Don't Stop Believing

“Pyaar betee,” my mother said, sliding golden, jewelled bangles onto my wrists. She placed a ruby band on my head, its precious jewel sparkling above my eyes. 

“Bahut khoobasoorat,” my mother said dabbing her eyes. Looking in the mirror, I didn't feel beautiful like she said I was. I was wearing a red and gold lengha, covered with crystals and sequins. I didn't want to get married. Not now, not ever. My stomach churned.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the dress fitting came to an end . We headed home, back to the safety of my songbook I was working on and my guitar. I was desperate to share my music with the world. My parents' plans for an arranged marriage didn't fit with my dream and, although I felt guilty for letting my parents down, I knew I had to get away. Fast.

**********

“Nazreen Raavi...what have you done to your hair?” said my father, with his arms up in the air.

I tugged at my silk scarf to cover my head and looked at the carpet. I hadn't realised he'd be working from home today. Usually he'd be at Tikka Tea headquarters - his thriving business.

“Nothing daddy ji,” I said, tracing the puke-inducing pattern of the carpet with my toe.

“It's... short,” he said, squinting his eyes so that his eyebrows joined as one.

“What's all this commotion?” my mother said, coming out to the hallway, cup and saucer in hand.

I rolled my eyes and revealed my new hair style. The long black hair I'd had was now shoulder length, dyed golden, with dark-brown streaks running through it. I'd had it done this morning, as part of my escape plan.

“Nazreen Raavi...What have you done to your hair?” my mother gasped, almost dropping the tea, my father looking at her, scowling.

I looked at them both, trying to hold back the bubbling laughter inside of me. They looked bewildered, as if  I'd committed murder!

It spurned me on to wind them up even more, as taught to me by my four older brothers who'd all gone to university – one in New Delhi, one in Los Angeles, one in London. The other was in China, pretending to do a research project - that was meant to feed into and benefit  my father's business - but he was actually living it up, being reckless with the money my father sent him each month.

But before I had chance to provoke them more for a a laugh, my cousin – or should I say  'partner-in-crime,' announced his arrival:

“Hello chaachee aur chaacha!” chanted Amjit, flouncing through the front door, blowing random kisses at his terrified aunt and uncle!

“Oh! Naz, I love the hair!” Amjit ran his fingers through my hair. “Doesn't she look good, eh, chaacha? You'll have to keep an eye on this one. She'll break many hearts!” Amjit lovingly put his arm around me, his wide smile showing off pearly white teeth.

My father tooted, throwing his hands up in the air, returning to his office. My mother copied his actions following him with his tea but sipping it herself.  Amjit blew them a kiss as he checked his pony-tailed hair in the hallway mirror.

“Naz, I have it all sorted for you,” he said.

“Amjit, keep your voice down,” I said, slapping his arm, “they're gonna hear you. So?”

“Well,” Amjit grabbed my hands, huge smile, “I've arranged for you to stay with my friends in Calcutta. They've good connections with Abdul Laska - a record producer. He liked your sample CD and he's interested in hearing more. He wants to meet with you. I haven't told him your name because you still haven't decided what fame name you're gonna use.”

I put my hand on my chest and the other on my mouth, trying to breathe, slow.

“Amjit, that's amazing, aww my god. Amjit I love you!” I wrapped my arms around him.

 “No you don't,” my mother shook her finger at me as she came out of my father's office.

“Over my dead body,” added my father also shaking his finger at me, “you will love the man myself and your mother have chosen for you. And one that doesn't act like a girl.” My father glared pointedly at Amjit, who just fluttered his eyelashes at him, as they left for their afternoon walk.

I turned to face Amjit.

“So? What's the plan?”

**********

Holding my reservation slip in my shaking hand, I headed towards the female queue at the train station. This was the start of my new life. Getting the midnight train, was scary, but not as scary as what would happen once my parents discovered the cushions under my bed covers.

It was worth the risk though and I knew that once I hit Calcutta, I would be celebrating with my new friends, my new career and my new life. I couldn't wait for the party to start!

Managing to find my seat on the heavily crowded train, I began to relax. This was it. I never stopped believing in my musical ambitions and I was determined to make it work. I hugged myself, smiling as I gazed at the bright stars standing out in the pitch black through the speeding train's window. It was like watching myself on stage. One day I'd be the shining star...

 Through the window's reflections, someone caught my eye. He was a seat away from me with a guitar hung from his neck. A musical manuscript lay on his lap and he was gazing into nowhere with a pencil hanging from his mouth. He started to strum a tune on his guitar, almost silent as many passengers were asleep. As he played his haunting melody, he closed his eyes.  I took out my notebook, flicking through to find a song I'd written -  Celebrate Goodbye. I'd been trying different notes, but none of them seemed to fit my song-words. This stranger's composition was perfect.

I whispered the words of my song to his tune. Under my breath, I sang.

Let's celebrate goodbye,
No tears, need we cry,
We were good together,
We will last forever.
But for now,
We will celebrate
Goodbye...

Becoming so absorbed in the magic of his music and my words, I didn't realise I was now singing aloud. Passengers were awakening and the stranger was now standing beside me whilst I was singing.

The song came to an end and everyone applauded. Putting my hand to my mouth I felt shame, embarrassment and excitement all at the same time. Sleepy passengers had enjoyed my song! The stranger looked impressed too.

“Where did you learn to sing like that?” he asked as he squeezed in next to me.

“I don't know. It...it just comes out.”

“Wow! I've never heard a voice like it. But to hear one now – with my own composition – it's amazing! I am so honoured!” The stranger took my hand and shook it.

“Well, I'm glad to have sung to such a great accompaniment!” I said, taking in his features. Dark, spiky hair, big, blue eyes with the longest lashes I'd ever seen. His hands had calloused fingers, but at the same time were soft and...loving.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“Abdul. Abdul Laska,” he said.

“Oh!” was all I could say, rubbing my damp palms up and down my jeans, trying to stop my fingers shaking.

“I was destined for the place we just left. I arrived early this morning, but waited all day for the train back. I was supposed to be meeting my future wife and her parents tomorrow morning, but I turned back. It just didn't feel the right thing to do, agree to marriage, so soon.”

He looked at the floor then back at me, shaking his head. “I had to cancel the meeting and head back anyway for business reasons. My friend Amjit is sending a singer over to meet me. She's amazing, apparently. She could even been on this train right now!”

“What's her name?”

“Do you know what? I don't actually know – Amjit never told me funnily enough!” He paused. “But I do know the name of the woman I'm meant to be marrying: Nazreen Raavi.”

My hands came to a halt. I turned to look at him as he drew swirls on his notation pad.

“She sounds like a really nice girl, but I'm not sure if she'd cope with my lifestyle. I'm a record producer, I enjoy travelling and I haven't finished seeing the world yet.”

The train stopped.

“Anyway, enough about me. What's your name and why are you on this train alone?”

“I'm here because I want to sing, see the world. My name is Naz...Nazreen Raavi.”

**********

“Pyaar betee,” my mother said, sliding golden, jewelled bangles onto my wrists.  As she placed a ruby headband on my head, I felt like a shining star.

“Bahut khoobasoorat,” my mother said, dabbing her eyes. She was right. I did feel beautiful.  I was adorned in a red and gold lengha, covered with crystals and sequins. And I was excited about my special day today. I was marrying Abdul, the man I'd fallen in love with. We were going to travel the world together, share and celebrate our music together, and I couldn't wait for it all to start - I was going to enjoy married life!

“The plan worked eh chaachee aur chaacha!'” I heard Amjit say to my mother and father, as my husband and I prepared to leave for our adventure.

I turned round to see Amjit between my parents, arms around each other, giggling as if they'd just had naughty Indian sweet treats. They'd believed in me all this time, having trust and faith that I'd find my way to fulfil my dreams and be happy, with blessings....engineering between them, added!