There… I hear it again.
It’s the umpteenth time that the little sound has distracted me.
Where did it come from? Who set it loose?
I glance around the room to hear charades of laughter.
Animated faces. Some happy, some sad and some just pretending.
As I try to figure the source, I lose the geometry of sound.
There is so much noise. There is so much clutter.
And a tiny sound amongst a million voices.
The needle in a haystack would have been a walk in the park.
And yet, I pick up that little sound again.
I set out towards the sea of people.
The shimmering diamonds and the rustling chiffons.
Sometimes rubbing, sometimes pushing aside shoulders.
I twist and turn to make my way.
Glass in hand, I balance my gaze and my ears.
While my feet guide towards… well, I don’t know what.
Why can’t I be a character out of a spy novel, who are trained at this stuff.
Trained to put the geometry of sound to the trajectory of sight.
And do it while standing in Madison Square Garden for all you know.
Fuck, I should have taken physics seriously. Or whatever science deals with this stuff.
I seem to be firing in the dark. Firing blanks that too.
Again.
This time it came from behind me.
No, not exactly, a little to the right maybe.
But I seem to have got the general direction right this time.
I set out like a man possessed.
One gulp and the glass is set aside on the table.
Burp.
Shit… this is what happens when I drink Pepsi instead of Coke.
I hope my hand covered my mouth in time.
Did someone see me?
Do I really care?
I have a task at hand. And I sniff a kill.
But what is that sound?
Why am I seduced by it?
Why does it seem like music?
Why does it seem like a whiff of fresh air, in a room that is almost an incubator for Eau de Toilette?
Doesn’t seem human. But then what?.
Plastic? Metallic?
And such effect on me?
Is steel hearted same as brave hearted?
Pathar dil ya faulaadi dil?
I arrive at the bar, where according to my calculation the sound came from. And I see the happy part of the crowd.
The ones that started early and will finish late.
So, just about as of now, they would be at the optimum stage of high.
High being the part before you are smashed. And smashed always leads to wasted.
They didn’t emit any sound I would have followed.
But then where did it come from?
I snap around almost too suddenly and throw flash glances across the room.
Laughter. Turquoise dress. Big diamonds. Fake smiles. Lonely faces.
Flirts. Liars. Cheaters. And a few good people.
And not a trace of my sound.
My sound?
Am I already so crazy?
And why the hell am I so desperate?
What the hell is this sweat on my forehead?
I throw a wide angle static glance across the room.
And decide to take one last chance.
Before I hear it again.
This time it was closer.
And right ahead of me.
And not in bits and flashes but now it seems to go on.
It seems to be making music while the room seems to have lost its decibel.
I start walking. Slowly.
Slowly because there is no need to rush.
The eyes have cross synced the geography.
All I need to do is follow.
I see myself walking through the same people again.
They seem less fake now. They seem less lonely.
More happy. More content.
As if my finding the sound has infused everyone with a sense of erotica.
There seems to be love in the air.
And I follow the sound blindly.
I am led outside the hall, as if the sound beckons me and seeks privacy.
From hall to hallway. From hallway to driveway.
I follow the sound with a touched heart.
And a face with a smile that’s running a mile.
And then it all stops.
I look around the sprawling gardens and the moonlight pastures.
And all I hear is the engine of a car starting.
The car leaves the driveway as I make a dash towards it.
And come to a halt from where the car had started.
I see the tail lights. I see the thrown up dust.
I see my gaze fall to the ground in utter disgust.
I see something shining in the moonlight.
I bend over and pick it up.
I give it a little shake.
Yes it is the object that made the sound.
But it doesn’t sound as good.
It doesn’t have the soothing touch of before.
It is the sound I chased, but yet it is not.
I hold it in my hand, the solitary anklet. The payal.
But I still wonder about the source of the sound.
