I have a dream… A song to sing… To help me cope… With anything…

Say ‘music’…. And I have a million memories.

Play music…. And I’m filled with nostalgia. From old days. A mist of blurred activity… Growing clearer as I think harder. Clearer…clearer… And finally settling to reveal one incident. A 16 year old memory.

I was 4 years old. It was the Alumni meet of my dad’s college. And the Old Boys had gathered with their families to celebrate their reunion. I had been asked to sing a song that evening. For weeks before that dad would sing to me a Hindi oldie as he put me to bed… ‘Lakhon hain yahaan dilwaale.. Aur pyaar nahin milta.. Aankhon mein..’

That lilting, enchanting melody was his favorite. And I would listen fascinated, as I went to sleep… And soon I had learnt the song.

Bennett Pinto, one of the well known musicians of coastal Karnataka was an Old Boy too. And he agreed to accompany me on the guitar. My name was called out. I didn’t know what to expect and was filled with apprehension.

What is all this about? What am I supposed to do there? Oh yes. I have to sing. But for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the song. My hands were all clammy. And suddenly the whole prospect of opening my mouth to sing looked scary. And the stage with a hundred wires sneaking from underneath it, looked like a monster. Menacing and ferocious.

I think Bennett understood. And as dad hoisted me on to the platform, (it was too high for me to attempt any stunts) Bennett smiled at me gently and said, “You’re going to be ok.” Yeah right, I thought. Given that I can’t remember the song that I have to sing. My throat went dry. I walked towards the mike.

Lights. Glaring and blazing hot lights. I could hear the pounding of my heart in my ears and I felt dizzy for a moment. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I saw the crowd. Hundreds and hundreds of people. And they were smiling. The picture of a six foot tall famous man with a pixie of a girl clinging to the folds of her dress must have somehow looked amusing.

Then I heard the strumming of the guitar. Mesmerizing and beautiful. That was what Bennett could do effortlessly. Work magic on the guitar with his fingers. And I forgot to be nervous. Suddenly it was only the music and me and the sea of people. And they wanted me to sing.

I sang. I must have missed the beats a lot of times, but I sang. And it was the most beautiful experience of my life. When I finished, the crowd applauded and Bennett said, “Good job!” I was so exhilarated that I forgot to walk back to my dad who was waiting for me, beside the stage. Instead, I went the other way, not realizing that I could not get down, and had a royal fall.

And I made my own music. Several chocolates and ice cubes later, when my bawling had subsided, I realized that I had given my first performance on stage in the presence of a thousand people.

Music became my life. And over the years, I have learnt that it has no boundaries. It binds people of all races, castes, religions and age. It needs no language. It needs no education. All it needs is an inspiration.

To make the homeless in old age homes and orphanages happy as you sing Christmas Carols to them. To make your college team win. To touch someone’s heart as you sing their favorite song. To bring laughter where there is gloom. To make happy memories. To spread love and cheer. To conquer fear.

Because one man with his music inspired me to walk onto that stage and made me realize that I could never be afraid of it anymore.

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