It has been a long time since she’d touched one of those. Her fingertips have grown soft with unuse, almost tender in their softness, unlike before. Years had gone by, and she regrets for letting time get the better of her, of her passion.
For sounds, for music, for making music.
She’d never really understood how big a part of her life it was, until she’d completely stopped. She’d wanted to step away from the performing arts when she entered college because she had wanted to try something different. She’d wanted to work on her fitness, on traversing new boundaries, of challenging herself. In the process, she began to lose a part of herself that she had forgotten was so, so dear to her.
Since the age of 6, she’d been surrounded by strings. Plucking, getting the fingers on the correct notes, digits moving as if they spoke a language only they knew. With practice, it had become second nature at a point, to pick up her instrument and play. After 6 years, she stopped. “Other commitments” had gotten the better of her.
Thinking back, now, she shakes her head at her foolishness. If only she’d had more discipline. If only she had been wiser. If only, if only, if only…
Then on a whim, she’d started on something completely different. She didn’t think she would adapt to traditional musical instruments as well as she did. Oh how she’d enjoyed being part of an orchestra, how she’d enjoyed working on pieces tirelessly, focusing on getting the tune, the pitch, all of it right, working over and over, till her fingers had started bleeding, till perfection had been achieved.
She’d learnt then, that pain was just another feeling to be dealt with. That continuous pain created numbness, and once numbness took root, then it was possible to push even faster, strive even harder for perfection. It had been glorious, glorious fun, being part of a musical experience as big as that.
And then, that too had stopped.
After all those years, she was touching strings again. She was nervous, because she was revisiting notes and symbols that she had not been acquainted with for a long, long while now. Staring at the black and white, she felt that she was starting to learn a foreign language all over again. It was another challenge. One she was willing to take up if it brought her the solace that it had always given her before.
She touches the strings, gently plucks them, hears the sounds resonate, loudly at first, then softer, softer…
She picks up her glass of wine, takes a sip. Rolls the taste of the crisp freshness in her mouth. Swallows. Deep breath, now.
Slowly, she runs her fingers over the strings, presses down on them, begins to play.
