In the memory of the guitar

As he loosened the tie of his rented Raymond’s, looking into the cracked mirror of the hostel wing bathroom, the four years spent at his alma mater zoomed past his eyes. It brought a small smirk on his neatly shaved face to think of all the people he had left behind him in the race. He always wanted to lead the race. He was at the epitome of his success now. He didn’t have any coach in this race. He heard everybody but listened to no one. He persevered night and day alike, each of his second committed to his choices, which he had made very carefully. He had started right from scratch, but here he was, on the pinnacle. Some got gold medals, some got the best prizes while some got applauds. But he – had got the best job!

As he splashed the cold water on his face, each drop anointed his new found satisfaction. His research was impeccable as to what the company wanted. He was the best at group discussions, and his resume was crafted for the company. Since four years he knew what he was preparing for. The courses he chose depended on what the company thinks of that subject. He knew his limitations and hid them by excelling where others were limited. His list of achievements was long and unique. He had learnt several new things, many of which he disliked, just because he knew he would make a mark instantly in places where there is low competition. While people struggled dismally in the interviews to display their zeal and show their worth, he showed them the trophies. While people foolishly pursued their passions, his activities were targeted towards his singular goal. And now, he had beaten them all. After four depressing years of struggle, where he had to salute people he thought to be asses and laugh appeasingly at dull humour of his seniors and colleagues who helped him here, he was the one who was wearing the smile. He walked back to his room his face still wet with cool pleasure. He wouldn’t be throwing off any customary celebration parties for he knew there was no one who wanted it. Neither did he want to share his success, which was truly only his. 

As he walked through the corridor the trickling water on his face had started to irritate him. He needed to wipe it off with a towel. Thinking about the water on his face, he wondered how same things seem to work so differently in different times. As he rummaged through the mess of his belongings on the table, taking care that the water doesn’t trickle down on his laptop, he finally found the towel over his old guitar. He had quit playing it three years ago itself. He covered his face into the warmth of the towel, wondering why the useless piece of guitar was kept on the top of things.

“Sameer, can I borrow your Guitar?” It was his freshman wing mate. He nodded and gave the guitar. The boy, shouted a ‘thanks’ as he ran with the guitar to his room. “Sigh these freshmen,” he said nonchalantly talking to himself and then feeling a gush of pride over the achievements of his years he thought – “They too will come of age.”

Somewhere nearby, the sounds of strumming started. At first he just heard. Then he started tapping his foot, quite unknowingly. Then some strong feeling that might have been just an impulse, suddenly overcame him and he rushed through the hostel wing corridors to the room where the beautiful strumming came from. Two beds were lined up in the small 6 by 8 feet room and there were 14 people sitting closely packed and immersed in tunes from the guitar. He stood outside the room steathily, watching his freshman wingmate, who was playing with his back to the door. But someone might’ve then seen him, as the strumming suddenly stopped.
“Ah, Sorry! Did we disturb you, Sameer?” But Sameer was so overcome by a strengthening desire that he didn’t even hear that, he walked in took the guitar in his hands and turned to walk away but stopped. Everyone just sat there too stunned to react, waiting silently. He didn’t know what he was doing. He just knew he had to do it. He turned to face the 15 odd people in the room, closed his eyes and started strumming. Hesitated notes came out at first, then suddenly he went into a trance and it was like the three year old magic had come back to him. He played a flawless Hotel California. Seconds passed slowly, minutes had almost stopped. This is where he wanted to be- before an audience lost listening to his performance. He loved the guitar. He never played it because there were people who were better than him and he wouldn’t be noticed easily by the company. As he was still playing, the four years once again zoomed past his closed eyes. He saw all that he had lost- his friends, his fun and his guitar. He was afraid to stop playing, didn’t want the joy to end. He was afraid to open his eyes, it might all be just a dream that would break. But then finally his song came to an end, he couldn’t remember any more. He opened his eyes. There was silence. Then he didn’t know who started it, but every one of them broke into a very loud applause. Then, for the first time in four years, he cried…