The car stereo went on, rendering the surreal vocals that worshiped the hindu deities. Tapping my index finger rhythmically on the steering, I drove through the night. Sometimes the song would culminate in a classical perfection that I enjoy by closing my eyes and feeling the cold outside. The headlight swept across the seemingly endless strip of concrete, as the car, an enclosure of carnatic music, threaded through.
The song was ‘mahaganapathim’, when my headlight unveiled a waving hand by the roadside. I lowered the volume and halted the car. A face bent down and asked ‘Hey, can you drop me near town square?’ I drew up geography in my head and concluded I was heading there. “Yes of course”. He was young and genuine. WIth a wheatish face, his face looked exhausted. As soon as I entered my car, a scent of lavender exploded in the car AC. “Do you wear perfume?” I said, my face visibly struggling. “Does it bother you, I'm sorry” His voice was gentle, like the carnatic vocals. Lowering the windows as a solution, we progressed, while the carnatic music played on a low.
“Oh what's this”, he said, pointing out the many hindu deity pictures on the car, clearly manifesting the protective hinduness of me. “It's my belief you know, an atheist?” I asked a question. “No no, I'm a believer too”. “So what's at town square at this time?”. I asked. “I'm coming from Salem, so tomorrow there's a function and I decided to stay as it is early morning and I have to prepare the flutes”. “Oh wait, are you a flutist?” I asked with eager enthusiasm, while I could see a shy smile from my rear view. “Come on, just play, I don't know anything about flute, play one note”. And I somehow coaxed him to take out a maple wood, beautifully adorned flute out of his bag. The car was silent for a moment. Then an eloquent and ever so graceful note cracked into the air, like morning rays. It was tangible, its beauty. Unconsciously we were bonding, maybe because of the same taste in classical music, as if musical notes planted seeds of friendship . Then he stopped, leaving me with a crave to listen more. “Wow, man, it was just awesome”.
We were approaching a junction, when it suddenly appeared to me. “Oh what’s your name, mine is Ram”. He looked up and said, “I also forgot about that, and I’m Akbar”. My face wilted a little. His phone rang simultaneously, startling both of us, and the ringtone, a carnatic gem, eased my mind a little. He took the phone. “Waalaikumussalam” he said. Suddenly a division arose as my doubt was not wrong. All those bonding were now just a regretful period of time, and the hitchhiker, a genuine, innocent and an amazing flutist, was now a Muslim to me. I stopped the car at the junction and waited for his call to be over. “What happened, he said, ending the call”. Um, I forgot, I have to take right, so I can't get to town square, so you can step out here and take a cab "I said, the utterly deserted street roads stood there as an irony, and my voice void of any friendliness. “Bye then, nice to meet you Ram, are you coming for the function tomorrow?’ He said, after stepping out of the car. “I'm very busy but I will try” I rushed and took right. If he did not say his name or take the call, I would have definitely gone to the function. I saw him standing alone, at the pavement through my rear view. I grimaced and bashed the steering wheel for my actions, but all those years, the toxic injections from family and politics of religion, overshadowed my humanity and secularism, pretty ironic that I'm an Indian citizen. I knew I was not the only one, but in no way that could be a justifiable statement for what I have done to the flutist. According to cinemas and religious unity ads I have seen, I would have gone and hugged him, apologized for my unsecular actions and attended his function. But that was not easy, even attending the function.
But somewhere in me, although unconsciously, the seed of acknowledgement had sprouted and that would, if correctly channelized, could grow into a plant that buds flowers of secularism, humanity and a rational being that I clearly was not at that night. I remember observing, how an oak seed germinated in my house's barrier wall, one day inducing a small crack, then another day, a big chuck of concrete falling off, unveiling a beautiful flowering tree outside my fence.
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