The Terrace Symphony

THE TERRACE SYMPHONY

She used to sleep with the dead corpse of her mother. Obviously, the corpse is dead. I don't know why I emphasized the 'dead' part of the corpse. I mean, how does one determine if someone is dead? What are the criteria for not being alive? How can one picture themselves as dead or alive? Tricky question? Well, let it be like that. The biggest example of being alive is not giving answers to some questions.

My sister called me, saying, 'Teri girlfriend ne kaand kar diya hai'

'Kaunsi waali?' I said (pun intended).

'Ghar ke bagal waali,' she said, and narrated the entire episode of sleeping with the corpse.

I casually listened to her and laughed, deluding myself into taking it as a joke. Deep down, I knew that it had happened, and it is true. It's a very astonishing thing that humans have. We always expect or look upon a conflict or drama in others' lives, and when it happens to us, we neglect it, saying, 'Ohh boy! It can't be true.' The drama lies in that denial only.

Her name was Khushi, somewhat ironic to what she was going through. I overheard her name from a delivery guy who came to deliver something at her place, We met through our terraces. In Bhopal, we have adjacent houses. but we never talked

During the summer holidays, I was learning the guitar that my sister's friend bought for her. Still, she couldn't play it because she feared, what if her fingers would get torn? I learned the basic guitar and its chords. She used to roam on her terrace, looking at me juggling to place my hands correctly on the fretboard.

The first song that I learned to play was 'You're so Beautiful,' a song from the album called 'Haunted.' It's a beautiful song; check it out if you haven't. Later, when I played several other songs, I saw her lip-syncing to one of the songs. I kept playing; it looked like we were jamming together on two different terraces (and scales). She was a good singer, but she was always out of scale. I imagined what it would feel like to sing a song together with her.

Once, I was playing a newly learned song. It was late in the evening, almost dark. She was there too, but she seemed numb. After the second verse, I thought about breaking the ice and asking her if she was okay. Just then, rain started pouring out of nowhere. I rushed under the shed on my terrace, but she remained outside, alone, feeling every drop of the rain. I couldn’t tell if she was crying, but it seemed like each raindrop was cleansing a hard stain from her body

Summer vacations got over. It was my time to go back to college. So, for the last night and for our last session, I went to the terrace with my guitar. I had learned a song just to convey my one-sided delulu feelings for her and make her feel better, but she wasn't there. The house was empty, pitch black, and no lights were on. I waited for some time, but the numbness was still scattered. I came down, ate dinner, and the next morning went back to college.

I got an internship, started making money for myself, had numerous affairs and relationships with girls (primarily women) around the city. I played the guitar for every single woman I dated back then. Singing songs were my cheat codes to get into their pants, and during all of this, i forgot her. i forgot the summer nights, i forgot the pain that learning a guitar endured, i forgot that having her on the other terrace made my guitar learning less miserable, I forgot our unofficial jamming sessions until today when my sister told me that she was sleeping with the dead corpse of her mother.

I don't know why I emphasize 'dead' every time. Everything passes, and the meaning of death lies in knowing that it is ambiguous. I do have a terrace here in my apartment, but it is allowed only for the staff. Today, I can take my liberty. I picked up my guitar and went to the terrace. I sat on the edge of one of the tanks, took out my guitar from the bag; it was tuned. As I started to sing the song that I wanted to sing for her on that last summer night, I figured out that I hadn't bought my capo. The scale of the song is high. Alas, never mind. Let me sing this song on some other scale, knowing that she is also singing it somewhere, on a different scale.