Diya

I was new in college. All of us freshers sneaked around, trying our best not to get noticed. Despite all the lectures and the rules forbidding ragging, the seniors still stopped us to make us sing and dance and do silly dares. I was petrified of being ragged, and kept my head down in the corridors.

Then my luck ran out. One day, a group of seniors surrounded me in a corridor and demanded that I sing. I stood there, gazing blankly at them, heart beating fast.

‘Come on,’ said a boy with wild hair standing up on end. ‘Even if you can’t sing, you have to. It’s a fresher tax. Lagaan.’

I suppose they expected some Hindi film song. But I had trained as a classical singer from the time I was six years old. I put my head down, looked fixedly at my feet, and sang a thumri. When I finished, there was silence. I peeped up at them. They were all staring at me. Then the boy with wild hair jumped up. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We have to take you to the auditorium.’

The others got up as well. ‘Yeah. Great idea.’

They hurried me along the corridor. I went with them, not knowing what they were going to ask me to do next.

When we got to the auditorium, it was jam-packed with students. A girl was on stage, singing. She was off-key, and the audience began to howl in protest. My heart sank. I was going to be ragged in front of everyone. I spotted Aman on stage. I was going to be ragged in front of him. I wanted to turn and run, but the seniors were on either side of me.

They began to shove their way through the crowd in the aisle. They got to the front and yelled at Aman, ‘Hey. We’ve got a good one for you.’

The boy with wild hair turned to me and said, ‘Get up on stage and sing.’

I found my voice. ‘I won’t get on that stage,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell the principal you’re ragging me!’ They looked astonished. Then they burst out laughing.

‘We’re not ragging you,’ said one of the boys. ‘We’re auditioning you. These are the auditions for the college band.’

‘No, no!’ I said. ‘I can’t! I can’t.’ How could I explain to them that I could never sing in public? My father would never allow it.

‘Can’t sing?’ the wild-haired boy laughed. ‘We just heard you. Get up there.’

I climbed the stairs feeling like I was going to be sick. Aman looked surprised to see me. He adjusted the height of the mike.

‘Go on,’ he said.

The lights were blinding. The hall seemed a huge dark hole from up there. I was so scared that I closed my eyes. Then I began to sing.

There was a tremor in my voice. Somewhere along the song, a soft guitar joined me. Then another voice. A male voice. The voice steadied me. It sang with me, around me. It ran counterpoint to the harmony I was following. It lifted my voice up, and we both soared. As I felt my voice grow strong and confident, I opened my eyes. It was Aman.

Then I understood why everyone loved him. He was the lead singer with the college band. And he was really good. He always had his head stuck in a poetry book because he was trying to write his own lyrics and was fascinated with how poetry was constructed.

We sang together. Our voices joined and lifted, and the moment became magic.

How could I not fall in love?