Arnav Singh Raizada was once an innocent boy, prankster, and mum's boy. His lifestyle was a true definition of a fairy-tale. SHEESH MAHAL's prince. As he continued in his fairy-tale world, reality gave him an excruciating and tedious call. Suddenly...
"Someday many years from now, we'll sit beside the candle's glow, exchanging tales about our past and laughing as the memories flow.And when that distant day arrives, I know it will be understood, that friendship is the key to live, and we were friends and it was good. - Eileen Hehl.
"NO, NO, NO!" Says Mr. Khan, nettled.
It is a Friday afternoon, exactly six months since, paavi's wedding. Myself, Khushi, and the rest of the music students are currently in the music room practicing for grade 12's graduation ceremony, coming in March next year.
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"Khushi darling," says Mr. Khan. "What is going with you today? Sometimes I cannot hear your Cello; other times, the tune you are producing is not in sync with everyone else." Khushi's jaw drops, and an ice-cream pink makes its way onto her cheeks. She gazes at the closed door beside her in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. "You are playing worse than you did when you first joined the class."
Someone coughs.
"And she is not the only one, performing poorly," Mr. Khan goes on. "You people are playing like you didn't have lunch. You are not practicing the school song to play for the Assembly or your family members." He tousles his curly hair. "Start again. And this time, put in some energy and emotions." We resume, but he stops midway.
"A quick reminder: All of you should be here by four O'clock in your summer uniform, including your blazers, on the day of graduation. Arnav, Guarav, and Raj are the only exceptions because it is their day. Secondly, try your best not to fall sick on that day. I don't want to perform without a member like I did last year in May." He then raises his eyebrows at me.
I had lied that I was sick. Whenever we practice the song 'Maa.' I could be reminded of my loss and become emotional. So I stayed behind because I was afraid of breaking down in front of everyone. I had spent the day at the park, immersing myself in my books. I did the same thing on mother's day.
"He is talking about you, Arnav," Comments Gaurav, who is sitting two seats from Khushi. He has styled himself as the new class clown.
"I'm aware," I say, rolling my eyes.
"Good!" Says Mr. Khan. "Because it was a huge disappointment. Thankfully we now have a keyboardist." He looks at the girl beside me, who is biting the skin around her thumb. "For goodness sake, stop destroying your fingers, young lady." Roshni hides her hand under the keyboard. "The soar around your fingers are not pretty." He sweeps his hair to the centre of his head, then traps the bundle with the ribbon, giving us a clear view of his sweat-reddish face. "Guarav, please read the prayer for us, again."
I recite the quote along with him in my heart as Gaurav read the usual quote by Ludwig Van Beethoven: 'Don't only practice your art, but force your way into its secrets; art deserves that, for it and knowledge can raise man to the Divine.' I've also taken the quote as my motto ever since I started attending Art class, which I attend on Tuesdays. Mr. Khan erects his baton in the air the moment Gaurav finishes reading. We repeat the same song we were busy with for forty minutes past one. 'till the clock indicates 3:10 pm. Everyone sighs in relief.
