ONE

Ode to Joy.

Symphony 9 in D Minor, Op. 125. This was, and still is considered one of the most renowned pieces of Beethoven’s musical arrangements. It gave a sense of happiness, of a celebratory air, a feeling of triumph and better days to come. Alongside pieces such as the Moonlight Sonata (the first arrangement, although this is rare) and the likes of Für Elise, Ode to Joy was also a piece that beginner musicians were made to learn due to how simple the arrangements were compared to other pieces such as say, Flight of the Bumblebees by Rimsky Korsakov or Summer by Vivaldi. Hence, it was assigned to me, an apprentice pianist at the time.

This was the spring of 2016, which I recall, marked six months of me going for piano lessons. I sat once again in the room draped with a long red carpet, smelling of lime-flavoured air freshener. An assortment of instruments was the first thing a person would see if they entered through the clear, transparent glass doors of the institute. A handful of kids around my age (12 at the time) or older, would be sitting on their seats, their eyes glued to the instrument they were playing. From synthesizers, keyboards and a grand piano to a guitar and even a tabla and heck, even bongo drums beside the regular drums towards the far end of the room, each would be arranged in a meticulously thought-out order, just like how my master, Mr. Mathews liked it. While the room did have a plethora of instruments, most of the students took to the piano or the guitar, sitting on their chairs and playing basic pieces like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I assumed most of us had a similar idea— practising the fundamentals. The way the class worked was that daily, we’d get a lesson or two depending on our level and our past proficiency and once we’re done, we were practically free to play whatever and experiment. I forgot to bring the booklet full of sheet music so I was planning on going back to the fundamentals for the day. Since I performed faster than my instructor’s lesson planner could plan for, he gave me a pass saying he had to replan for me anyway. Mr. Mathews planned individually for the students. It was something I liked about him; the ability to recognise the fact that different students had different potentials.

So I sat in front of the Yamaha keyboard, a silver-coloured beauty, with its generic yet well-maintained assortment of black and white rectangular keys. I had this habit (one which I still do) of letting my fingers guide me for the first few minutes, as a form of warming up. I eventually ended up playing the Indian National Anthem and then somehow switching to the opening theme of Tokyo Ghoul, an anime series I had started watching a few days prior. I could feel Mr Mathews side-eye me, only to look away with a defeated smile. I smiled to myself. ‘He knew I can’t be stopped once I start.’

I usually play basking in my own company. My awkward nature didn’t let me interact with others my age and my friends or acquaintances were always those slightly younger than me. While it isn’t the best thing for a stereotypical guy’s personality, which according to society, was outgoing or confident, both of which I wasn’t for the most part, it’s still something I pride myself over; the fact that I’m good with children. I’m one of the older children in my household so it’s a skill that comes naturally to the older children of most families. But well… I digress…

Playing the piano had been one of my favourite pastimes, so much so that my parents bought me a Yamaha PSR E433 keyboard for me to use. I remember sitting on the cold, white-tiled floor in my room despite having a stand for it, clicking random keys, playing songs by ear, writing sheet music for my favourite songs as I heard them and playing them later on. It felt freeing, distracting, unburdening. To me, music is creation. But unlike what can be destroyed, music can only be remade or interpreted differently. The meaning is subjective. It can also be a meaningless pattern of clashing, chaotic sounds to some… But it won’t be destroyed. It can’t be. It’ll stay immortal, even after the creator passes on to the next world.

Immortality is a fallacy.

But when it comes to music, it’s not the case. It becomes the only tether people have to the creators that had passed on. The fact of the matter is that there are so many creators or composers or just performers who had passed away ages ago but whose music is still being played today from popular and widespread radio stations to your everyday supermarkets and convenience stores to even elevators in obscure or bigwig firms or apartment complexes.

Oftentimes, I consider myself extremely observant. People I knew called me hypersensitive, sometimes even borderline paranoid and that held even now. But to be frank, it wasn’t that amazing or that deep. People tend to dramatize human emotion a lot whether it’s in media, writing or just about any form of expression— that includes word of mouth and even nonverbal communication forms like the arts. They tend to overthink themselves to death and see others do the same and call them out like the hypocrites they are. Among the 8.2 billion people (in the present day), only a few actively take time to look around and look within. We, including myself, are so busy with our daily routine. While it’s true that we have a lot of things going on in our lives, we fail to be observant, as much as we claim to know others or ourselves.

But one can’t understand others entirely, just as one can’t understand themselves no matter how hard they try. Such is the changing nature of humanity— the self and the individual. In the end, the true beauty of life is found when we look around. Not at nature or anything materialistic, but at those around us and within ourselves. The true beauty lies in the happiness of others. Because we too get influenced by said beauty and turn out elated ourselves. And in the end, we ignorantly question why that was the case.

I just loved to observe. Not just their movements, but in this context, the way they played. Because artistic expression can tell a lot about the way a person is. The softness of the notes of the piano, the vibrato in the violin, the strumming of the guitar, the way the chords are played, the way they present themselves; their posture, body language, stares, glances, the smallest of shudders, the slightest quiver of their lips, and even the way they hold their instruments. When we talk about vocals, the way they pronounce the words, the shakiness of their voice, the way the singers move to the tune or the lack of movement— instead adopting a still posture…and of course the audience; how loud they cheer, how they raise their hands in joy, how much they smile or move, how their expressions and movements sway to the beat. Everything can reveal certain aspects of their current situation or even the path they took that led to that moment. It fills me with inspiration and curiosity. As fickle as human emotion is, it is exactly why it’s so interesting.

I noticed from the corner of my eye, Mr. Mathews going around and checking up on everyone. Eventually, he stopped and just heard them play. I don’t have an idea of how exactly they felt, because….well, I’m not them. But from experience, when a person quietly watches you do something while offering no feedback whatsoever, it’s the most nervous moment you’d be in. For a few, he bent down as he instructed them on how to make their playing better. One thing I’ve noticed with beginners and people who’ve lost touch is the lack of confidence in which note to play. This makes their playing heavy, the velocity of the notes when played will be too quick compared to the gentle tone they should sound like or vice versa. To make things easier to understand, consider Twinkle Twinkle Little Star which is supposed to have the gentleness of a lullaby being played in a way that makes it so intense as if it’s a boss theme in a video game or a song showing desperation. It takes time to get into that state of mind where you don’t care and give yourselves away to the melody of the notes you play. It’s a matter of trust in yourselves and trust in the music or as the Assassin’s Creed trademark says, a leap of faith.

I continued with my playing eventually, playing Ode to Joy in different keys and experimenting with time signatures and tempos. It was only the first three minutes of the piece, the very popular part, and that too very simplified and beginner-friendly. It’s nothing compared to the arrangement of the original. Well, then again, the original had a whole orchestral sort of arrangement behind it. The stringed instruments— the violin, viola, cello and bass, the woodwinds’ higher-pitched supporting tune, the trumpets and horn along with the percussion playing in harmony, all support the main melody creating a beautiful, coherent symphony in the grand auditorium or golden hall. It was beautiful… But I prefer the Moonlight Sonata over it and I wished, back then, to be able to play it properly one day.

Join me…

It all started with this sensation. A peculiar sound had reached me, calling out to me and begging me to respond to it, to play along, to harmonize, to unify. I found my fingers stopping for the first time in the thirty minutes, my mouth partially open. My gaze slowly travelled to the far end of the room towards my left, sniffing the notes, hearing the melody, feeling the calm. And there I saw the instrument that produced this sound, and the person it belonged to.

She wore a blood-red top with a black pleated skirt. She was tall, for her age at least, slightly taller than I was. Her dark, wavy hair that went down to the torso was well-combed and tied with a clip. Her deep black eyes stared into the booklet as she played, gently letting her bow flow smoothly yet purposefully and with meticulous intent. It was absolutely beautiful. A prodigy… A once-in-a-lifetime talent... Or a person who started waaay early on. I couldn’t make up my mind... In fact, I didn’t want to think at all, my body urging me, pleading with me to just shut up and respond, aching for more. And before I realised it, my fingers moved on their own. She played the same piece and yet…

Why does it sound so pretty…?

On her hand was just a simple violin and yet, she played it so well… It was full of confidence and reflected her self-esteem. It was all that I didn’t have as a person so it was well-evident. The clarity in her movements, the way the bow moved only how much necessary, the way she moved from one note to another, moving past a score after the next.

And that content smile on her face.

I soon heard the sounds of the piano, my fingers again making contact with the cold keys, pressing into the notes, and accompanying her with my left hand. I glanced at her surprised expression only to be replaced by a knowing smile. At that moment, it was like no one else was in the room—that plane of existence, as we completed the single-page section together.

I think only my instructor and she knew what happened during that moment. And proof? It came from Mr. Mathews’ face. He snickered exchanging a few inaudible words with her. I found myself letting out a relieved sigh. I wanted to approach her, just to compliment her on her playing. I usually don’t approach people like that. I am pretty shy after all… And when it came to women especially, let’s just say they scared me more than filled me with anxiety. I turned my attention back to my keyboard when I heard footsteps approach me. I pretended not to notice because well, I didn’t know anyone in particular and talking with people I didn’t know made me anxious too.

But it seemed the person was persistent since that person, the same girl grabbed a chair and sat with her violin next to me.

I did the smart thing and pretended not to see her. I knew I didn’t leave a bad impression but what if my playing sucked or what if I did leave a bad impression? My body shuddered as I felt her thin, small fingers tap my exposed arm, which in turn startled her. She quizzically tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

I nodded silently. I didn’t know how to carry on the conversation but could tell she didn’t mind. She smiled but now that I think about it, the smile looked like it was out of nervousness. Too late to realise but, she was more like me since the start.

“Ummm… I heard you play before…” she started. I felt my eyes perk up. I didn’t dare look her in the eye. “I wanted to talk to you to tell you how amazing you play but I guess I was nervous… So I did this.”

“You played Ode to Joy loud enough for me to hear, knowing I’d join you because you played so beautifully?”

She laughed, her face a tad pinkish, her fingers playing with her hair. “I didn’t know you would… I hoped you would.”

I smiled wearily, finally looking her in the eyes. She darted around, playing with her hands out of nervousness. “I’m glad I was able to live up to your expectations… Your playing was beautiful by the way…” I was not good with compliments. I hoped she didn’t take it the wrong way. I felt my face heat up… I felt like I was starting to regret my decision, the feeling of foreboding strong. I looked at her surprised face, her mouth agape, and then her lips widened. It was like she wasn’t used to hearing compliments at all. In the end, she smiled as she extended her hand.

“Thank you… I’m glad you liked it. What’s your name?”

“Ravi…” I responded. I took her hand. It was small and soft and the warmth felt soothing, familiar even. I smiled. The chill I felt down my spine, the cold air that suffocated me, the harsh beating of my heart…it all died down from that moment of contact. “What’s yours?”

The girl smiled as her grip on my hand tightened, “I’m Akshara. It’s nice to meet you, Ravi!”