasant at all. I travelled daily from Versova in Andheri west to Ghatkopar near Andheri east. It was always a nightmare in the morning office hours. The humid heat wouldn’t help much too. But more than the heat, which I had eliminated after purchasing an air conditioned car, it was the time consumed unnecessarily due to the traffic that pissed me off. On this occasion, it meant spending more time with this lady. She looked approximately around 23-24, but with a look of someone who’s seen much more than what her age permits. She was wearing what I call now the “Preity Zinta glasses from Kal Ho Na Ho”, the rectangular black frame which went perfectly with her roundish face. She was attractive.

“Do you have some music?”

“Yes. Why?

“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit nervous, thought some nice music might ease it up…”

“Well in that case, let me make you hear some stuff I regularly listen to when I’m stressed. Shall I?”

“Sure”

I took a compact disc recording of Ustaad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. It was one of my favorite recordings of his. And as the rendition began,

“Nusrat?”

“Ya, Nusrat saab! I’m sure you will love this.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

I had nothing else to ask. But she didn’t reply. There was arrogance in her silence. I also ignored her as some ignorant fool, who knew shit about classical and sufi music. As the song reached its peak, I declined my any effort for any conversation, and genuinely got involved in the song, tapping on my steering periodically and shaking my head as if I was in a live concert. And then I noticed her, sitting next to me, making a painful face as if someone just twisted her arm.

“Are you alright, what happened?”

“Can you please change this song, and if you have nothing else then turn off the music?”

“What?”

“Yes…wait…”

She pinched me on my tummy which was protruding out of my body, thanks to the liters of beer in the last half decade.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! What the hell?”

“Did it hurt you?”

“Of course, you fucking pinched me; it is supposed to hurt isn’t it?”

“This song is hurting me the same way, it is out of tune! This man is always out of tune. How can someone get so famous when the voice cracks all the time and there is no sweetness?”

“What the fuck are you saying? You are talking about Nusrat fateh ali khan? “

“Yes!”

“Ok enough, I will not just turn off the music; I’m stopping my car here. Please get down.”

“What?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve a few reservations about people talking so rudely about something they don’t understand and treasure! Please get down.”

“Why will I say something like that unless I know music? But yes, I could have avoided expressing my displeasure. It is your car after all!”

“It is not about that. Just…..please get down! I’m sorry.”

She got off, and I saw in my rear view mirror that she boarded an auto rickshaw almost immediately. I had been thinking about her all the time since then. She looked that person to me who could be with me, and with whom I could be with. I mean honestly, I didn’t even know her name. I felt this amazing vibe when we were sitting together; there was this feeling that she is the girl. Throughout the silence during the song, I could hear her breathe, almost at rhythmic points of the composition. And then she said something which thrashed it all. I think I almost flared up with so much anger because at that moment I could not decide whether my belief in my taste of music was stronger, or whether my attraction for this lady was stronger. But now I feel even though I literally kicked her out of my car, she managed to make me feel weak about my taste. Suddenly I was not sure whether I was right or she was. I had to find it out now. I could bear this no longer. I made a sudden trip to my cousin’s place on the next weekend, hoping to find the answer. My cousin’s father is a very well known sitar player, and an acclaimed radio artist. I made him listen to a couple of renditions by Ustaad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. He remained silent throughout, and this time I did not enjoy the songs. I kept a close watch on his facial expressions, but he remained composed.

“What do you think uncle?”

“About what? He was obviously a very famous singer.”

“No, I mean did you like what he sang?”

“Come here”

I went to where he was sitting, as he pinched my tummy and said,

“This is how I felt!”