I was also doing the same. Only, the reason was different.

Every hall that organised a concert had food stalls from renowned caterers. You could find unique dishes and indulge in cuisines from different parts of the state. As a foodie, the concert food trails was something I had been doing for three years now.

That particular day, I had tried ghee roast, sweet paniyaram and vazhaipoo vada in two different venues. I washed it down with filter coffee at the third.

I heard the faint hum of the violin floating towards me from a distance, while paying the bill at the counter. I found it beautiful, unusually so.

I paid the bill and walked towards the room the sound seemed to be coming from.

Fifty meters and a left turn later, I saw her, inside the room, through the window. She was engrossed, deeply. Her eyes were closed as she played, unaware of the surroundings. I listened, transfixed.

Time passed. Perhaps ten minutes, or fifteen, when she was interrupted by the phone ringing.

‘Podhuvaga en manasu thangam’ blared an old Rajinikanth song.

It was my phone, I realised.

She stopped playing. I hid behind the window and looked at the phone. It was my foodie buddy, as I liked to call him.

He was waiting for me, I guessed. We had two more places to cover that day. I cut the call and looked up again.

She was standing right in front of me.

‘What are you doing here? You are not allowed inside.’

‘I could ask you the same thing, you know.’

‘My mom is performing here today. So, I’m allowed.’

I had a hundred retorts to that. But, I was speechless.

She looked beautiful in the purple salwar-kameez. The curly hair covered her ears but the purple earrings fell out. The eye liner accentuated her big brown eyes.

‘I came to hear her sing, but I couldn’t get tickets.’

‘Really?’ She looked at me with suspicion ‘What’s her name?’

Three awkward seconds passed. I was caught.

‘Follow me’ she said. I did.

She took me to the first row asked me to sit. I did. She did too.

‘The concert is for three hours. All the best.’

I was cornered. I knew nothing about classical music. It did not interest me. I was the kind of person who changed the television channel when my mom watched concerts on television. Sitting through three hours of this was going to be tough, except that it was not.

She was sitting right beside me.

‘So, have you played on stage?’

‘Not yet. But I will, soon.’

‘All the best.’

She looked at me and smiled. And the concert began. I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage for the next three hours.

Thirty minutes in, I felt drowsy and was fighting sleep. I felt a tap on my shoulder.

‘What raga is this?’

‘Eh? What?’

Her big eyes became bigger as she stared at me, annoyed.

‘Why were you even here?’

‘The food.'

She shook her head from left to right.

‘No, I kinda like the concert too. What’s your name?’

‘Harini’

‘Harini, there are three hours to go for this concert. I guess you’d be hungry by then. Would you like to join me for dinner?’

She looked at me surprised.

‘What? I’ve known you for less than an hour. And I don’t even know your name.’

‘Pranav, so dinner?’

She smiled sarcastically before finally blurting out a ‘Fine.’

At around 8pm, we drove down to Mathsya. I opened the door for her and we walked in and ordered rasam vada and basundhi.

The next two hours were a blur. All I remember was that she spoke a lot and I listened.

It was the Margazhi music season again in Chennai, two years later. It was exciting for everyone involved in the festival.

Everyone wanted a place to sit, or even stand in the auditoriums.

One could spot nervous youngsters walking around restlessly before their first performance on stage. Understandably, since they were going to perform in the largest music festival in the world according to Wiki.

I was on the front row, again, seated half an hour before time.

It was her first concert.

She walked to the stage graciously in the orange silk saree. And started playing. The sound from the violin was floating towards the audience.

She played for two hours without a break. The audience gave her a standing ovation.

Exactly fifteen minutes after the show, I popped the question, backstage.

She smiled. Her big brown eyes conveyed the ‘Yes’.

It was 5 am in the morning. The sun was not out yet, but it wasn’t very dark, thanks to the LED street lights. I parked my car in front of the tea shop, a block away from his house.

‘One special tea.’ I shouted as I got out and walked towards one of the cleaner plastic chairs.

I sat down and picked up the uncreased newspaper. I was perhaps the first customer that morning.

Twenty minutes and two cups of tea later, I walked towards his house and knocked at the door.

The bearded old man opened it, just like he would for the next few years.

‘You are late. I’ve been waiting for you.’

He went in and sat on a rickety old cane chair. I sat on the floor.

I opened my case and took out the instrument. It was over three decades old but seemed new.

I felt the coldness of the rosewood as I started playing my first verses that morning on the violin.

It was the Margazhi music season again in Chennai, thirty years later. It was a global festival now. The crowd had gotten bigger. The food stalls were full of youngsters. I smiled to myself.

Nothing had changed.

I felt a tinge of nervousness as I walked backstage. Just like any newbie would.

It was my first concert.

It had been five years since I started playing her violin. Five years since I decided to learn. Five years since the old bearded man had started teaching me. Five years since she passed away.

As I walked slowly towards the stage, I imagined her in the front row, looking at me with the big brown eyes, and smiling.

If you liked reading this, please do ♥ it below, so that it can reach a wider audience.

Share this on Facebook and Twitter.