Arijit & Atif

It’s raining outside and I feel a longing to be out in the open. I wait for the rain to reduce to a drizzle and take the car out - there’s always chai on my mind during such weather. I pick a friend up and it’s all cool breeze and excited smiles. Pleasant weather is so rare in Calcutta that we simply must take advantage of it. I see a tiny bird fly across the street. I find it slightly strange that I notice this - for some reason birds have never interested me. 

The raindrops on the windshield form a beautiful filter to see the world through. The streets are deserted and grim, but for a while, it seems like the rain has painted them with a fresh coat of calmness. Calcutta, as dirty as it may be in places, its streets heaving with the weight of its population, is also an aesthete’s city. The ubiquitous yellow taxis, parked along the side of the streets, are a cheerful contrast to the grey skies and streets. 

My friend and I are committed to make the most of this drive. We shuffle between A.R. Rahman and Atif Aslam and somehow, cheesily, land on Arijit Singh. Every broken heart knows what these songs can do - they somehow evoke an imagery of people who’ve left us and their memories. I am immediately reminded of why I must stay indoors during such weather. Memories are not great for a recently divorced person. Memories have the power to deliver a punch to my gut that makes me stop the car. 

I have been told repeatedly that this will all be tough, that I will need time to heal. Funnily enough, I do not have memories of too many good times - a testament to the kind of marriage we had. Sometimes I remember his jokes, sometimes his hugs and sometimes, just his face. But listening to these songs brings back images of him singing along when drunk.

I’ve never quite seen anyone sing the way he does when drunk. It always felt to me like he was a tightly wound spring that had unsprung. He let go of it all - his need to sing perfectly, his need to look immaculate, his tears and his inhibitions. I would look at him and all I could think of was one word - dard.  And that is the memory that keeps haunting me each time I hear these songs.

I’ve taught myself over time to breathe and try to let go. To let these memories distract me for a few seconds and then return to the present. I squeeze my eyes shut to block out images of my heart being ripped out. I try to think about the person next to me - someone who uplifts me and brings me joy. But today, it hits me hard. I resent him even for these memories. He has no right to continue to make me miserable. 

Yet, loss is a potent drug. It fools you and hounds you. For over a decade, he created a space so big in my life that now nothing fits exactly. I’m afraid that nothing ever will. 

I shake myself back to reality and change the song. I like songs that don’t make me feel much. Sometimes, I’ve realized, it’s okay to tune into the frequency of feelings you’re prepared for. Today is not the day for Arijit Singh.