I was in an overnight bus yesterday, and was lucky enough to have that most perfect of things- a window seat with no one next to me, which meant I could put my feet up and snuggle against the window.
To make it more perfect, the breeze was just right and the moon full. (actually it was gibbous, but let's not squabble over fractions). As is usual with me- and with most other people in the subcontinent, i fancy- I started humming 'Khoya khoya chand'. One thing led to another, and I was soon humming snippets of all the old Dev Anand songs.
The moonlight and the songs put me in a dreamy mood and I was oscillating between thoughts of my childhood and of my mian. I wanted to share these songs with him, I decided. The only question was whether to show the films or just play the songs. I remember my sister's dismay when I begged her to show me a movie that a song I liked was from. This was a pretty special song, still is. Both Mian and the song had entered my life at the same time, and at that time the song was forever on my lips-whenever it could elbow Mian aside, that is. My sis had finally shown me the movie, and explained the reason for her reluctance. 'First you could see him in your head when you sang this' she said,' now all you will see are Rekha's green plastic earrings.' It was an 80's movie-plastic earrings were perfectly correct. I was happily curled up and remembering this while humming the song.
I realised soon, that I was not just humming- I was humming along. The bus driver was playing the same songs that were running through my head. And this continued through most of the night. Usually, I would resent the playing of music in the night. However, not one of those songs was one I did not react to with great pleasure. By the time he moved on from the cheerfully hummable (hum hain rahi pyaar ke) to the more sentimental (yeh safar bahut hain kathin magar), he was occupying a great deal of my thoughts.
I firmly believed by then that the two of us were kindred souls. And the scene was perfect for a black and white movie - the valiant bus chugging up the mountains, the moonlight, the stunning high-contrast landscape, the music, the woman passenger and the bus driver in silent communion.
Until a passenger who had apparently also been humming along burst into song.
It was not just me- every single passenger in that bus was also conjuring up dancing-in-the-rain fantasies around the bus driver.
To make it more perfect, the breeze was just right and the moon full. (actually it was gibbous, but let's not squabble over fractions). As is usual with me- and with most other people in the subcontinent, i fancy- I started humming 'Khoya khoya chand'. One thing led to another, and I was soon humming snippets of all the old Dev Anand songs.
The moonlight and the songs put me in a dreamy mood and I was oscillating between thoughts of my childhood and of my mian. I wanted to share these songs with him, I decided. The only question was whether to show the films or just play the songs. I remember my sister's dismay when I begged her to show me a movie that a song I liked was from. This was a pretty special song, still is. Both Mian and the song had entered my life at the same time, and at that time the song was forever on my lips-whenever it could elbow Mian aside, that is. My sis had finally shown me the movie, and explained the reason for her reluctance. 'First you could see him in your head when you sang this' she said,' now all you will see are Rekha's green plastic earrings.' It was an 80's movie-plastic earrings were perfectly correct. I was happily curled up and remembering this while humming the song.
I realised soon, that I was not just humming- I was humming along. The bus driver was playing the same songs that were running through my head. And this continued through most of the night. Usually, I would resent the playing of music in the night. However, not one of those songs was one I did not react to with great pleasure. By the time he moved on from the cheerfully hummable (hum hain rahi pyaar ke) to the more sentimental (yeh safar bahut hain kathin magar), he was occupying a great deal of my thoughts.
I firmly believed by then that the two of us were kindred souls. And the scene was perfect for a black and white movie - the valiant bus chugging up the mountains, the moonlight, the stunning high-contrast landscape, the music, the woman passenger and the bus driver in silent communion.
Until a passenger who had apparently also been humming along burst into song.
It was not just me- every single passenger in that bus was also conjuring up dancing-in-the-rain fantasies around the bus driver.
