Highest Ranking #1 in Ethnicity
Veena Parthasarathy, an 18-year-old American girl, has her whole world turned upside down after the sudden demise of her mother. Veena's dreams of starting university are deferred, and she's left with a lingering guil...
We found ourselves stranded in the middle of nowhere, far from our homes, as the relentless rain began to pour. Despite our attempts to walk faster, the downpour left us both drenched. We briefly considered seeking shelter under a nearby tree, but the raging storm made it seem like a poor choice. Instead, we continued trudging through the rain, our clothes sticking uncomfortably to our bodies, until we reached the outskirts of the residential area. Krish's house appeared on the horizon, and we sighed in relief.
By the time we arrived at Krish's home, we were thoroughly soaked. With Krish's mom absent, we had the house to ourselves. Krish handed me a towel, and I gratefully accepted it. He offered me a spare T-shirt and a pair of track pants to change into, which I did before joining him in the living room. As I dried my hair, Krish prepared steaming cups of chai.
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We sat at the dining table, sipping hot tea and gazing out at the rain. The only thing missing was some soothing music to complete the moment. It was as if Krish had read my mind when he asked, "Do you like music?"
I chuckled. "Who doesn't like music?"
Krish grinned. "True. Let me rephrase that: What kind of music do you listen to?"
I considered it for a moment. "Honestly, I haven't been exposed to much Indian music, but I've heard a few songs. My taste leans more toward indie pop artists and country music."
Krish looked intrigued. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Do you know about Ilaiyaraaja?"
I nodded. "Isn't he one of the biggest music directors in the Tamil industry?"
"That's correct," Krish replied. "His music is simply perfect for every little situation in life. Believe me, whenever I'm happy or sad, I turn to his music. Would you like to listen?"
"Sure," I agreed. Krish connected his phone to a smart speaker and played his Ilaiyaraaja playlist on Spotify. While I didn't recognize the songs, some of the tunes felt vaguely familiar, probably from when my mother used to listen to them. My mom had always been passionate about music, and even though she couldn't share it with us, she never stopped listening. Surprisingly, I found myself drawn to the rhythms and melodies of the songs. They were soothing, even though I couldn't understand the lyrics.
Krish asked, "Do you like it?"
I replied, "Chai or music?"
"Both," Krish grinned.
I chuckled. "Should I tell the truth or lie?"
"Why don't you lie?" Krish suggested playfully.
I decided to tease him. "I hate them. They're so horrible."
Krish laughed. "I knew it."
As we enjoyed our tea and the melodious tunes of Ilaiyaraaja's music filled the room, I felt a sense of comfort that was hard to put into words. The rain pattering against the windows added to the cozy ambiance. Krish and I shared anecdotes about our favorite songs, our musical journeys, and the memories associated with the melodies.
