The Guilt
After indulging in all the modern technology, I now find myself craving the old radio once again. I miss my village, my home, the veranda, and that radio on which we used to listen to music and cricket commentary.
When I visited an Arab country, I saw the same type of radio in a market, and my heart was immediately filled with nostalgia. It brought back memories of my childhood. I bought it right away and also downloaded the All India Radio app. I even downloaded a separate app for Rafi Sahib’s songs. Now, I link the radio via Bluetooth, and all I listen to are those old Indian songs. When the radio first arrived at our home years ago, it was considered the latest technology of its time. Then, technology advanced at an astonishing pace. Looking back, it’s hard to believe that we, the boys from the village, would secretly gather on weekends to watch movies on VCR—dodging not only the fear of our mothers but also the threat of a police raid.
In fact, I got a small beating from my elder brother at our mother’s insistence because I had sneaked out at night to watch a film. Angry on my mother’s command, my brother gave me a couple of hard slaps. However, feeling guilty afterward, he went out and bought a VCR the next day so that we could watch movies at home. I was the pampered child of the family, never scolded by anyone, which is why I refused to speak to him for days. It was only after he pleaded with me that I finally forgave him.
Now, sitting here with this radio, listening to Rafi Sahib’s songs, I am transported back to those days. I picture the clean courtyard of our village home, a pillow and a sheet on the cot, and myself listening to songs with the radio by my side.
Today, when my wife sees me listening to these songs and looks suspicious, I find myself at a loss to explain why I listen to so much music or what memories I am lost in. I ask myself, even if I were to tell her that Rafi, Lata, Mukesh, and Kishore’s songs had enchanted me since I was perhaps eight or ten years old, would she even believe it? So, to turn her doubts into acceptance, I simply smile, knowing that in childhood, there isn’t anyone in mind for whom sad songs are heard.
Some souls are simply born to listen to melancholic songs—perhaps they are what brings peace to the soul. But who can explain these things to anyone? Just look at this: does it make any sense that you wake up from sleep, turn on the radio, and find yourself ensnared by the magic of a Rafi Sahib song?
