The 4:30 P.M. depression

Going out of town for almost a week. Won't be posting then, mostly. I don't have the heart to leave the blog "un-updated" for a week. So here's a filler post of a story written quite a while back.


Aakanksha sat brooding in a corner. She glanced at her watch. 4:30 P.M. Another hour left.
She fished out her music book and searched for the song taught last weekend. Ah! There it was.
She looked around to make sure no one was watching. She quietly shut the door. She marked the page on the book and flung it across the room.
There! Her anger lessened a little. She silently opened the door and again made sure no one was watching.
She took the book and went to the balcony. She peeped out. All her friends were down there, playing. One looked up and saw her.
“Anku! Coming down to play?” she asked.
Anku shook her had.
“I have music class.”
“Oh!! Ok, bye..”
Aakanksha sighed. She quietly pulled a chair to a corner of the balcony and sat there, barely being visible in between the many clothes hung there to dry.
She tried to remember the tune of the song.
“Samthajhanulla Kella….”
She tried repeating the words over and over in her mind. They rang no bell. She even began doubting if she had actually learnt this song.
Oh yes, the date said it all. She had learnt the song last Sunday.
Damn it.
She so fervently wished she could skip the class at 5:30. This 11-year-old girl could never contain herself when she thought of her music class. No bad words were left out if she wanted to describe her music teacher.
Aakanksha had started learning music as a 5-year-old. Though she was very passionate earlier, this music teacher from whom she had started learning three years ago had literally pulled down to abysmal levels her interest in classical music. As an 8 year old, she would throw tantrums as every weekend approached, weekends being the only two days of classes. (Whew! That was a relief, but Aakanksha didn’t want classes anytime!). But as she grew up, she realised such tantrums wouldn’t work and almost resigned herself to the fate of attending music classes every weekend.
“Samthajhanulla Kella….”
“Samthajhanulla Kella….”
Ah! Finally she remembered the tune. She quietly hummed the tune to herself, or rather, in her mind.
She looked at her watch.
Oh god, it was 4:50. And she had not memorised the words yet!
She quickly began memorising the words of the song and trying to recite them with the book closed. Lord, she prayed, as she kept forgetting at least three words at each attempt.
Do I really have to go to such a dreaded music class, she wondered again. Though she had tried to reason this out with her parents many a time, they seldom listened. They argued that this teacher had improved her singing, which was, in fact, true, and they had no plans of stopping this class.
By the time Aakanksha had come close to memorising and reciting the whole song, it was 5:10.
She quickly gobbled the food kept on the table and got ready to leave. As she weaved across the traffic, Aakanksha bathed in self-pity. She felt like she was approaching her doom. She was sure she would forget the song by the time she reached the class and stared at her fierce looking teacher.
She finally reached her music teacher’s house. Aakanksha gulped down that knot of fear in her throat. She left her slippers outside and entered the house. It was astonishingly empty. Aakanksha was stumped for words.
Am I too early or too late, she wondered. No, she was on time. She stared around in bewilderment.
“Aakanksha!” somebody called.
She turned. It was the tenant living on the first floor of her teacher’s house.
“Yenna ma, ipdi vailaye nozhaiyaadha paeru vechirkaale un appa amma….”
Aakanksha smiled, despite all her worries. Many had told her the same thing.
“Miss had to go out of station unexpectedly for an urgent work…she will be back on Tuesday. You can start coming for regular classes from next weekend.”
Aakanksha’s heart leapt with joy. She managed to check the joy right on time from erupting out in front of the neighbour.
She smiled.
“Seri aunty. Mami kitta naan vandhennu sollidungo.”
Silently she went out, wore her slippers and closed the gate. Once out of the house, she gave her biggest smile ever and laughed. She ran, skipped and danced in glee almost half the way back home.
“Amma!” she yelled as soon as she got home. “Inikki no class!!!”
“Adi kazhudhai….thappichuttiya….” her mom smiled.
Aakanksha ran into her room and stylishly threw the bag into her shelf. It landed in its proper place.
She raced down the stairs and ran to the park to meet her friends. Boy, wouldn’t they be surprised!
She suddenly stopped running, and paused for a few seconds, thinking.
Next class, next weekend, she wondered.
She then shook her mind off it and started running. That can be thought of later at 4:45 next Saturday!!