Arun Mehta, a 30-year-old software engineer, lived in a world of screens, codes, and conference calls. His days were a blur of deadlines and deliverables, with little room for anything else. From his cubicle in the high-rise office building to his one-bedroom apartment, life had become a well-oiled machine, efficient but devoid of any true joy. Even weekends, once filled with spontaneous outings and laughter with friends, had turned into extensions of his workweek, with meetings squeezed in between grocery runs and laundry.
But beneath the surface, something gnawed at him. A sense of emptiness that he couldn’t quite put into words. It wasn’t that he was unhappy, per se, but rather that he felt disconnected—from himself, from others, from life.
One Friday evening, as he returned from yet another exhausting day, a call from his mother interrupted his thoughts. She asked him to visit their old family home in the small town of Chandanpur Arun’s grandfather had passed away five years ago, and since then, the house had been left untouched. Arun hesitated but eventually agreed, feeling a strange pull towards his ancestral home.
Chandanpur was a far cry from the urban jungle Arun was used to. The air was cleaner, the pace slower, and the sounds of honking cars were replaced by the chirping of birds. As he stepped into the old house, memories of his childhood flooded back. The smell of incense, the creaking wooden floors, and the sight of his grandfather’s sitar resting in the corner of the living room brought back images of lazy afternoons spent listening to classical music.
Arun’s grandfather, Raghav Mehta, had been a renowned classical musician. A man of deep passion, Raghav had dedicated his life to music. He often said that music was the language of the soul, a bridge between the mundane and the divine. Arun had spent countless hours sitting by his side, mesmerised by the intricate melodies his grandfather played. But as Arun grew older, life took over, and the music faded into the background.
As Arun rummaged through his grandfather’s belongings, he stumbled upon a dusty old cassette tape tucked away in a drawer. It was labelled, “The Melody of Life.” Arun’s curiosity was piqued. He vaguely remembered his grandfather talking about this composition, but he had never heard it. Unable to resist, he searched for an old cassette player in the house and played the tape.
The music that flowed from the speakers was hauntingly beautiful. It was as if every note was infused with emotion, carrying with it the weight of a thousand unspoken words. Arun closed his eyes and let the melody wash over him. For the first time in years, he felt something stir deep within him—a connection to something greater, something beyond the routine of everyday life.
Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati , Assam , India
19/08/2024
Mail Id : rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com
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