Pratik Majumdar

Tragedy


4.0  

Pratik Majumdar

Tragedy


Songs About Love

Songs About Love

5 mins 17.3K 5 mins 17.3K

Is that what you wanted?

Songs about love?

Is that what you hoped you’d find?

When its burning inside

But a song about love’s not enough

Jake Bugg, A song about Love.

She saw him sitting on the square as she strummed on her guitar. Her face lit up for a split second seeing his old familiar face in the midst of a regular crowd of strangers who walked past the city centre everyday. Office goers, housewives out shopping with their kiddies on prams, tourists in garish clothes, waifs wandering aimlessly. People passed by as she played her songs. Sometimes pennies dropped sometimes a pound and on rare moments a two pound coin. Sometimes a few people would stop if the song caught their fancy and listen. At times there would be a clap or two, at times a request or two would come. She took it all in a detached manner. She played mainly for herself and very rarely did she let her surrounding affect her.

As she continued playing her Gram Parsons song, an old favourite of hers, she wondered if he had spotted her too, or whether he was oblivious to her presence in the square, sitting and sipping on his bitter. His face looked aged, a few years more than it ought to have been. He was wearing a dark overcoat, a posh one, and had a couple of carry-bags placed next to him. They were the branded ones she oh so hated. Big corporations fleecing the poor consumer of their hard-earned money. Or actually not so “poor” as she reasoned, if they willingly paid absurd amounts for such crap. Wasn’t it just apt that he should be carrying such bags. After all now he was a ‘part’ of those million idiots who sucked up to the glamour and glitz of the corporate world. Almost instinctively her strumming pattern changed to a bit harder than it should have.

They had so many dreams together when they were younger. Full of ideas and desires to change the world with their songs, make a difference, live life in the truest sense. She loved to write and play and he loved to record. Securing a record deal was bigger to him than finding the missing chord to a song. It put her off at times but then again she marveled at the way they ’complimented’ each other.

Play us a Jage Bugg missy, a geeky teenager hollered. At times she knew she’d get carried away by her 70s catalogue. They were her favourites no doubt but she also knew that a busker had to comply to wishes of others too. She looked up at the denim-clad youngster and nodded in the affirmative. In her mind she was thinking of which Jake Bugg song it would be and then she saw his face once more and the lines came almost automatically to her…..Is that what you wanted, songs about love, is that what you’d hoped you’d find, when its burning inside, a song about love is not enough. ‘Don’t you know love’s not enough’ she ad-libbed, her version of the song seemed more biting than the original. As she finished the song in breakneck speed she lashed out a couple of more ‘angry’ songs.

Her eyes were following him all the while she was singing. A beautiful woman came out of the departmental store and stood next to him. She whispered something in his ears and they both shared a laugh. There were two children by their side now. A boy who would be around 7 or 8 and a girl in spectacles who looked a couple of years older. Their sight was enough to make her sick in her gut. She needed to stop playing. She put her guitar down and adjusted her straps. He shoulders were aching from the constant strain of the guitar. She needed a break, More importantly she needed to calm down. Seeing him in the square with his family hadn’t been easy. She bent down to take sip of cola from her paper cup. As she was sipping, she felt his perfume whiff by her. He had moved on with his “sweet happy complete family”. She took a heavy breath in as her face was still bent down, careful enough to avoid an eye contact with him. It was good he hadn’t seen her.

The square was getting empty now as the clock struck 7 and the shops were closing. She knew she had to move on as well. Buskers had times allotted to them and she had long overstayed her time. She had to make her way to the Grapes Pub. She had managed to secure an opening set for one of the bigger acts of the city. She shouldn’t be late for her bit, she thought to herself. As she was about to arrange her gear back in their covers, a piece of pink crumpled paper next to her feet caught her attention. The paper reminded her of the pad on which they would write their songs when they were still together. She smiled to herself as she picked up the paper, solely on the virtue of its colour. Some kids crazy doodle she thought to herself as she opened the crumpled bit. The handwriting looked familiar to her.

“Saw you today after so many years. Couldn’t take my eyes off you. You still look so lovely. And your voice has aged so much better than mine. These days I can't even croak. Was happy to hear you play. Although like always your minor chords still trouble you. You were right when you sang “song of love are not enough when its burning inside” Ask me, no one knows it better. “

She got up and slowly started to walk towards the pub for her gig. The crumpled paper lay on the ground yet again. She left the paper there, though she was carrying the words from the paper within her as she walked away.


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