ZERO

What exactly is the stage?

Physically, it's a rectangular box where people show off their abilities to the world...or at least to the crowd.

It is where we are laid bare in that department, judged by all regardless of race, personality, intellect or a bunch of other things that may be the cause of our superiority or inferiority complexes. Instead, all that mattered was one thing...well two things actually.

What is seen

What is felt

The stage is like a maestro, coordinating every instrument; the contestant, giving them room to perform and express themselves and shine like the stars they are. Onstage, all of them are allowed to shine in the brilliance that their skill gives them. The stars that twinkle in the night sky are personified as those people who strive for the glory the stage gives them— for that fleeting moment of exhilaration and immense pride that they are where they stand. The stage also provides a room for reflection, on how things ended up that way, of how they got there, of what they're doing, of why they're doing what they're doing.

But...

The stage isn't a place for growth.

It isn't a place to evolve.

Rather, it is a place where you display the extent of your growth. It isn't a place to discover yourself. Rather, it is a place where you interpret the message of the self-discovery that you received from the time you spent getting to this moment.

The stage will blind you with its lights looking like a prelude to a stairway to heaven. The cheers and roars of the crowd will separate you from the rest of the world, deafening you to everything else, immersing you in the spotlight, being hypersensitive to your surroundings— your breathing, pulse, the cold sweat dripping down your forehead, the rhythmic beating of your heart, the way your gulp in nervousness, feeling the saliva go down your throat as you stomach this feeling. The sound of your footsteps echoes for all to hear, its tone telling the perceptive ones all they need to know about you as a person. The way you walk is the first impression you give. Hence, the way you present yourself is the most important aspect by which the feelings the audience has toward you are set in stone... But it can be exploited to give them one heck of a performance.

When I look at the piano— this...assortment of black and white keys, each creating a certain tone and once played well, could move the hearts of millions— it gives me that same feeling. While the piano, the traditional, Grand Piano which you'd see in media like that one book that was later adapted into a movie— Pride and Prejudice— or even that one Japanese animated series— Your Lie in April— the piano was usually played by a single entity, sitting comfortably in the middle, the pianists' fingers gently on the middle portion, the thumb of his right hand on middle C—the left hand's pinkie finger on the far left on standby on lower C too.

And now, I am minutes away from doing it again... In one of the biggest crowds, I had laid my eyes on.

—-

Everything I did was a step-by-step process that led to this moment that filled me with both dread and adrenaline. During every single performance, I questioned myself if I was a masochist because the adrenaline was almost always followed by the same feeling of dread and pain... It was the other way around, to be exact, which made it worse since it always seemed like the pressure aroused me which is not normal for me at least. I am not the kind of person who works best under pressure after all, at least in most cases. For better or worse.

Oftentimes, I am inside my head like this moment, so deep inside my thoughts that I fail to notice an individual tap my shoulder.

My glassy black eyes cleared up as I looked at the figure who needed my attention a familiar, old woman. She was not just any woman though. Only one woman had those small black eyes that still shined with vitality at the ripe old age of sixty. Only one old woman occasionally leans into my shoulder, clasping my hand for support— me holding it tighter as if reassuring her that I'm not going anywhere. Only one old woman would gesture to the taller, older man behind her in the corner, to come forward. Her eyebrows were raised as if saying "Say something, dummy!" She's gotten more expressive with him as the years passed. Who knew that in the past, the man who was now 66 years old, had been the one who lectured the woman beside me like this?

After all, when it came to music, my mother, Chithra Manoj, one of the greatest playback singers ever (at least to her locality and to me personally) and a teacher of Karnatic music, had a youthful aura surrounding her. It was something both my father, Manoj Radhakrishnan, and I loved her dearly for.

"So..." Dad said, gently placing a hand on my shoulder, "After years of swearing off of that instrument...my boy has finally made it..."

But a sharp pinch to the side silenced him, making him wince in pain. Mom gritted her teeth in annoyance before letting him go on. But he only laughed hysterically, clearly caught up in the moment. Soon enough, I was caught laughing too.

"There ya' go..." he gestured, "You finally have a smile on your face..." His voice which was once loud and proud had lost all its vigour, leaving the current, soft-spoken man behind. "I apologise for that comment."

I shrugged, "It's all in the past now, Dad." I responded, to which he only nodded, "Besides, she's the only reason why I'm here."

I felt a chill up my spine as I thought back to that moment. Every time I performed, those memories came rushing back to me. Those memories haunt me even now, but it's that fear that's brought me this far.

It's those years of experience, recollection, love, hate, pain, joy, sorrow and finally, in a way, the choice of acceptance, that'd brought me here. It's why I've come so far, it's why I'd even considered my current actions two decades ago. I felt my gaze slowly travel down my hand which shook with great intensity. I chuckled, 'After all these years...' I thought, 'It's still there... Those times I spent with her, those I tried to forget...it's all in there presenting itsellf outside my subconscious mind this time.'

But I guess that just means she's watching. Maybe this is her shaking with excitement. Let's say she's a teenager who happened to get tickets to watch it. Maybe she'll find music again and fall in love with it again...

I could almost feel the warmth that followed the shakiness. My hand would be filled with the warmth of another, filling my heart with a revitalising flame, reassuring me that things are going to be okay and reminding me that no matter what I do, I'll not be alone. That's right... There was always someone who looked back at me with a smile, making sure I was keeping up, reaching out her hand when I couldn't reach out for her myself, pulling me along when I couldn't move and dragging me along till I once again rediscovered the strength that came from her presence.

But now... That warmth had died down, only existing as a small ember in my heart— one that had haunted me in the past but now... it did the opposite— filling me with energy, making me feel like myself again. The heavy beating of my heart that weighed me down was percussion. The ringing in my ears was the start of an orchestral track that set the mood for the rest of the piece. The shaking was my body moving to the music as the listeners would. And the sweat...it was a reminder of how far I've come. It was cold, reminding me of how this was the time I displayed my efforts.

I didn't want to shine like the beautiful stars in the night sky... I couldn't even dream of it...

What I wanted was...

Suddenly, as if sensing discord, an excited figure jumps onto me from behind, hugging me from the back. I vigorously shook my head. The very dense smell of hair conditioner made me sneeze but I had to hold it back since her grip on the neck was obstructing my sneeze. The more I tried to shake her off, the more I smiled. It was only something she could make me do.

"Asha... I-I can't breathe-"

But I couldn't help but smile even wider as the grip around my neck loosened, "Aww... But you looked like you were in a gloomy mood..." She had a singsong tone to the way she spoke as if she was always on the verge of starting with a musical number. Honestly, she'd be perfect for that role. Even the way she walked, jumped, moved and just about everything else including her lean build was influenced by her training as a contemporary dancer. Unlike me who was short for a forty-year-old, she was thirty and almost as tall as me. Her short hair that she curled ticked my nose and I sneezed again.

I could feel my expression grow pale as she nonchalantly said her comment. My head seemed to go downward unconsciously... Why was it that I couldn't look my sister— who was only a decade younger than me— in the eye at the moment despite me wanting to? I genuinely didn't know.

Or maybe I did...but I just didn't want to remind myself.

But, as always, Asha was a girl of amazing timing. She looked at me with endearing eyes as she slowly clasped my hands. "It's going to be okay, alright? We're here for you. Or if anything, I'm here for you just as you've always been."

I smiled at her in a strained way. "I know..." I said, "I'm sorry... Things have gotten better over time so I'll be okay... Don't worry about me..."

The girl nodded, "Don't apologise, dumbass brother of mine. I trust you." She kissed me on the forehead, standing on her tiptoes as I pat her head, watching her close her eyes willingly. I smiled being reminded of what she was like as a kid. I looked at my mom who's eyes were fixated on me. She laughed, "Saraswathi must really love you~"

I shrugged putting an arm around her playfully, "I dunno about that... I prefer it if someone loved me, especially if it's a supernatural entity that claimed to be real, that too, the Goddess of wisdom, they'd be wise enough to tell it to my face... Now something like that would make me believe in it. But this isn't one of my fantasy novels—also your shawl is dropping down."

My mom laughed, "Fair point." She moved her hands to the pink shawl draped around her churidar, still moving her fingers around to adjust it meticulously despite her old age giving her obvious limitations. Then she looked at me and then back to the rest of the group and then kissed me on the forehead.

"Then we love you, okay?"

I was startled. Not because of the words itself, but because of how rare it was for my parents to be so open like this but when they were, it filled me with joy. Guess the older you get, the more wonders you'll witness. But at the same time, when they do get super emotional or expressive towards me, my face always heated up and reddened just like it did now.

"Look who's still a kid~" my dad teased, slapping me on the back. I turned to him quickly with furrowed brows, my face reddening further with that comment. I could hear Asha snickering audibly and I glared at her, slowly resorting to hiding my face between my hands before taking a deep breath to regain my composure.

"S-shut up!"

But the three of them continued laughing at my expense. To be honest, I wasn't mad. On the contrary, I was glad they were here by my side. It gave me a sense of closure and completion it didn't give me before. I felt myself smile wildly, realising how much I took them for granted back in my youth.

And now... It was almost time. I could feel it.

I smiled, exhaling one last time, tightening my palm into a fist and squeezing it thrice. My sister took my hand and did the same. This was an old habit I got due to a certain someone. Now it's just a calming ritual for myself and something I do for close friends and Asha herself, "Thanks, everyone..."

As if on cue, I felt a vibration from my left pocket. It was a text from the organizer to get ready. I responded that I was, sliding the phone back into my pocket, adjusting my blue-dotted tie and getting my black coat from my sister's arm. The girl insisted she hold it...something about wanting to smell a famous person's perfume? She's weird that way— exactly why I love her.

I took a calm, deep breath as I looked back at my family with grateful expressions.

"It's time."

They nodded, "Have fun!"

"I will..." I smiled.

But just before I turned behind, I felt a smell tap on my shoulder. I looked behind, surprised. With her classic eternally serene look, my mom motioned for me to bend over closer to her. I complied. Reaching for my ear using my shoulder as a support, she whispered, "Ravi, remember what you're really here for."

My eyes then widened. It was clearer to me now. I already knew it but had almost forgotten due to the chaos my head portrayed. The chaos in my head had made my thoughts cloudy. There was no reason for me to be nervous. Because this was something I chose to do, this was somewhere I reached. This was something that was set in stone through my actions. And I know that no matter what, in the end, I'd have done what I came here to do. I'd have kept my word from decades ago...

I'm not here for fun...

Don't get me wrong, I love music, it's fun... But right now, I'm not just here to bask in how fun it is.

I have a purpose now.

And now... Introducing the one you've been waiting for! Our special guest, known as the best composer in the Asian subcontinent, Ravi Manoj!

As I took my first steps to the stage, feeling the cold air-conditioned air from the opposite end, the voices of the anticipating crowd cheering my name as if pulling me forward with them like waves in the ocean, going a single path without stopping. The sound of my footsteps reverberated just like the sound of my own, deafening heartbeat. And with the last push from the melody of my heartbeat, I once again remembered that person...

The person who took me this far.

She changed my life for better and worse.

She, even in her absence, guided me in crucial phases of my life.

That day was hers and hers alone. That stage was truly ours, truly hers. Because that's where I'd fulfil our promise from so long ago.

Because of her... I changed for the better.

I learned that while people obviously die when they're killed, it's a different kind of death for those who care... A death of the spirit, of the will, of the ego and emotion.

The place where I stand now... I think she was the only one who deserved it... I still question if it was truly I that led me there. If without her, I'd still be here. But in the end...this was reality. This was the culmination of her involvement, her history, mysteries, miseries and lots and lots of tragedies. And this was where her memories would be laid bare, etched onto the stage.

That stage was and will always be hers.

I'd make sure of it.

Because that's what she'd wanted.

I didn't want to shine like the beautiful stars in the night sky... I couldn't even dream of it... I wouldn't...

What I truly wanted was...

For the stage to belong to us.

Forevermore...

And now...This melody I play before you, dear friend, belongs to her.

To us...

And our promise...