Dobby-The Survivor
(The story of a never ending bond between a musician and his…)
Light rays pass as he squiggles out of his cavern. Is it really that he is awake? Or I doubt if it’s the burning of my lantern I wonder. That soul helps me overcome my awedde versions. I have the most robust compositions at hand each day returning eagerly with a whole bunch of crackers that he can digest.
As class ends everyday and I hastily proceed to my motorbike towards 6th cross , that little cheesling occupies approximately 99% of my cognitive and emotional processes (the remaining 1% is habitual, so that my untimely death is prevented by a freaking road accident). Struggling with conquering the perfect angular position of my bike stand, I jolt the break and pluck the keys off to rush inside my house.
Now, why am I so eager? A justification is that my absence from my favorite corner of the house was directly proportional to the anxiety I have towards my little best friend who usually waits and probably whistles during my practice sessions. His gills were voluntarily stuck to the ventilated glass house he resided in.
My hands were like the multiple weapons Heavenly Gods hold, except that it was a mridangam (an Indian percussion instrument) and djembe on my right scapula and ulna respectively and a carton of this little guy’s food occupying my other hand.
Rushing as fast as my legs could take me to the corner of the house, he was absent from his usual flappy mentality. I guessed he was sleeping. Carefully cutting the packet of his massive gallon of food, I carefully blended a large sum of it in his water-laid hydrosphere and patiently waited by hearing the intricate third speed of a beat I composed earlier in class this evening.
At about half past 9, with a hearty composition at hand, I went to check on the little guy. Only to find, that the water had the same particles of food stuck onto it. Now this was giving my goosebumps a jolt, when my search for him became more frantic.
Tossing my eye to even those areas beyond it’s orbit, at the corner of this goldy’s little water-filled house, I witnessed something just like him, lying still on the floor.
I knew he didn’t have a brother and I was also aware that genetic cloning wasn’t that precise. Gulping my last drop of saliva which previously had hope that he would eat my food and swim to the beats of my latest composition, I had to painfully digest this hard-hitting truth……
The harsh reality that, Dobby , though a member of the Pisces family had jumped out of his aquarium.
Wasn’t he unaware that he cannot jump back after any living being is invited by death? Did he block his gills when I read the definition of death out loud and clear? I was still, denied every bit, with a silver lining of existential crisis lowly sinking in.
But even the most devastating situations in life has hidden lessons. It’s just that you have to be open enough to see through the dark prism of denial, guilt and blame.
In this case, let me just tell you, that Dobby survives forever and is always that little munchkin who plops his mouth next to the glass window of his aquarium to hear the mind-boggling compositions I aim to produce till date.
