‘Do you have a connection to music?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ I replied with a slight smile appearing on my face. He was part of an online writers’ group that I had enrolled in. We would write short stories on a specific theme every week and submit them for peer review. I had joined it so that I could get honest, unbiased feedback from strangers who were writers and readers themselves, from people who knew nothing about me. I wanted to know what my writing revealed about me and how deep I could go.

‘Have you learnt music?’, was his next question. ‘Yes, a bit, not much,’ I said, thinking of my school days where my music journey had started, and I was oblivious to any connection to it at that point.

 ‘There is an inherent musicality in your writing, especially in this story. It feels like you feel music deeply or you have some understanding of it, and you have followed a rhythm while you were writing. I loved reading it and going with that rhythm.’

‘Thank you, that is some beautiful feedback, appreciate it.’ I said with a smile spreading right across my face.

I shut the Zoom session and my laptop, and made myself a cup of coffee and sat down at my favourite place near the window. I watched the eagles and the crows flying in the sky. The breeze moved slowly, unwilling to rush.

I re-played his words in my head. Music and my life have always been running on parallel tracks, rarely meeting at some points. There was a phase when it was a big part of my life, but then work and life got in the way, and it got sidelined. Then again, at certain times, it came back looking for me, but it never stayed, and I never forced it to stay. It has always been a fluid relationship, with an ebb and flow.

But I have thought about it, thought about if I wanted to pursue it, but the answer was always the same – I didn’t think I was talented enough for it. I had met people in my life who were naturally blessed with music in them. I could see the talent, I could appreciate it, I could enjoy it, and I could encourage them. But for me, it would remain on a parallel track, following me wherever I go.

When I had the choice to choose between writing and music, I instinctively chose writing, it was so me. I could never imagine a life without writing. Writing is like breathing to me. It will stay with me till the end of my time.

But today I realised that music had quietly followed me and seeped into my writing. Even though I left music, it didn’t leave me. It’s there with me in my words. So, in a way, it will also stay with me till the end of my time.

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