Silence and The Unrequited 

The boy watched the building as its shade turned from dark to light. The Sun’s unrelenting gaze fell upon it as the rest of the town’s people started waking up to face the day, each and every person looking at the day ahead of them in different ways, different possibilities. Everyone was gearing up. Everyone was ready. And yet, here this boy stood, not moving, not closing his eyes even once. The building in front of him, a high school, was big and red. It had huge lush green fields and its masthead was large if not eye- attracting.  Everything about that school shouted and demanded honor, respect and discipline. It was school meant for people who knew what they were doing, who knew what they had to do. The boy had been standing there for quite a while without anyone to disturb him, not that you commonly see anyone at a high school in the middle of the night. However, that soon came to an end. The boy didn't know how long he stood there, watching the monumental building standing proud and clean in front of him. Although the moment he saw children, people his age walking around, shouting out to people they recognized, he knew that the school was slowly opening up, ready to admit more than hundreds of dutiful students in order to help them become something later on. The high school’s job had started.

The boy was, expressionless, as people bustled around. Teachers carrying official looking papers and bags, wearing close to formal clothes with a sense of dignity in their step. Freshmen walking in their little groups, staying out of the older people’s way, hoping that they won’t be noticed. Such is the life of new high schoolers. The boy watched Sophomores as they walked into the school, ready to begin their second year in high school with a little more confidence than last year. The Juniors and Seniors were the loudest of the crowd. The Juniors were spread out, only a few of them had the gall to speak to the Seniors but most of them stayed in their comfort zones. And at last, the boy gazed upon the Seniors. The loudest and rambunctious of them all. They had no more fears left of the building that they had come to know very well. It was their last year there. Their last chance to be remembered before they’d walk out and never return, facing the world ahead of them. A world that couldn't care less about your high school life. Things were looking a little sour for the Seniors on their last year. But there was just so much energy in the atmosphere that for a moment, only a moment. The boy felt awake. The boy felt like he could belong again.

“Um…hey…” The boy didn't turn as he let the girl who voiced out to him approach. The boy looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. She had long wavy brown hair that was swaying in the wind.  Her eyes were as bright as the sea as he saw himself reflected in them. Her face was an explosion of freckles that seemed to suit her and her cheeks were tinged with red due to the little chill in the air. She looked at the boy in a curious way, as though she’d never seen such a life form before. She waited for the boy to say something, anything. No such thing happened so she continued, clearing her throat a couple times. The weather was getting to her.

“So…uh….are you new or something?” The boy regarded her for a second before returning his everlasting gaze towards his victim, the building. Only the slight tilt to his head told the brown haired girl that she could continue. That the ghostly pale boy in front of her was indeed, not a student. She cleared her throat again, that seemed to be a habit of sorts. A habit in the midst of awkwardness. Another was her habit of twiddling her thumbs around her hands, a phrase brought to real life.

“So I've been watching you from the gate. Do you have somebody you want to talk to?” The bag straddler asked him and for the first time in a little while, the boy opened his mouth.

“Charlie Heamage.” Was all he said in an almost raspy voice, as though his vocal cords needed oiling. Quite a bit of oiling. The slightly ruffle haired girl’s eyebrows quirked up and she clutched her bag handle instead of twiddling her thumbs, she seemed to have grown a little weary of that activity. However, the boy noticed, that her voice clearing activity seemed to be a hobby rather than a habit.

“Oh the senior vice principal of QSHS?” The voice rasper assumed that he was talking about the school and teenagers these days didn't like to go into detail about acronyms. The boy tilted his head more and the girl nodded and continued, not before indulging in her hobby...yes, he must remember… hobby of clearing up her vocal cords.

“Well…I’m sorry but the poor man doesn't come to school anymore.” Now the boy looked at his companion.

“That is unfortunate…” The brown headed questioner was slightly puzzled at the boy’s manner of speech however, she continued.  “Yeah his son died a couple days ago you know? The whole car crash thing?” The stranger with a funny manner of speech raised his eyebrows slightly. The Thumb Twiddler figured that the boy in front of her was new to town.

“It was a horrible night…people died… The principal’s been gone since then.” The student supplied.

The boy in all his mysterious glory turned back to look at the temple of knowledge…the building…the high school.

“It is happenings like these that make all of us think about the rest of our lives and whether or not we will succeed in living through them. The questions of life are…quite intriguing…do you not think….?” He asked the voice cleanser, fading off as in to ask her name. 

“I’m Wessa, I’m a Sophomore…and I try not to think about it…it’s just kind of sad…” Wessa looked away and towards the eastern sky, pulling hair out of her face, her eyes glazed over as though she was desperately trying to remember something, but to no avail.

“So, you know Mr. Miller then? If you want I could totally pass on a message or something…” The stranger looked at Wessa, the Sophomore’s face wonderingly and after a long while, he whispered something into the wisp of the air that Wessa the Sophomore had to lean in to listen to.

“Tell him that there is only so much that he can do before I leave….tell him to cease waiting…” Wessa the Sophomore started typing into a memo on her phone to remember the stranger boy’s words, her mind not really paying attention to them. And his last line.

“Tell him that I’m gone.”

Wessa the Sophomore finished typing. “….That I’m…gone.” she recited the words she typed when slowly, she came to a halt and shivers ran down her spine as she reread what she’d just typed into the sparkling screen. Her eyes widened and her hands shook. All these thoughts that came into her head.

“Wait…What?”

She frantically looked up to see nothing but the threads of dust that the same, unrelenting Sun bestowed upon her. And she stood in that spot till everything was clear to her.

And she never stood there again.

And she waited,

And she never saw him again,

And after that day,

She’d always say,

That spot is taken.  

And indeed, it was.

-          Anwesha Mitra.

The quirks of Life

My parents have been telling me the same thing ever since I could talk.

Anwesha, this world is extremely unfair. Don’t ever underestimate it.

I remembered what they said, even today. The day that I was told by my mother that I was going to be participating in a competition in music, I wondered if what they had told me throughout the years would be taken into account in this situation as well. I didn't know whether to go into this open minded or to be cautious. Truth be told, I didn't want to participate in a competition this early into my training life. But my mother was also right when she said that, “We know that you’re good here, in your safe environment. We don’t know how good you are out there, in the real world.”

Of course, the way she said was different, with a lot of comments included, along with some hesitant grammatical mistakes. But it’s the thought that counts.

So I practiced quite a bit, more than I normally do. I bothered my teachers until we were finally finished with figuring out what type of raag I’d sing, what ghazal I’d sing and what tan’s I would sing along with them. It was no easy job and I was scolded sometimes for not doing what I should have been doing. We had auditions and semi finals. I was so nervous in both of them. I've never experienced nervousness of that sort before, and that was just the auditions. I got through the auditions like my parents knew I would. I passed the semi finals with the same expectations. I had my brother with me through both of these tests. He was encouraging and supportive and…well…my brother. I wish he’d been there for the finals as well. I’m not as naïve as to think that if he was there then I’d have had better chance at winning, I just like having my brother around for my performances.

We had a month’s gap after the semi finals to practice for the grand finale. I had that much time to practice my routine to perfection. Whatever amount of practice I did get in though, I guess it wasn’t enough. Then again, no matter how much you practice, it’s never enough. The world is just that awesome. (Note the sarcasm).

So the final day came and I was nervous, of course I was nervous but compared to how I looked like I was a jumping jack in my seat in the auditions, I was calmer here. We were called at the hour of four thirty and released from the blessed auditorium at an ungodly hour of twelve thirty, post midnight. In that time span, the things I learned in that auditorium were so valuable, that I don’t think I’ll ever forget what took place in there.

I didn't win, hurrah. I don’t think I ever thought I was actually going to win. Though numerous times, I asked my mother and father, what if I don’t win?

I don’t know why I asked the same but my mother told me that when I get on that stage, I will not sing to win. I’ll sing to feel the joy of singing, that crazy rush of adrenaline I get every single time I perform in front of an audience, is what I was going to sing for. And I did. Though the perfectly painful headache I get after my rush isn't exactly welcomed, it’s worth it. You know the term “sing with your heart?” Okay it’s not a term, it’s just something wise old people keep saying but the thought, the thought itself is what I felt that day, when I was on that stage with all those people in front of me. It sounds intimidating and, believe me, it is. I want to run away into hiding every single time they call my name to the stage but then, I find it in myself to go ahead because if I don’t sing, then what will I do?

In the end, it wasn't the about the competition, or the prize, or the certificate or anything else. It was about me, doing what I am destined to do, doing it perfectly and that is a prize they cannot take away from me.

"I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul."

                                   William Ernest Henley

              Hear my song on.......इश्क़ फ़ना का नाम है

- Anwesha Mitra