Velu, the flutist

It was a dreary Saturday afternoon and it triggered the whim of all the hostelites for a stroll. But we could do it only unbeknown to our hostel warden whose rigid monastery life hampered her from supporting the lifestyle of youngsters. Then, a question emerged was  with regard to the location! I always preferred random unplanned locations over the planned ones as the former always surprised us with their element of novelty. Eventually, we came to a covenant to go somewhere nearby as it’s already late for a venture to a remote place.  Our compulsive desire got bloomed when the permission was granted with the help of the pack of lies that we had spread in front of the warden. If anyone had any desire to be truthful throughout life, it would get vanished or at least get diminished in the presence of our warden Ms. Preskilla as she denied all the genuine requests. Gradually everyone learned the tactics to bring her in line.

 When we reached the college yard it was still sunny and we went to the rear part of an old building in the college compound and followed a trail that led to a nearby village. 

We crossed petty shops, village playgrounds and grasslands. The candies on the roadside shops tasted fourfold and we rolled them in mouth enjoying the tang.  Eventually we reached a riverside where a few women were washing clothes whose chatter and laughter boomed the shore. How happy they were! We watched them for a considerable time. Gradually the interest wore out. When we readied up for the next move, a dark complexioned person appeared on the river bridge clasping a flute to his chest like that of a mother holds her baby. 

The washer women yelled that it’s Velu the flutist and they added up about his eccentric nature as well. He was considered as a bit of an oddity by the whole neighborhood. He trudged to the center of the bridge and stared at the flowing river for a couple of minutes. He had worn shabby dress and had deep black eyes with curly hair. His locks of hair were swaying back and forth in the gush of wind. Even though there was a tinge of despondency on his face he smiled profusely. We tried to stand close to him but the washerwomen warned us about Velu’s unpredictable nature. His wife and children discarded him as they felt he was nothing but a curse. He was a loner who seldom conversed with anyone. It looked like his flute and incessant smile made him alive despite all the misfortunes. Gathering all the fortitude we stood by his side as he slowly started playing his flute by passing a smile on us. Wow!!!! It was so mellifluous….The music could clearly be compared to nectar and its intake  persuaded us for a siesta. Time was flying as fast as it colud. The washerwomen left the place as it was getting dark. I wasn’t feeling like leaving Velu alone. How could Velu’s wife push him into a life of lonesomeness? She must have got fed up with him as he was not profitable except in playing flute which again got tedious breeding contempt. But Velu looked blissful in the presence of ever flowing river and flute that he held close to his heart. 

It’s high time for us to leave. Velu was still standing on the bridge and music was emanating from his mouth through his flute and dissolved into the air and river. The music had an excruciating pain which was difficult to decipher. The whole atmosphere that covered Velu’s music carried it forward to the neighbouring places and far away as fast as it could. Our hearts melted. Never could we imagine that our afternoon stroll would get enriched with a flautist who was unaware of his talent and worth, as no one ever praised him wholeheartedly. The thought of leaving him weighed on us all through the way back to hostel. I felt disheartened thinking I would never be able to see him again.

Years passed and I still don’t have a year without Velu’s thoughts. I miss him, his smile and above all the music; as he changed a customary day into an unforgettable one. I pay my gratitude in my silent moments never knowing whether he is alive!