Chapter 8: The Pool, The Gazes, and An Accusation
Evening. Streetlights flowed like molten gold on the city streets.
Arin wore his only 'Party Shirt'—the one he had ironed so much that even the threads had straightened out. He picked up his bicycle. Today, the pedals felt light.
'Moonlight Pub'.
The thumping of the Bass could be heard from outside, like a giant heart beating. Dhak-Dhak.
The atmosphere inside was from another world. Blue and red neon lights floated in the air. A mixed scent of expensive perfumes and aged whiskey welcomed Arin.
Arin adjusted his glasses. There was a dazzle in his eyes, but not in his gait.
(Arin's Mind)
"Son Arin, this is a 'Zoo' of rich people.
Here, one doesn't see humans, one sees 'Status'.
Don't be afraid, just keep the confidence button 'On'.
The pocket might be empty, but the soul should be wealthy."
Manager's Cabin. The manager was a bald man on whose face smiling was perhaps banned. He scanned Arin from top to bottom—cheap shirt, worn-out shoes, but fire in his eyes.
"Follow me."
They went to an empty stage. The spotlight fell straight into Arin's eyes.
"Play and show me," the manager checked his watch. "And listen, I don't want that roadside noise. I want 'Class'."
Arin picked up the guitar. He closed his eyes.
He strummed a tune—slow, intoxicating, and a little 'Seductive'. Like smoke rings forming in the air.
When he stopped, there was silence in the hall.
The manager made a face. "Hmm... tone is good, but finishing is useless. Fingers are still raw. You are missing notes. You are not a 'Pro' yet."
A knot formed in Arin's stomach. Rejection? Again?
But he didn't let the mask on his face fall. He slung the guitar over his shoulder and gave a very humble, yet confident smile.
"No problem, Sir," Arin adjusted the guitar strap.
"It's raw, that's why cooking it will be fun. I will learn, my 'Processor' is very fast. Thank you for giving your time."
He turned. The sound of his shoes echoed on the empty stage.
He was just about to descend the stairs when—
"Wait!"
Arin turned around.
The manager stood there. For the first time, a slight interest appeared on his face.
"I didn't like your music, I liked your 'Attitude'," the manager said. "Here people cry on rejection, argue, or beg. You are leaving with a smile. I want this kind of 'Happy Vibe' in the pub. Come tomorrow evening at 6. Duty till 12."
The shine that appeared in Arin's eyes was brighter than any neon light.
He fixed his collar, looked into the manager's eyes, and delivered his 'Polished' poetry:
"No matter how late destiny's train might be running,
I kicked open the gate of 'Moonlight', stunning!"
The manager laughed—perhaps after years. He nodded and walked away.
Night. Home.
Arin was going crazy with happiness. He felt as if springs had been attached to his feet.
He poured detergent into the bucket to wash clothes and started making foam.
He was trying to do Hrithik Roshan's steps—crooked and weird.
He was singing loudly, like a torn speaker—
"Idhar chala main... udhar chala... jaane kahan main kidhar chala... arey phisal gaya...!" (I went here... I went there... who knows where I went... oh, I slipped...!)
And really—Thud!
His foot landed on the soap bar. Gravity did its job, and Arin flew in the air and landed straight on the ground on his back. Thack!
Silence in the room. Nainu, who was sleeping in the corner, woke up startled.
Arin was lying on the ground, staring at the cracks in the roof. It hurt, but he was laughing.
"Oh, I slipped! What did I do?" He mumbled to himself.
"Looks like Mother Earth needed my 'Magical Hug'. Here Mom, take some love!"
Lying there, he started laughing like a madman. Nainu came close, sniffed him, gave a judgmental look (as if saying—'The boy has gone mad') and went back to sleep.
Next Morning. Grocery Shop.
The air held the same old smell of spices. The shopkeeper (Dada/Grandpa) was sitting at the counter looking at the ledger.
Arin rested his elbow on the counter. Today he hadn't come as a 'servant', but as a 'human'.
He cleared his throat and spoke:
"Till now I sold oil, soap, and flour,
Today life has opened a new account of joy and power.
Dada, this roadside boy of yours... has now become an 'Artist'!"
Dada slid his glasses down his nose. There was a question in his old eyes. "What happened, son?"
"Dada, got a new job," Arin's voice held both pride and moisture. "Will play the guitar, earn notes of respect. So... I am leaving your job now."
Dada's face fell. The silence that fell between the two was heavier than words.
Arin couldn't hold back. He went behind the counter and hugged Dada tightly.
"Hey, don't be sad my 'Old Man'!" Arin patted his back, but his own voice was trembling.
"Thank you, Boss. If you weren't there that day, this orphan would have died on the street. You gave me roots, now let me fly."
Dada patted his back with trembling hands. "Go, son. I just did my duty. May you prosper."
Afternoon. Academy.
Everything was normal, except for that bench where Priya sat. Her dog lay quietly, as if anticipating the coming storm.
Arin arrived whistling in his own joy.
"What happened Miss 'Sunshine'?" He went close and joked. "Why is there an eclipse on your face today? Is the sun on leave?"
Priya lifted her head.
Her eyes were swollen, red. The kajal was smudged.
"Arin..." her voice was broken. "Today is my last day. Papa has got my admission done. I am going to another city tomorrow... Hostel."
A sharp whistle rang in Arin's ears—Peeeeeeeee!
As if someone had cut the reel of a playing movie.
His heart... his heart forgot to beat for a second. He felt as if the 20 thousand rupee job he just got had turned into waste paper.
But he remembered his training. Never Show Your Pain.
He forcibly pasted a smile—which looked cheaper than plastic.
"Hey! That's great news!" Arin filled his voice with fake enthusiasm.
"New city, new life, new people. What's there to cry about, silly girl? Your career is getting set. Party, stop these tears-wears."
Priya looked at him in disbelief. She wanted Arin to stop her. Or at least say that he would miss her. But Arin... Arin was pretending to be 'Chill'.
Tears spilled from Priya's eyes. She stood up abruptly.
Without saying anything, she hugged Arin tightly. So tight that Arin's ribs started hurting.
Her sobs were wetting Arin's shirt.
Arin's hands rose in the air... to hug her back.
But before he could touch her, Priya pulled back. She picked up her dog's leash and ran towards the gate with fast steps.
She didn't look back even once.
Arin and Nainu were left standing there. Like statues of stone.
Arin's hand was still raised in the air—halfway, incomplete.
(Arin's Mind)
"What is happening?
Why do I feel like someone pricked a needle into my balloon of happiness?
This pain... this pain is out of syllabus, brother."
He clenched his fist. He tried to turn to his friends and make a joke.
"Oh... girls are so..."
But the voice didn't come out of his throat. He felt hollow from the inside.
Evening. Moonlight Pub Backstage.
Arin was tuning the guitar. His heart was heavy, as if a stone was placed on his chest. Nainu (whom he had secretly brought inside) sat quietly in the corner, perhaps he too was missing that female dog.
"Come on brother Nainu," Arin looked at his red eyes in the mirror. "Keep emotions in the pocket, and a smile on the face. The Show Must Go On."
The manager came. He saw Arin's droopy face.
"What happened to Rockstar? Mood seems off today? Breakup?"
Arin immediately switched his 'Performance Mode' on. In a flash, the smile returned.
"Oh no Sir," he picked up the guitar.
"That was just... I am an 'Artist' na. Was feeling a little pain so that the 'Feel' comes into the guitar strings."
He looked into the manager's eyes and recited a couplet:
"No matter how deep the sorrow in the heart lies,
In Moonlight Pub, only this smiling face will rise!"
The manager laughed. "Good. Go, the stage is yours."
Inside, the stage was lit. Drummer and keyboard player were ready.
Arin went to the mic. Looked at the crowd. All stranger faces. All happy.
"Hello Friends! I am Arin... your new guitarist," there was a strange pause in his voice.
"I don't know much, so if I play a little 'off-key'... then please understand that the heart is broken, not the strings."
Light laughter.
Music started.
Arin played the first chord. Strum...
His fingers were moving, but his heart was somewhere else. Every note echoed a name. Priya.
Today was his first day—in a new shiny world, with an incomplete and silent heart.
(Narrator)
"Life is strange.
With one hand it gives you the sky,
And with the other, it pulls the ground from beneath you."