Images fire on the screen. Iran is up to no good again, or is it the only good, I am not too sure. I hear a voice blurt out a script pre-written in a nauseating tone, blaring, invading my private space, my own eardrums. The CPU speakers below this wooden platform play a feeble tune that brings a smile to my face.
The tune reminds me of a life gone by, of beauty perceived and stored, retrieved and dreamed off again and again. ‘Malargaley, malargaley,’ the singer’s voice echoes over snow-capped peaks as a subtle and feeble flute song accompanies his voice. The meek indeed will inherit the earth — there’s so much truth in that statement.
Raindrops fall inside my head, a beat evolves from the pitter-patter and in no time, I’m dreaming of green fields, swaying coconut palms and a wild young stream in a hurry to be swallowed by the bigger river a few kilometres downstream. Voices rasp together in unison, singing gleefully of the chilled breeze that will flow over Theni as the rains fall… This indeed is a love song for nature. I am in love. Theni is green. Theni is fresh. Theni is a virgin. Theni is a concept to me. I know it geographically exists, and that people claim home to the area, but to me it is an idea. It’s the perfect paradox, where nature has blessed an area with immense beauty, while the people indulge in a behaviour that would put rustic to shame. Maybe there’s beauty there too? Maybe I’ve been far too urbanised by the warm winds of Bangalore to feel and perceive this beauty, even if it is in my head!
My mind quickly shifts to an uptown tune, with whistles and kettle drums in a gay orgy of sorts. Flirtatious and dirty, sweet and innocent at the same time, a voice sings a tease-tune that would appeal to anyone. ‘Paarkaathey, paarkaathey…’ the metallic female voice screeches out to a male chorus that joins in with joy. Happiness is indeed simple. What say?
Well, a day after a harrowing experience that repeats itself, I am indeed convinced that A R Rehman is my solution to any blues. I am now happy. I feel elated and might dance in the rain. It doesn’t need to rain though; my imagination is quite capable of creating a shower just perfect for me. Ah! The joys of dreaming!