If I get a chance

The year is 1995 and the day is Tuesday. I’m at school right now waiting for the bell to ring, waiting for this period to get over. The good thing is we can now wear a watch, so I can look at the watch and know exactly how much long I will need to listen to my math’s teacher.

It is 12:30; I can hear the bell ring. We all get up and thank the teacher. We take out our song books and head towards the singing room. I really love singing period. I’ll give you three reasons for that. Number one, it gives me a break from the regular and (some not all) boring subjects. Number two, I get to see the piano. Number three, I just love my piano/singing teacher. She is beautiful, graceful and elegant. Her name is Zareen. She is tall and fair. But this is not why I love her. I love her because she is the only one authorized to touch and open the piano. I just love when her fingers touch the soft keyboard of the piano. It is just going to be music and magic for next thirty minutes and I’m going to be a part of it. I always take the first row as this helps me to see the black and white keys being pressed to form musical notes. I haven’t learnt playing it but I would certainly love to know how to play it. At home I don’t have any musical instrument other than a banjo, which my uncle plays so I’ve been told. The only time when the banjo goes touring is during Christmas (when youngsters will be a part of the choir group including the banjo).

As the music is paying and everyone is singing I keep thinking how can I have this prized possession. Yes, it sure is a prized possession why otherwise will the principal keep it locked. I envy the lock and the key that guards me from touching and playing the piano. But the principal doesn’t know there have been times when the teacher left the door unlocked and we just ran to the piano like magnets. We all gaze at it and have the same exact thought (of playing) and just when we are giggling in agreement we hear someone coming. We run away.

Sometimes I think what if I sing well and the teacher asks me or teaches me to play the piano. Why not, after all when in class giving the right answer means getting the opportunity to write on the board then why not play the piano. Come to think about it, it is not the activity of writing on the board or erasing it or being the leader of the class (even for five ten minutes), it is the chance of acting like a teacher or a grown up (why blame me after all I’m just thirteen now). And maybe that’s why I want to get a chance to play the piano. And when I get the chance I will act like those actresses who play the piano with elegance, style and dedication (who knows if the teacher learnt from them). I will let my fingers flow on the keyboard. I will let my fingers follow the music. I will let music fill the room like the sweet smell of a rose. I’ll let music take over air so that everyone (along with the walls, flies and curtains) breaths music for a while.

I will do that if I get a chance to play the piano. I hear the bell ring again as the clock strikes 1 and the singing class comes to an end. I get up and take a last look at the prized possession (which is not mine) of my school. I have an idea. I now know exactly what I’ll be asking my parents for my birthday.

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