I hear her voice reverberating through the walls as we enter the subway. Her range is amazing, honestly, and the tunes she voices go up and down, loud and soft. She is an opera singer and we can feel her talent sweeping through the area.
We go down by stairs to catch our train, but we have to acknowledge this wonderful lady, and so I go back up to make a 'donation'.
She meets my eyes, this soft, black-haired woman and murmurs a thank you before going back into her song.
I tell her that she's amazing and she thanks me again.
I think of what Ustaad Bismillah Khan had said - many have to sell something to earn money, they physically part with something to earn their bread and butter, but artists never do. They make money and still get to keep the thing that's earning them that money: their talent.
I might be making a donation, but this woman is giving me her voice and it's a very fair exchange.
***
One is silver and one is gold. One is long and one is shorter. But they're both trumpets. I think. My musical instrument knowledge is pathetic.
There's already some music and the trumpets merge right in.
In between the shuffling of the feet and the rattling of the tracks whenever the trains approach, are these trumpets and they provide the background music to our lives that make us feel like we're in a movie. It's 10 pm, the crowd is low and they play on.
There's no 'donation' box either.
And so I rock to the sound of 'A Kiss To Build A Dream On' which is also 'Kaisi Paheli' for me as our train blows to a stop.
I can hear the trumpets, even as we're moving.
***
I come out of the theater wanting to cry, but what else can you expect from an emotionally muddled teenager who's seen something awesome?
Because the world I was in for the last two and half hours was one of a kind.
There, enemies were friends and you could fall in love with anybody because different could be beautiful and beautiful could be different and some animals spoke and some of them sang but all of them could dance and important people had mixed up vocabulary and old men who liked balloons and everyone had funny names.
It was so absolutely different and mixed up and delicious.
Everyone sang in voices that would haunt you forever.
It was a feast for all the senses.
The only downside seemed to be the fact that you couldn't get a ballgown on demand. Also, a lot of people are obsessed with green, but that's OK.
And so I let the tears fall, and I figure they're the sad kind, but I laugh still, at what I've laughed at 334 times before in the past hour.
Because it's a place where the good and bad mix together to become absolutely wicked.
We go down by stairs to catch our train, but we have to acknowledge this wonderful lady, and so I go back up to make a 'donation'.
She meets my eyes, this soft, black-haired woman and murmurs a thank you before going back into her song.
I tell her that she's amazing and she thanks me again.
I think of what Ustaad Bismillah Khan had said - many have to sell something to earn money, they physically part with something to earn their bread and butter, but artists never do. They make money and still get to keep the thing that's earning them that money: their talent.
I might be making a donation, but this woman is giving me her voice and it's a very fair exchange.
***
One is silver and one is gold. One is long and one is shorter. But they're both trumpets. I think. My musical instrument knowledge is pathetic.
There's already some music and the trumpets merge right in.
In between the shuffling of the feet and the rattling of the tracks whenever the trains approach, are these trumpets and they provide the background music to our lives that make us feel like we're in a movie. It's 10 pm, the crowd is low and they play on.
There's no 'donation' box either.
And so I rock to the sound of 'A Kiss To Build A Dream On' which is also 'Kaisi Paheli' for me as our train blows to a stop.
I can hear the trumpets, even as we're moving.
***
I come out of the theater wanting to cry, but what else can you expect from an emotionally muddled teenager who's seen something awesome?
Because the world I was in for the last two and half hours was one of a kind.
There, enemies were friends and you could fall in love with anybody because different could be beautiful and beautiful could be different and some animals spoke and some of them sang but all of them could dance and important people had mixed up vocabulary and old men who liked balloons and everyone had funny names.
It was so absolutely different and mixed up and delicious.
Everyone sang in voices that would haunt you forever.
It was a feast for all the senses.
The only downside seemed to be the fact that you couldn't get a ballgown on demand. Also, a lot of people are obsessed with green, but that's OK.
And so I let the tears fall, and I figure they're the sad kind, but I laugh still, at what I've laughed at 334 times before in the past hour.
Because it's a place where the good and bad mix together to become absolutely wicked.
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