I often sought music with a desperate resolve, willing to bury a slice of the humdrum and bask in the essence of a deep feeling. When monotony got too annoying I grabbed a pair headphones and slid them over my ears. The songs swirled within the borders of the headphone and I silently swayed in the realm of music. I once had a habit of listening to songs out loud. But that changed once I joined hostel.
I was scrolling through my playlist on the first day in my hostel room and tapped a button on the screen. My roommate was weird and didn’t even introduce herself or talk to me. But music had a way of bringing people together and forming connections. So I thought playing a song could lighten up the awkwardness that revolved within the room.
But when the song played she’d asked me to stop it.
“I’m sorry. But can you please use your headphones? You see I’m studying most of the time. It’s difficult for me to concentrate. And besides I hate music.”
I’d never known how to react to people who said they hated music. It was a different thing to hate some kind of music. But hating music in general was definitely strange.
But I wasn’t the one to argue with the weirdest short of people which is why I bought a pair of headphones. These were a new addition to my musical ventures and I was pleased. They were certainly a worthy gadget for music sounded much better with them.
All I ever wanted when I joined hostel was a friendly face, a companion that dug up all my worries. But Runa hardly smiled and talking was never in her cards. Songs were my only company when I was in my room.
But coming back to my room only to find the headphones gone on a chilling friday was bad news. I searched and rummaged through all the drawers and piles of clothes but surrendered to the fact that they were indeed missing.
A week later I saw them atop someone’s head who was moving towards the hostel with a slow pace. I was quite sure those were mine. Shiny silver and huge. I followed. Knowing the thief’s face would alert me to be cautious of the person and also confront her. But on the hostel corridors I lost the track of her. I walked in all directions but failed to locate the person.
Once inside my room, my eyes locked with an unusual scene. For a moment I thought I was dreaming. The girl who hated music or told me so, sat on the edge of her bed; her eyes closed and my headphones over her head. When she saw me she got up from the bed in a haste and mumbled.
I’m sorry Neha. I…”
“You don’t steal things from a roommate. When you want something you ask.”
“I didn’t steal them. I was about to return them to you.”
“How will I ever know that!” I snapped. I still wasn’t sure why I was not angry as much as I should have been.
“I think I should tell you something. It’s important and I feel like I can talk about it with you.”
“Go on I’m listening.”
There was a shade of struggle on her face. Like she was bottling up something inside and even though she wanted to let it out, it refused to come. But slowly her mouth formed words and then a few sentences. And then I understood almost everything.
Runa had been a victim of clinical depression. Which is why she acted the way she did. She had a hard time talking about it. I listened with care. People like her needed a good pair of ears and a sensible mind to understand what she was going through. And I felt like a clown for ever thinking that she was a robot. For the only picture that I could draw of her in the past was that of a strange person who never smiled. Yet she was just a sufferer in the hands of a illness. She showed me her medical reports and I learned that the episodes of depression started a year ago right after her sister died.
“It always feels like I’m locked in a dark tunnel that stretch for miles without an outlet. There’s emptiness suffocating my insides and I’m never sure what I’m doing. It’s like watching someone else do it. I don’t feel like moving my legs yet I have to. I don’t feel like sleeping but that’s what I do most of the time. I do stay with my books because I’m supposed to. But getting through the pages and gulping down the information is a slow struggle. It takes me hours to learn something.” She’d said.
“My sister and I always used to hear songs together and sing along to them. After her death I stopped listening to songs as well. I started hating them. I never thought music would return to me. Because it did.”
She looked towards me and said.
“A few days ago I was just lying in my bed when I spotted your headphones and the iPod. I’d an urge to try them out which was unusual. But once I did I felt better. Feeling better is a miracle. My doctor had asked me to do something which brought me peace. Something which I truly liked. But I wasn’t able to find a thing. Because all I wanted to do was sleep. But listening to your songs shifted something in me. A whole degree of freshness engulfed me. And I took to listening them for an hour or so. I was about to tell you this but every time I wanted to I felt a dread. Like you’d mock me for borrowing your headphones when I didn’t even talk to you. I know that was silly.”
A year ago I’d have never thought that a borrowed pair of headphones and a music playlist could alter someone’s life. Yet someone close to me had changed for the better. Life was decidedly more pleasant and a less dread to Runa. It had been a year since our little talk. She had undergone therapy, tried new things which ultimately helped her shed a few distraught feelings and heal herself. But music had been a start that gave her a chance to unlock her peace.
It’s surprising how music grazes the part of our souls which remains untouched by the outside luxuries. Even the dark veil that hides one’s bliss has to move away to form a path for the song that’s about to enter one’s heart. Music is a gift to frail hearts. For it knows how to mend them.
