The Singer

The sky was dotted with clouds that looked like orange cotton candy in the light of the setting sun. Rishi marveled at the vista and also at the fact that each sunset he had ever seen had been unique. Looking at sunsets like these made him wonder if a painter could ever think of creating something so intricate on canvas.

On his way home from his evening run, Rishi was whistling happily. He was feeling rather buoyant from the combined effect of the rush of endorphins and the view of the exquisite sunset. He had recently discovered a route near his house that was ideal for running. Starting near an under construction apartment complex, the circular route covered a distance of 6 KMs and had almost no traffic in the evenings.

His tuneless whistling was interrupted by a beautiful melody sung in a male baritone.

He stopped in his tracks. Someone nearby was singing a 70’s Kishore Kumar song in such a soulful voice that Rishi was scared of making any inadvertent sound and disturbing the rendition.

He looked around. Besides a bare grey building covered in scaffoldings, stood a cluster of huts with tin roofs.

Their inhabitants, the construction workers, were bustling about with activity. Most of the women were tending to the children, some of whom were running behind a punctured football. Others were occupied with washing clothes or lighting kerosene stoves in preparation for dinner.

Surrounded by all this, the singer was perched over an upturned steel drum. Dressed in ragged clothes, he was singing with his eyes closed and a careless smile was playing on his face.

Rishi slowly walked towards him. He couldn’t believe this man had no audience around him.

The thought that people could carry on with their routine chores nonchalantly when this unearthly singing was in their midst was unfathomable. He approached and stood before the singer.

The singer looked like he was in his mid-forties, he didn’t notice Rishi as his eyes were closed and continued singing merrily. After a minute or so, the song ended. As soon as he opened his eyes, Rishi started clapping loudly.

Taken aback for a moment, the man’s face relaxed into a toothy smile.

“You have a golden voice sir. I was fortunate enough to hear you sing today”, gushed Rishi.

“Thank you son, I’m glad you enjoyed it”, he replied.

“Are you a professional singer?” blurted out Rishi without thinking.

The man laughed, “Does it look like I am one? I have been working as a laborer in construction all my life. I just like to sing.”

“You definitely could become one sir. I am rather surprised to see you singing without an audience when so many people are around you”, said Rishi.

“They have heard my singing quite a lot. I daresay they might even be sick of hearing it. Besides, nobody has time here to drop their work for a song, after working a 14 hour shift, the grind doesn’t stop for them. They have to look after their housework, and then the cycle repeats the next day”, said the man.

“But what about you, you look quite carefree, don’t you have household chores to look after?” enquired Rishi.

“I don’t have any family”, replied the man laughingly. “The work I do is enough to sustain me, and I feel grateful whenever I get the opportunity to sing. It gives me such a joy that I have never felt the need for an audience”.

Rishi was speechless at the simple answer. When he had seen him singing, his mind had flashed with the images of people that had been spotted by someone on the streets and had rose to become internet sensations.

‘He would break the internet’- had been his immediate thought.

Now it seemed strange to make the suggestion of having him sing for a smartphone camera. Rishi had never realized that art could be such a personal thing for someone, that someone could relish it to such an extent where they didn’t feel the need for an audience or appreciation. Just the joy of experiencing the art form was enough to satiate their soul.

Not knowing what else to say to this man, Rishi asked “Have you had dinner, sir?”

As he was saying this, he took out a 100rs note from inside his phone cover and tried handing it to the man.

The man shook his head as he realized what Rishi was doing. He smiled, “There’s no need for this, son. As I said, I am able to manage my living. I don’t have much, but I like having my self-respect”

Seeing Rishi get embarrassed, he added “In the evenings, feel free to drop here for a cup of tea or some Kishore Kumar”

Moved by his generosity, Rishi suddenly felt small in front of him. He managed a “Thanks” and took his leave.

As he started the walk back home, he was still thinking about the singer and was hardly noticing the purple glow of the twilight sky.

Until now, whenever he had imagined the idea of living a fulfilled life, he had thought about all the material comforts that money could offer; now, after this encounter, he couldn’t think of having met anyone else who was more content in life.