Radio

I sat at the bus stop waiting for the bus. I wasn't expecting it very soon, though. I made myself comfortable on the bench, just as a familiar dog did under it.
The shopkeeper of the grocery store turned on the radio. What flowed out was a beautiful rendition in BehAg. Almost instantly, the singer's face flashed before me - not extraordinarily beautiful, but radiant as that of a saint. The large kumkum and long nose stood out. Her mellifluous voice resonated. It was strong, yet mellow. It could drown you in sober reflection with its melancholy or elevate you with its ecstatic ascent. The notes leapt and fell effortlessly and with the same ease, lingered on or floated at other times.
Were these also the same compressions and rarefactions that my teacher just spoke of...I wondered. These notes are so unearthly, so out-of-this-universe, that they hardly seem like sounds anymore!
I could picture the singer close her eyes as the notes ascended, descended and in their capriciousness, crafted intricacies.She would occasionally open them as though waking from a pleasant dream and emphasise the same intricacies with variations.
The rAga encompassed motherly affection, the fondness of a lover, pure love and pure beauty. It overwhelmed me with its versatility. It had layers of bitter-sweet longing and the joy of watching a naughty child.
The notes danced blissfully and filled the air, spread their wings and touched the skies.They were hushed, momentarily by the jangle of the rickety bus. But, I wasn't the one board it- not even if I had to walk home.The notes steered through the dust and smoke and once again leapt, fell, lingered, hovered and floated.
The shopkeeper and the dog, both looked at me-surprised! I smiled to myself not bothering to give them an explanation.There I was again - possessed by the music.