Unconventional friendships - Atif Aslam

Discordant Sounds of Nature

Atif kept staring at the screen of his phone for a long time after Salman left. His fingers were hovering over those numbers that he rarely dared call but they couldn't somehow find the strength to just move that singular millimeter and touch the screen. There were two decisions he could take, and each decision had two equally possible receptions. He could call them and have to listen to the taunts and disgust of his father, or maybe the indifference of his brothers or even worse the sadness of his mother. Or he could call them and they answer him formally, to the point, treated with the monotone of their duty towards him. If he didn't call, there was a good chance that none of them would care, they didn't for most part of the year. But itwas just as possible that if he didn't call, that would be the spearhead of their attack the next time he met them. Each decision and its possible result was equally painful. So instead he just hovered as minutes ticked by, long after his phone's screen went dark from inactivity.

After what felt like an eternity, he dropped his arm down, letting the phone clatter out of hand onto the carpet and sat himself down tiredly beside it. Couldn't they call him? He traveled a lot, they knew he traveled a lot. He was a son of that house, a brother of the other three. Couldn't they ask if he was still alive or not? Or atleast somehow tell him what to do so he wasn't staring blankly, pointlessly at the metal brick that supposedly fecilitated communication.

It didn't for him. All that his phone managed to do was remind him of how many people did not call him. The childhood habit of getting left behind, had not quite left him behind.

He picked up his guitar and purposely twisted the knobs randomly to untune it. He plucked at the discordant strings softly, smiling at the screech of notes not meant to be heard together. He plucked again, trying to get the noises to sound beautiful, to sound like music. It was like trying to fit in puzzle pieces of different sets of puzzles, but often, it fascinated him that if he cracked a code, the out-of-place pieces could come together to form a completely new image, a completely mangled picture of something that still held a bit of raw beauty in its destruction. He was such a piece after all, displaced out of his own puzzle and yet to find another which would take him. Soft, harsh sounds seemed to be the closest he got to finding home.

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It was very easy to get lost in colors, seeing them mingle and come together to form something new and breathtaking brought back hints of meaning to his life. When he was younger, he had all been about finding it. He thought living life to the fullest was how you could find out what life really was. Sometimes, he still thought that. But with age and with time the zest had faded. Salman wasn't a lonely man by a far. He always had people around. Yet there always was this emptiness in his life. Emptiness of his own family. His brothers had their own, as he often got reminded when their visits would end and they dispersed. He had such a large family, large enough that he could trick himself into thinking it was his only and that he wasn't just a small piece in the corner of it all. Painting reminded him, that sometimes even the most insignificant of colors had its own little role to play in the beauty of bigger picture. He had resigned himself to be that insignificant color in his family's life.

He put his paintbrush down with a sigh. The field he had started painting the other day was still just that, an empty field. Albeit the grass and the crops were much more detailed now. What should be the subject of such a pointless scenery? He put down his pallet too and stretched, hunger making an announcement as he glanced over at the clock. It was nearly dinner time. Wiping his hands, he made his way over to the dining room. Tai was already laying out the table.

"Looking good Tai!" he said, a warm smile automatically coming onto his face when he saw the old lady.

She smiled back kindly, "Thank you Sabji. Please call our guest too, he did not appear for lunch,".

He frowned, "He didn't? I asked him too though?"

She shook her head, "You kids these days. Never eating on time. It is what causes all those diseases you know,".

"Tai I'm nearly 50" Salman laughed, "Far from a kid,".

She patted his cheek fondly, "Still a child to me. Now please fetch him, that boy looks too thin,".

"Everybody looks too thin to you," he quipped but went to get the man nonetheless. Tai might be as dramatic as any grandmother her age but she did have a point, Atif generally looked unhealthy, though he was unassumingly athletic too as they had witnessed on the field. He wondered if the guy was ok. He had seemed rather put off by the news, it was not like him to not appear at all for a meal especially after being asked to.

The door was still as he had left it, halfway open. Atif was sitting on the floor hunched over his guitar, softly strumming away. The music was oddly charming, like the song of a cricket on a summer night or the croak of a frog in the rainy season. Or maybe the creak of a too tall, old oak tree swaying in light breeze. Perhaps it was like the rumbling of clouds on a pleasant day, indidcating an upcoming storm. Disturbing maybe but a sound of nature thus enchanting in its own right. Entranced he stood still, hand raised to knock but unwilling to break the sudden spell overcoming him.

Atif sighed and shifted, twisting those little knobs, entirely lost in his own world and strummed again. This time the sound was different, though the tune seemed to be similar only. This time it reminded him of soft waves crashing against rocks, of cliffs and winds and bird songs he wished he could tell apart. This time it felt like rain had come and gone, like it had washed away the dust and the hurt and there was something fresh peaking out underneath. His hand dropped to his side and he sighed before he could stop himself. Atif immediately looked up, the music coming to an abrupt end. His chest ached as if a childhood toy had been snatched from him.

"Shit, sorry. I completely lost track of time," Atif apologized, looking oddly chastised, quickly standing up and putting his guitar away.

"How do you do that?" he asked, the ghost of the tunes he had heard still lingering around him.

Atif shifted awkwardly "Uhh, I was just a little preoccupi-"

"Not that, the music," he interrupted gesturing at the discarded guitar, "How do you make music like that?"

Atif brushed his hair back a laugh on his face, "Oh that, that isn't music. If I tried selling that, I will probably get kicked out of the industry, Indian and Pakistani alike. That was all offkey nonsense,".

"Not music? It sounded so good though," he was more than a little lost. How was that not music?

Atif got a melancholic look on his face as he stared at the guitar, "Not music. Not everything beautiful is music. Not all music is beautiful. Sometimes beauty is just noise, pleasant but still a noise," he smiled at Salman as if that was supposed to mean something deeper for them both to understand. Well, Salman didn't. All he got was that the kid was somewhat of a sage on off days, imparting wisdom that required more sense to understand than what Salman had. Atif shrugged and moved on, "You were here for something?"

"Huh? Oh yeah. Dinner. Tai is calling you for dinner," he had forgotten why he had come up in the first place, "You didn't come for lunch, she got worried,".

Atif smiled genially, "Sorry, like I said. Lost track of time,".

"You know it's unhealthy right? Skipping meals?"

Atif brushed his concern off with a laugh, leading the way down, "A lot of things are unhealthy in life my friend. Think of it as adding a bit of flavor to the boring dull days,"

"That doesn't sound good," he followed, slightly concerned at the casual dismissal of good health.

"Not all things that sound good are bad. Not all things that sound bad are good,".

"Are you always this vague or am I the special person being subjected to it?"

Atif snorted, laughing to himself like he had an inside joke but said nothing. Salman shook his head exasperated. He might be far from getting to know Atif but one thing was for sure, singers were fucking strange.

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AN: The inside joke Atif had was telling Salman he was not that special. But like a good polite boy, he said nothing.