I saw Amit looking for a clean table, I waved at him and gestured at the empty chair next to me.
He smiled and came over. He pulled up the chair while I concentrated on finishing my meal.
The dining hall was deserted at 9:30 in the night, very different from what it was between 8 to 9. This was usually when the cleaners, cook, cup bearers and helpers would sit for their dinner.
As he made himself comfortable, I hummed one of Kumar Sanu’s tunes.
“Do you have any of Kumar Sanu’s songs in your phone?” Amit asked as he separated chapati from the curry flowing on his plate.
“No, I don’t.” I replied with a morsel half way into my mouth.
“I hate anyone who doesn’t like Kumar Sanu,” Amit said, an innocent smile on his face.
“Not that I don’t like him. Just that I have limited storage in my phone and I am unable to download,” I gave my excuse.
“Oh, come on! You people are staff, you are joking. Cant you afford a better phone?” Amit was amused at the prospect of a person, let alone a staff member not having a smart phone with sufficient internal memory storage for having a decent song collection.
“I swear,” I said. “I do like him.”
“I am a big big fan of his,” Amit continued ignoring my lame excuses. “You know, every night I would jam my ear phones hard into my ears and fall asleep, listening to Kumar Sanu. When I am listening to him, I don’t want to hear anything else. On the last count, I had over three hundred of his songs in my phone in Hindi and Bengali.”
“And what about Kishore? You don’t like Kishore Kumar?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“Kali Maa may forgive me for I respect Kishore da, but I don’t like his songs. For me there is only one singer Kumar Sanu. He is like a godfather to me. Even though I have never met him I consider him to be my guru.”
“Amit, your food is getting cold. Eat while you talk,” I reclined on the chair as I took a sip of water.
His face started glowing as he carried on with the conversation. A simple act of intimacy had opened up the young lad.
“I hate people imitating others. If you have talent you have to express it, instead of copying somebody else,” Amit complained about newbies trying to copy the legendary voices. “Yet,” he continued, “I can’t sing in a voice other than Kumar Sanu. It’s not imitation. Are you getting my point? It’s just that I close my eyes and his is the voice that resonates.”
I listened to Amit’s fulsome praise for his favourite singer. “Back home I used to participate in singing competitions. Once I too had dreamt of becoming a singer. Believe it or not, I was quite a rage back in my village,” Amit reminisced.
“Well you are such a beautiful voice. Why don’t you start a YouTube channel?” I chipped in. “People would love to hear you.”
“I don’t like YouTube channels. It hurts to see people with very little knowledge of music making fun of you with their half witted comments.” Amit said thoughtfully and continued eating.
As I waited for him to finish I wondered if I could do something for him. To see such a talented boy getting drained of his passion in his prime years was heart wrenching.
Amit finished eating and I asked him whether he would be joining the practice session today at the camp boss’ office. He pointed at the pile of plates left on the dining tables that needed to be removed and said he would finish it in time to be there by 10.
“Should I wait for you here?” I asked.
“No, no, you go. Enjoy the other participants who would be doing their practice.” Amit told me to leave.
Having finished his work Amit appeared at the camp boss’ office. The organisers had selected quite a racy number for him. He took hold of the mike and what a grasp! It was like a true professional. Hasan Bhai had pointed this out when we saw him perform for the first time.
One night after dinner when Hasan Bhai and I were taking a walk along the camp’s periphery, we heard a faint sound of music and a drum beating. We traced the sound to the workers’ lawn where an ingenious arrangement had been made for true connoisseurs of music. Amit held the mike in his hand and was singing a song from the film Aashiqui.
After the fast number was over, I requested him to sing the same song, this time on a slower beat. Amit obliged, with a big smile on his face.
“Sanson ki zaroorat hai jaise
Sanson ki zaroorat hai jaise
Zindagi ke liye…”
Every sur (note) touched exactly the right chord. His voice was completely in sync with the background music, playing on the laptop in front of him. And the hold of the mike reminded me of an Enrique on world tour. For five minutes and fifty seven seconds the porta cabin was left spell bound by the ‘Mozart of Bengal.’ Once Amit stopped, the humble audience of five was brought back reality from the nostalgia of the song and the atmosphere created by his awe-inspiring performance.
Hasan Bhai, another talent in himself, was listening with his eyes closed and eyebrows knitted together like a master listening to his disciple. Once the song was over, he opened his eyes and like a true patron, gave an appreciating nod.
As another singer took to practice, we left silently. Amit’s voice remained with me for the rest of the week and I encouraged him whenever we exchanged a glance in the dining hall. Hasan Bhai and I would engage him in conversation revolving around music whenever we had time. I would always say that I respect artists, and every time, Hasan Bhai would concur.