Anup Joshi
When
My Words Got Voice
1
As
I stepped my right foot on the black-tarred road from the public bus, I felt
jolly. The sun had just set down and the sky was bidding it farewell with the
garlands of clouds. All red. I proclaimed, sunset is the best part of the day. I
crossed the road carefully following the recently painted zebra-cross and
paused. I gave a moment to inspect the newly build four-lane road segregated by
an array of beautiful flowers. Everything looked grand. April was not a
cruelest month anymore. I welcomed the cold-breeze to embrace my heart. It was
the first time I had traveled through the Maitighar-Baneshwor road (probably
the best road of the country at that time) after its completion.
I
felt a big relief when Nepal Art Gallery came into view as directed by my
phone-guide Anand Rai. I passed through its gate and chased the mud-laden road looking
for the sign of “Prism Digital Studio” on both sides. Restaurants, grocery
stores, a tailor, a school but no sign of the studio. As the narrow road split
into two, I became completely perplexed which side to follow. Then, I called my
guide and saw the green colored board of one Finance Company on the farther
side of the road that went left, as dictated by the voice. When I reached
there, my eyes could not find any board of Prism Studio as promised. So, I had
to call him again. “Turn around, I am waving at you, Geetkar”, loud
music was audible in the background as he spoke. Unable to find him, I became
nervous and felt foolish. Only after circling thrice, I could see two guys
screaming at me from the veranda of fourth floor of a house, beyond three
one-storied buildings from the road.
The
studio was on the last two flats of the yellow building. As I climbed upstairs,
first two floors looked like rental-house as there were clothes left to be dry
on the veranda and there was no board on the entrance of the flat to indicate
it was an office.
2
When
the queer, long digit caller ID made my phone ring, I was fumbling on the bed
fantasizing myself as a wizard. With my first three wishes granted by God, my
teeth were straight, my body was muscular and pimples wiped away from my face.
Then He took me to another world for a night. In the universe I was taken, one
day on earth was equivalent to six years. So, by leaving earth for a night, I
could spend three years there. During my stay there, He introduced me with the
best violinist, best sorcerer and best physicist of His universe. My masters
taught me incredible things and when I wake up in the morning, I was going to
acquire the knowledge of the world that no one has yet deciphered on earth. By
writing a science fiction novel exhibiting my strange adventures and the wisdom
earned, I was destined to be the successful international writer and the most
powerful man on earth.
In
Biratnagar, mosquitos horrify with their cacophonic buzz even during the
shivering cold of February, so I had tightened the net around my bed and was
pampered inside warm blanket. It was quarter to ten and we already had our dinner.
A dim bulb, powered by a small range inverter was glowing in the adjoining room,
differentiated by a curtained door.
Lying
against the bed, covered by a big blanket, Bhinaju was scribbling something in
his copy, a big bulky book in front of him. A Physics lecturer in Mahendra
Moranag Campus, he was preparing for his class the following day. Beside him,
my four years old niece, Nona was wildly playing her baba’s Nokia phone. Anita
Didi was already asleep on the far end of the bed.
I
had developed this habit of fantasizing since I was eight. At that time, a
third-grade student, I used to live with my Kanchhi Didi at Bhotewodar, in a
rental room. It was a three-storied cement-plastered extravagant building and
we lived in a room at the top floor. A Gurung women was a tenant on the ground
floor with her three daughters, Seema, Bina, China, and a son Thaku who
was the youngest of all. They were all my friend, with whom I used to play.
Every evening, we used to watch a fantasy-adventure series ‘Son Pari’ in the 21-inch
big Panasonic color TV they possessed. Fruity, the child character had wizards
Sona Aunty and Altu Uncle as her mentor. They would perform miracle in a swing
of a wand and wipe any problem of Fruity away. I was so addicted to this series
that I started to fantasize that one day I will also acquire a magical wand and
will be able to make happen anything I aspire. Every time, when I was idle, I
used to lie alone and imagine series of adventure stories with myself as a
protagonist. Decade has passed, and this habit still clings with me.
“Bhai,
I am Umesh Dai”, the voice proclaimed. Curiosity hit me. It had been months
since we had last chatted. Umesh Dai was a musician living in Germany and was
in preparation for his new album. He had heard about me from Ashok Dai and
instantly sent me a friend request on Facebook.
“Bhai,
I was busy last few months with the new business I have started. But the
wonderful news for you is that finally your lyrics are going to be recorded. I
have talked with Shiva Pariyar and he’s agreed to sing your song Timro Pyaar.
Music track is also already made. He has roughly sung it, do you wanna hear?”
I
was amazed to hear the news. Shiva Pariyar will sing my song? The top male
singer of the time whose songs are my sleeping friends. How can this be real?
Is it a part of my fantasy daydream where anything is possible in a swing of my
magic wand?
I
could not grasp so much of the song playing on my phone, but I recognized it
really was the voice of Shiva Pariyar, the Shiva Pariyar who is the
singer of my most beloved songs Alikati najar timro, Kaha thiyau, and Fewa
Tal maa Saili. I was so much happy at that moment.
“I
am arranging vacation for Kathmandu soon and after I arrive, I will release the
music album shortly. I am searching singers for your other songs too. Despite
your young age, your words are wonderful Bhai. I will also pay the usual rate
for your lyrics so that it will encourage you to write in future”.
I
was speechless.
3
Nine
months earlier, I was stuck with my final examination of class 11. My results
were dwindling in every internal exams and Anita Didi was furious. She would
yell “What on earth are you going to do with such lousy marks, eh? All you do
is play with your mobile and write poems. It will destroy you”.
I
was studying Science at the Arniko College where my Bhinaju taught. With 85% in
SLC, I had received warm welcome in college along with heavy discount in
tuition fees in request of Bhinaju. But my performance was growing worse and
was nowhere near satisfactory. Anjesh Kafle, son of his colleague who taught
mathematics was continuously coming top among hundreds. But my name was
descending from the rows of result lists. I know Bhinaju was upset with me. But
he did not tell me anything directly. For he was striving with his own
problems.
It
was the exam of Physics the next morning and in the evening, I was trying hard
to memorize all the theory part sitting on my bed, which lay at one side of the
Kitchen. I was good with the derivation part, but numerical were the tough part
for me. Out of 75 marks, 25 marks would be numerical and I was determined to
skip them.
Anita
Didi was cooking Brinjal curry on a frying pan. On the other side of the gas
stove, daal was whistling in pressure cooker. Due to load-shedding, fan
could not run and the room was overwhelmingly hot. Heat emission form the
cooking was making it worse. I was reading aloud with the help of dim
inverter-bulb wearing a sando and pajama, sweating. Nona was outside on the
veranda, playing with neighboring kids. Bhinaju was also outdoor sitting on the
bench escaping from the unbearable heat inside.
As
she finished cooking, Anita Didi also went outside to feel the cool air. Alone,
I logged into my Facebook via my Nokia Java phone which supported GPRS. There
was a message from Ashok Dai:
Anup
Bhai, I have been loving your writing enthusiasm since I came to know you
through Facebook. Your poems like Urusa ma Hitler Bandaichhu have
influenced me a lot. Energetic, rebellion, I find my younger self in you. When
I was of your age, I was like you. But I could not heave my writing career, due
to many hardships. But I want you to pursue your dream. Here in Germany, I have
come across a musician Umesh Subba, who is working with few of my songs. I have
talked about you with him and he is interested to see your lyrics. Can you try
writing some? He is planning for an album and if he likes it, he will record
your songs.
Ashok
Dai was a wonderful person and he has always encouraged me. One of his music
video sung by Satyaraj Acharya was recently launched and won award. A wave of
excitement flowed across me. My song to be composed by a musician? Can that
really happen?
Later
that night, after dinner, I shared my feelings with Shrudina.
Before
August 27th, when I turned sixteen, I already had penned my first
two songs which were to be recorded after one and half year due to several
obstructions.
4
I
took off my sport shoes at the entrance door of third floor and put it on the
rack where other shoes were kept. As I crossed the channel gate on shocks, I
saw a medium height man wearing a black suit in the ladder signaling me to come
upstairs. He was already climbing up before I could greet.
In
the door of the room that came first on fourth floor, “Recording Studio” was
written. The man pushed the door in hurry and I followed him.
Inside,
two persons were sitting in chairs controlling the recording machine. I
instantly knew by the long curly hair, one was Umesh Subba Dai. He was a
seven-foot-tall man who looked like an European and wore a blue color t-shirt
and a fancy jeans pant. I later knew another person to be Shyamswet Rasaili,
who was the popular mixer of the time.
I greeted them Namaste as
soon I entered into the room. Floor of the room was covered with red carpet.
“Bhai, your song is being recorded. I wish you’d have come earlier”, Umesh Dai
told me. I smiled back.
“You
are so young. Yet your song is so new and beautiful”, I knew by voice the man
speaking to me was Anand Rai. He had called me to inform about Umesh Dai’s
arrival the previous day. Anand and Umesh Dai were relatives. Anand’s brother
had married Umesh’s sister. Anand Rai was a renowned musician of the country.
He also joined them by taking a chair. Behind them, there was a bench, I got
seated there.
There
was an inner room separated by glass window. A person was singing song, but I did not know
him. But I knew by the words that it was mine. Harera lagyeu man aaja,
najikai bhayeu jhan aaja…
Shyamswet
Rasaili was recording the audio in a computer. On the screen, I could see the
sound waves flowing. Anand Rai was continuously insisting the singer to sing as
directed. The singer was made to sing the same line time and again until the
composer was satisfied. Umesh Dai was making the singer remember the tune of
the song continuously.
In
few minutes, the singer came to us from his recording chamber. Anand Dai
introduced me with him as a lyricist of the song. He smiled at him, I too
smiled back. He was Bishwa Nepali, whose name I had never heard before. At that
time, I was disappointed that a new guy was given to sing my song. But next few
years Bishwa earned his position in Nepali music industry and became a popular
modern singer.
5
My
mother has ocean of stories. I concluded after I had heard
hundreds of stories from her. She was a mother who fed her children in their
mouth, a wife who did everything her husband asked for. She worked all day long
and never stayed idle for a second. Whenever I denied to eat, she would stir
the lousy food with a story and it would become the tastiest food on earth.
She
used to tell me the stories of birds, animals, kings, prince, princesses, of
giants and ghosts. I used to love them all. They were filled with curiosity and
suspense. She would instantly create a story by herself without any
brainstorming.
Inspired
from her, I would gather my friends after school, and tell the stories I heard
from my mother. Sometimes, I would mix many stories and make one. I had
determined that after I grow old, I will also have oceans of stories and be a
story teller like Aama.
I
am the sixth child of my parents, the most awaited son after five consecutives
daughters. My third sister born after Ambika Didi and Anita Didi died of
unknown disease when she was three. My eldest sister Ambika is 16 years older
than me and youngest Kanchhi is 8 years older. I got raised up pampered by the
love of four sisters. I got many things which they could never get. For my
mother, I am her Messiah, the chosen one who saved her family. Rumors were that
my father was going for second marriage, hadn’t I cared to burst from her womb.
I
spent my childhood at the backdrop of Maoist arm based revolution. A primary
boarding school was recently open in Tilahar, the capital of our VDC which lay
an hour uphill from my village Ramchowk. The most awaited son of a social man,
every student who studied in government secondary school in Tilahar from our
village was eager to carry me when I went to school. I never had to suffer one
hour walk when I was tiny person.
After
I studied nursery and UKG, the boarding was hacked by Maoist. The next two
years, I studied grade 2 and 3 in the primary government school near my home,
then I joined a boarding school founded in Tilahar again. Maoist bombed it down
in three months and Buwa sent me with Kanchhi Didi to Bhotewodar where she was
studying plus two commerce.
When
I was studying in class three, my father bought Muna Madan for me and
read aloud all the lines from it. I was so much touched by the suffering of
Madan that I memorized couples of lines from it. Those line stood with me
forever in my life.
In
Bhotewodar, I felt homesick. Kanchhi Didi’s classes were on morning and she
would leave early at 5, already making lunch ready. The whole morning, I would
be alone. I would descend downstairs and play with the other kids in the house.
We would play police-thief and I would carry a wooden gun and chase the enemy.
At that time, we were so much fascinated by wrestling. We would also think
ourselves as wrestlers and fight each other imitating what we see on TV. Around
8 am, I would eat the food already prepared, lock the room and leave for school,
which was 10 minutes away from my place.
I
had joined class 3 in the middle of the year(after Tihar), so I had very
difficulties adjusting there. The course was already in the verge of
completion. Teachers were so cruel that they would roam around carrying a long
pipe-stick, which wouldn’t hesitate to strike the soft hand of small kids even
at the small mistakes. You would have to memorize everything on the book and if
you forget one, pipes would slam on your palms. There was no skipping to it.
Finally,
I found a way to be saved from the atrocities of my teachers. From then on, I
would usually be sick. Sometimes headache, sometime stomachache, I would resist
going school for the whole year and the next one. “I won’t go to school. I am
not feeling well” I would proclaim. Kanchhi Didi aware of my pretension, would
drag me to the school anyway. I would fight with her, curse her. Crying alone,
I would sing songs expressing my suffering. The words would be mine.
Happiness
would come on Friday when we go home, stay for a night and return the next day.
I would buy so many marbles to take home. I will play with my friends Amrit,
Sushil, Sujan, Kale, Gauli and all. I will give them a drop from my oceans of
stories. Everyone would follow me, everyone would envy me.
6
Crickets
were expressing their grief in multitude followed by the cacophony of frogs.
After six hours continuous load shedding, electricity had just arrived. The
spinning fan gave some relief from the unbearable heat inside. I was sitting on
my bed, supporting my backbone with pillow and was browsing internet from my
mobile. Books were scattered on rest part of the bed. In the adjoining room, Anita
Didi was pleading Bhinaju to take the mind-comforting medicine which he was
refusing.
“Did
you finished reading all?” Shurdina texted me on Facebook chat. “Chapter on
electricity and magnetism could not go inside my head. I don’t know what will
happen to my exam tomorrow”, I replied.
My
eyes had found Shrudina for the first time in the orientation class. I was on
the third bench of the left row and she was on the fourth bench of the middle
row of the class. Once I saw her, my eyes were continuously following her. Less
than five feet, she was shorter than me. She had round face like mine, her eyes
were bigger and beautiful, hair long enough to reach the bench she was sitting.
She was the most beautiful Newari Girl I had ever seen. I was observing
everything she was doing. The way she took out her copy from her bag, the way
she scribbled something in her copy, everything was so soothing to me. When she
laughed at the silly joke of the instructor, I was smiling at her.
Soon
we became good friends and would exchange notes with each other. When I
proposed her in the second week we started to chat on Facebook, she thought I
was flirting and did not treat it seriously.
That
night when I told her musicians are asking me to write songs, “Really? then
write a song about me” she suggested. During the course of months, we had
become so intimate that I had written couple of love poems and letters
addressing her. She had always appreciated what I wrote and motivated me to
write more.
Before
going to sleep, I wrote a song thinking about her, describing how she has
succeeded in occupying space in my heart and when I shared it with her, she was
so much happy and gave kisses.
When
I sent that lyrics the next day after I returned from exam to Umesh Dai in his
inbox, he said he liked the song. It was my first song which Bishwa Nepali sang
after a year.
7
Shiva
Pariyar arrived at studio as soon as the recording of Harera Lagyeu was
done. He had long hair and his lips were exceptionally broader. Average height,
slim body, he really looked like a celebrity in the leather jacket and jeans he
was wearing.
Anand
Dai introduced me with him as a lyricist of the song Timro pyaar. In
response, he said “Bhai the song is very literary. It’s hard to believe that
you wrote it at such an early age.” His voice was very humble and lovely.
Umesh
Subba was preparing two albums. One was a solo album Tadha ko sathi with
Shiva Pariyar, which would be the ninth solo album for the singer. It would
consist of six songs, among them one was penned by me. In another collaborative
album called Ranga, four songs will be under Umesh Dai composition and
rest four under Anand Dai composition. My song Harera Lagyeu would be
collected under this second album.
It was around seven thirty and from the window of the
room, I could see the lights glowing in the houses of Kathmandu. Shiva Pariyar
went inside the recording chamber, whose wall was decorated with silencer. With
directions of Umesh Dai, he gave voice to the title song of the album Tadha
Ko Sathi which was penned by Ashok dai. The song was fast and melodious. It
expressed the jolly feeling of two friends who meet after a long time crossing
the barriers on the way.
Umesh
Dai informed me that my song by Shiva Pariyar was scheduled to be recorded the
following day. They had already recorded the song few days ago, but still it
asked for a final recording.
When we got out of the yellow building, it was quarter to
nine. The fresh air blowing outside thrilled me. The weird experiences of the
day would be crafted on my minded forever. Umesh Dai went with Anand Dai on his
bike. Shiva Pariyar proposed me to drop my place as it was already night and I
would not get any public vehicle. Though he lived around Ghattekulo, on his
Pulsar bike, he drove past his place and dropped me near Ratopul. Walking five
minutes from there I reached my room.
That night, I was so happy. Something I had never
imagined in my life had happened. My song was to be released soon. After the
release of the Album from Amber Gurung, the legendary singer and musician of
Nepali music industry in May 1st 2013, my song hit Nepalese media
and did good. It stayed top in the hit list of Image and Kantipur FM. Radios
throughout the country played it with priority.
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