Some days are quite strange. They would begin just like any other day, the dull routine, the dreary drudgery; one would wearily remember the things one has to do, one has to go through and would set the machine rolling. Then suddenly, quite unexpectedly, you hear the drums roll.
Like today. Got up at 0500 to drop K at his tuition center (he is in 12th). Rode the bike in chilly darkness all the way to Kowdiar. I clipped at 80-90 km/hr in that stretch, just for the brief exhilaration. K peered over my shoulder and said, ‘You touching 90 now, slow down.’ Though I had thought of taking a morning walk, decided against it as it was too cosy chilly. Back home, instead of hitting the hay, I opened the ‘net. Listening to Bill Wither’s ‘ Ain’t no Sunshine’ from the blog, I googled him.
Bill Withers started his singing career in 1971 and ended it in 1985. Said, ‘I don’t want to show off no more’. In a video on him, Bill said, “I think I’m kind of like pennies. You have ’em in your pocket but you don’t remember they’re there.” What made me fall in love with him are his words - “It’s O.K. to head out for wonderful, but on your way to wonderful you’re going to have to pass through all right. And when you get to all right, take a good look around and get used to it because that may be as far as you’re going to go.”
I listen to Bill’s other songs. I look him over in google images. He is a handsome, instantly likeable 71-year old. In my heart, I strike a chord with Bill. I love this guy. Guitars strum, jazz rolls. I hum, sing aloud ‘Ain’t no sunshine’ all the morning, as I sweep the courtyard, as Dosas sizzle in the pan, as milk for the dogs boil in the kettle. I hold the spatula for turning over Dosas like a mini guitar and do a jig as Sancho watches quizzically. He has seen me going crazy, but this loud, off-key noise that emanated from my throat was unfamiliar to him. As P passes by, I strike a pose and croon to her, ‘Ain’t no sunshine when she is gone’. K watches with a wry smile and says – ‘Should take a video of this rare scene’. He asks, - ‘ Acha, you want a mike?’ I tell him, ‘Go on now, don’t you spoil my mood’. I swing, I step lightly, I love this morning.
Some days are like that. Strange. Beautiful. Softly lit. Glowing. Nothing can ruin it.
********************* Balachandran V,