She had always loved the piano- not just the music it made, but also the instrument itself. It was large, solid and strong and to her, it always seemed like the piano was not as ambiguous as the other instruments. The keys were all black and white- perfect, absolute. There were no grey areas. You punched a key and you hit a note. You could always be sure that a certain key would give you a certain note- no ambiguity there. She had always wanted to play the piano. She had dreamt about the way her fingers would fly across the keys and the whole world would listen, enthralled. There was a store a few blocks away from her house that sold musical instruments. From the time she could remember, she would stop by the store to stare at the giant piano in the display window. She always thought of it as her piano- the one that she would play someday. She thought of the day it would grace her home. It would be the focus of her living room, she decided. She would invite people over and she would play for them. And they would listen and compliment her talent. But that was only secondary to the fact that she would play the piano well. Fame was not on the top of her list. She only thought of being able to play her piano- the one in the display window in the store a few blocks away from her house.
She prayed it would still be there when she was old enough to buy it. No other piano would do for her. She had to have this particular one. It was hers- she could feel it in her bones. There was something that bound her to this piano and she did not know how to explain it, but the feeling was there nevertheless. It was laughable really- the idea of having an invisible connection to a non- living thing. But she never considered it that way. To her, the piano was a living, breathing entity- as alive as she was. And she would have it someday.
But very often, childhood dreams remain just that- dreams. She was not allowed to play by her parents. They were the uncompromising, intellectual type who believed in academic excellence and nothing else. They believed in excelling in class and good grades and scholarships and nothing more. They were both teachers- people who had had high hopes for themselves but never made it big in life. And they wanted her to fulfill their dreams. And so they were interested only in her grades and little else. Music was frivolous- a waste of time and energy. Time that could be devoted to studies, to working towards her next scholarship. All her pleas to let her take piano lessons fell on deaf ears. They had decided that she was not to waste her time on trivial pursuits like piano lessons and that was it. And like any dutiful daughter, she complied.
But some passions are hard to get rid of. She knew she would never be the famous pianist she had always wanted to be. But she would still learn how to play when she grew up, she resolved. And even if that did not happen, she would still buy her piano and get someone to play it for her. She wouldn’t give up on her dream so fast. And so she studied, and topped her class and won scholarships and made her parents proud, year after year. And she listened to piano pieces whenever she could. Of course, she had to hide it from her parents. They would never understand or allow her, she knew. But this was her passion, hers alone and she wasn’t ready to give it up for anything in the world. So while outwardly, she was the star student of her class, deep inside she was a little girl who just wanted to play the piano.
She grew up to be a doctor like her parents wanted her to be. They were proud of her. She had done what they could not. “Our daughter is a doctor”, they would tell anyone who cared to listen, while she would stand stiffly beside them, yearning to be out of the spotlight for once. “She’s all set for her MD next year. Aren’t you dear?” they would ask and she would smile politely and nod in acknowledgement. She didn’t want to study further but she knew it was pointless to argue with her parents. So she just nodded and went along with what they said like she always did. She was already working at one of the leading hospitals in the city and she was doing really well in spite of her heart not being in the job. She still dreamt about her piano. The tiny apartment she had moved into once she got a job was chock full of CD’s- Bach, Mozart, Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Debussy- they lined her walls. She had no TV. She didn’t need one. Her music was enough. And she still walked by the little store by her house and stared at the piano in the display window.
It was a miracle it was still there. She still wanted to buy it and she would someday, she swore to herself. She didn’t know how much the piano cost. And somehow she never had the courage to go in and enquire. Perhaps it was because of the fact that it was so close to her home and that maybe her parents would find out and disapprove. She wasn’t living with them anymore but she was loath to disappoint them in any way. They thought she was over her piano obsession. They attributed it to a small childish tantrum and nothing more. Her parents didn’t even know about her CD collection and she still hadn’t invited them over to her apartment. They were sad when she moved out but they acknowledged her independence. But they were hurt that she hadn’t invited them over as yet. She didn’t want to. It was her sanctuary- a place for her to be alone with her music. And she wanted no one else there- not even her parents.
Now that she was a doctor like her parents had always wanted her to and she had her own place like she had always wanted, she decided to take piano lessons. But almost every teacher she sought out told her she was too old for it. They said they could teach her but they were doubtful that she would be any good at it. You started early for these kind of things, they said. Talent had to be identified and nurtured in the bud. She was crushed. She wanted to be good at playing the piano. What was the point of buying her piano if she couldn’t play? She took the classes anyway. She wanted to play at least passably well. But deep inside she felt her dream was over. And that was when she met him.
It was at one of those mindless, boring parties the hospital threw for the elite so they would shell out the money the hospital needed for something or the other. She hated these black tie affairs but she didn’t have a choice. The hospital wanted to flaunt her. She was one of their prodigies and once she had her MD, she would become an asset to the hospital and they did not want to lose an opportunity to show her off. As was usual at these kinds of parties, the music was always elegant and understated- muted almost. Lifeless was how she would describe it. It was music for the sake of music. It was like background noise- there was no emotion there, no passion. Most often, it was a fool playing the piano trying to act like he had mastered the instrument. But to her, it sounded like a mockery of the music and the instrument she so loved.
But this time, it was different. The music was throbbing with a passion she had never heard before. It made the blood pound in her veins. There seemed to be something in the music that wanted to break free. It was mellow and yet it wasn’t. It was fiery and yet it wasn’t. It was full of passion and yet, it soothed her. She felt herself coming alive as she listened. And this wasn’t a piece by one of the masters. They were the ones she usually heard played at these kinds of events. This was an original, composed hopefully, by whoever was playing. She had threaded her way through the crowd that night, evading questions, eager to find the person who was making such beautiful music. And that was how she found him.
He played beautifully, she thought, like he was one with the instrument. This was what she had always dreamed about- to be like him, to be one with the music, oblivious to the world outside. She had struck up a conversation with him. She couldn’t remember what she had said. She was so much in awe of his music and so breathless with excitement, her words had tumbled out. They had both laughed and they had talked for hours that night- about music. About everything else, she had surprisingly little to say. But she didn’t care; she had found a kindred spirit, someone who loved the piano as much as she did. He played at a little restaurant in the city, he said. She should come and hear him play, he said. She went, over the weekend and she kept going back. He hardly noticed her when he was playing. He was too engrossed in the music for that. And he enjoyed playing his own pieces more. He wasn’t too happy when customers made requests, which was often. It didn’t bother her that he never noticed her. She was too much in love with his music to care. She went to hear him play whenever she could. When she couldn’t go, she was restless and miserable and jealous of the people eating at the restaurant because they got to hear him play.
They met as often as they could. And when they did, they spoke about their passion and little else. He lived in a small place close to the restaurant, he said. He couldn’t afford a piano as yet, but he would someday, he said. She understood. She spoke about her life, her apartment, her parents, her passion for the piano and he listened. They had moved past just being friends now. He came by her place as often as he could. She cooked while he put on some CD. And then they would sit and eat their meal and listen o the music. Her friends were appalled when she told them she was dating a piano player from a small restaurant. “A small time piano player!” they snorted in disbelief, “and she, a doctor”. She paid no heed to all this. She knew he saw a part of her no one else did. And none of this seemed to ruffle him in the least. Her friends wanted to meet him, but she thought it wise not to let that happen.
He never spoke much about himself or anything else. He never invited her over to his place. She attributed it his being self-conscious. It wasn’t a big deal, she thought. They had a connection that went beyond the mundane. Yet, there was something she still hadn’t told him- about her piano. The one she had wanted to buy since she was a kid. She didn’t think the time was right.
Then, one day, on one of their usual dinner dates at her place, he bought a CD. This was something he had written for her, he said. She listened, tears streaming down her face. She never thought someone would ever do something so beautiful for her. She also knew this was his way of telling her he loved her. Or so she thought. She was happy that day- the happiest she had ever been. And that was the days he took him to the music store close to her home to see her piano. Her parents didn’t know about him and things had been a little awkward with them since she had moved out. They might know about her and the mysterious guy she was with from someone, but she was past caring.
The moment he set his eyes on the piano, he was transfixed. She could see it. She realized that he felt as connected to the piano as she did. That was proof enough for her that they were meant to be together. That day she walked into the store and put down a deposit on the piano. It was her gift to him, she said. She would never be able to play it as well as she had always dreamed about, but it didn’t matter. He would play for her, and that was enough, she decided.
He loved the piano. It took up almost all the space in the living room of her tiny apartment but that didn’t bother her. It was what she had always wanted. She was insanely happy. Her life was finally filled with the music she so loved. She would rush back home from work everyday to find him at the piano, playing something, a look of absolute peace on his face. She loved watching him play as much as she loved his music. She saw on his face what she had always hoped to experience herself – a feeling of being one with the music and the instrument that breathed life into it.
They were living together now. She didn’t mind. It suited her just fine. She had everything she had ever wanted. Her friends disapproved when they came to know. They still hadn’t met him. They weren’t engaged, her friends pointed out, and he hadn’t shown the slightest inclination to propose. She was a fool for doing this, they said. She wasn’t worried. She never was one for tradition anyway. She was happy in her world.
Then one day he said he wanted to quit his job at the restaurant. He said he wanted to spend more time on his music. She was only happy to let him do it. She was happy he was doing what she had always wanted to do. And deep inside she felt happy that she was instrumental in making his dreams come true. Besides she was earning enough for the two of them.
So he stayed at home and worked on his music while she went to work. It was perfect at first. He would work all day and once she was back they would eat dinner and talk about his music, and sometimes, he would play little snatches of his music for her. She marveled at his pieces. They were exquisite, she said. But he set impossible standards for himself. At first it seemed endearing to her, to see him work so hard. Her friends kept telling her he was wrong for her, that he was living off of her. But she didn’t buy it. She felt like she was part of a bigger plan, like she was aiding in the creation of something beautiful and magical, and she was happy.
She didn’t remember when it started, but she remembered how. He started spending more and more time on the piano. Her once tidy apartment was not overflowing with sheets of music. He had always been careful until then to disrupt as little of her place as possible. But now, his things were all over the place. She didn’t pay much attention to it at first. Every artist had his quirks, she decided, and this was his. She cleaned up after him. She cooked all his meals for him. She made sure he was comfortable but he seemed to grow more and more distant as the days went by.
He had always been soft spoken and mellow so, when he yelled at her one day, she was stunned. She had been cleaning the piano and he had walked in and started yelling at her. He forbade her from ever touching it again. She didn’t understand why but she was far too flustered by his demeanor to question him, especially since she was the one who paid for the piano. He apologized sometime later, and she pushed it out of her mind.
Then, he stopped playing when she was around, even when she asked him to. He said he needed to be alone for the music to happen. He stopped playing her the snippets from his compositions. He said his muse visited him only when he was alone. She was crushed but she told him she understood. He was changing, she could feel it. He had always been open with her on the things that mattered. True, he was reluctant to talk about himself but the things he shared with her, he shared willingly. He was like the piano; she had thought back then- all black and white, solid, perfect, absolute, without ambiguity. But now, he was different. He was no longer the black and white guy she always thought him to be. He was sullen, withdrawn, secretive.
Then, he started playing at night, when she was asleep. She had woken up and walked in once when he was playing. He was transformed then- his face at peace, the gleam in his eyes one of absolute bliss. But then he had seen her and his fingers froze. The look left his face. He glared at her and walked off. She was hurt but she didn’t want to confront him. She went back to bed. The next day he acted like nothing had happened. But she knew something had changed. She was no longer a part of his world. She was an intruder. It was like she wasn’t welcome in her own home. Even her piano looked brooding and menacing- like it hated her presence in the house.
She still heard him playing in the night. But she knew better than to intrude. And he seemed to know when she was awake. Any time she opened her eyes at night the music would go on for a few more seconds and then stop abruptly. He had changed even more now. He rarely spoke to her now. It was just him, her piano and the sheets of music.
She lost interest in her work, her studies. Her friends told her to get rid of him but she couldn’t. She knew if she lost him, she would lose her piano, her music and her love for it and a part of herself. So, she carried on like nothing had happened. She was hurting inside but she didn’t show it. Her parents still had no idea what her life was like. She hadn’t spoken to them in a long time. To them, she was still their brilliant daughter who had fulfilled all their dreams and then stepped out of their life abruptly.
Things had gotten so bad with him now that they hardly saw each other. She carried on with her life and he carried on with his. She tried to make conversation many a time but was met with a wall of silence. Slowly she gave up trying. His obsession with his music seemed to grow. He still didn’t play when she was around and he had started neglecting himself. It was like the music had taken over his life.
Then, one day she fell sick and had to take time off from the hospital. She thought maybe they could set things right. But he seemed angry at her intrusion, like falling sick as her fault. When she realized this, she tried to stay our of his way as much as she could. She even pretended to be asleep so he could play. But he never touched the piano. He stayed out all day and came home only at night. She never asked him where he went. He was even more irritable now and she didn’t want to increase the tension that already existed between them. All she wanted was to get better so she could get back to work and he could go back to being his normal self. She missed his music, even the tiny snatches she heard when she woke up in the middle of the night. She couldn’t even listen to her beloved CDs now. That set him off. It was like walking on eggshells all day long.
One day she could take it no longer. He was out all day anyway. She sat down at the piano and played a few notes she knew. But instead of the soothing notes she expected, all that came out was a jarring, menacing screech. She thought she was imagining it at first but it was there the second time she tried it too. She was terrified now. It was like even the piano hated her now, like it wanted to comply only with him, to his commands. Suddenly she was afraid he would come in and know she’d touched the piano. It was stupid feeling, but she was scared and when one is scared, one hardly thinks rationally.
That night when he came home, she was already in bed. She held her breath as he walked around the room. She was relieved only when she heard him hunker down on the couch with his precious sheets of music. He slept in the living room now, away from her, closer to her piano. She awoke again that night to the faint strains of music. It was beautiful. She thought it would stop any minute now that she was awake. But it didn’t.
He went on playing. She recognized the piece. It was the piece he had recorded for her when they had started dating, the one they had listened to the night she bought her piano. She smiled as she got up and walked into the living room. His head was bent low over the piano. His fingers were flying over the keys. A cool breeze drifted in from the night sky, giving her goose bumps. It was all over, she thought as she walked towards him. Her heart was racing. He was back, the man she loved was back, she thought. She saw that he was about to look up and smiled.
But the smile died on her lips. His eyes were two hollows of grey. Suddenly the music seemed menacing, sinister- she wondered why she had never noticed it before. She was rooted to the spot, she couldn’t move. This was it, she thought. The last thing she saw as her head hit the floor was a swirling mass of grey. It seemed to encompass him and her piano and his umpteen sheets of music and the entire room.
They found her two days later. Someone at the hospital had reported her missing. She was dead, on the floor by the piano. The keys were splattered with her blood. Blank sheets of music fluttered everywhere. She had cracked her head on the piano and there was no sign of the man her friends insisted she lived with. They had never seen him but she had told them all about him. But the police insisted there was no one there. In fact these was no sign anyone had lived in the apartment but her. Her parents and friends were stunned. They could not understand how or why all this had happened. The police searched for months for the mystery man her friends insisted was living with her. He seemed to have disappeared without a trace. They found no leads and the case was closed. The police ruled her death as an accident. They said she might have slipped and fallen on the piano, thus hitting her head. But nothing explained the sheets of music.
“Such a bright future she had”, everyone said. “She was a doctor and she threw it all away for some piano player whom no one has ever seen. Wonder why she bought that thing in the first place”. A girl listening in on the conversation casually remarked, “I wonder what will happen to the piano now”. She loved to play you see……