'Vocalist of the year competition'
Shreya hastily walked up and down the garden singing her lines over and over again. No amount of practice seemed to suffice. Rahman was the judge, and this was going to be the scariest, yet the loveliest challenge.
"Contestant number 73: Shreya" the host announced, and all her friends hooted and cheered her way to the stage. Thus began the performance.
She cleared her throat, stole a quick glance of her favourite music director, shut her eyes, and began with the first song. The song transported her to her childhood days, when this very same song would play on the radio first thing in the morning. Skillfully, she dived into the next song, upbeat in nature, which she and her brother would shout-sing sitting on their Tilak Street terrace. Eyes still shut, she could hear the crowd clap in beat with her. In a smooth transition, began the next track. The track that made her fall in love with the blue eyed boy in her college. Who also reciprocated her love. Till date. This song was composed for them. She opened her eyes strategically and made a 6 second eye contact with him. He smiled at her encouragingly. She then glided into her final song, one that she had looped over a million times, leaving her parents begging her to use the stop button.
She got off the stage, gleaming. All that mattered was that she sang to perfection, for what she had sung today was not just a medley of Rahman songs, but also a maslin of her life memories.
Shreya hastily walked up and down the garden singing her lines over and over again. No amount of practice seemed to suffice. Rahman was the judge, and this was going to be the scariest, yet the loveliest challenge.
"Contestant number 73: Shreya" the host announced, and all her friends hooted and cheered her way to the stage. Thus began the performance.
She cleared her throat, stole a quick glance of her favourite music director, shut her eyes, and began with the first song. The song transported her to her childhood days, when this very same song would play on the radio first thing in the morning. Skillfully, she dived into the next song, upbeat in nature, which she and her brother would shout-sing sitting on their Tilak Street terrace. Eyes still shut, she could hear the crowd clap in beat with her. In a smooth transition, began the next track. The track that made her fall in love with the blue eyed boy in her college. Who also reciprocated her love. Till date. This song was composed for them. She opened her eyes strategically and made a 6 second eye contact with him. He smiled at her encouragingly. She then glided into her final song, one that she had looped over a million times, leaving her parents begging her to use the stop button.
She got off the stage, gleaming. All that mattered was that she sang to perfection, for what she had sung today was not just a medley of Rahman songs, but also a maslin of her life memories.
