An old man and his music

Six months had passed since my resignation from the job I had enjoyed for over two decades, or a request for early retirement that I always told others. So, I was not fired.

No dream to fulfill and no desire for a later reemergence, I told my ex-colleagues, who politely best-wished me more wonderful days to come. A few told me it was too soon, but they respected my decision – those were the best farewell words for me.

I was the last one to leave the office for the last time at 10:15 pm. I did not miss it badly, but the feeling was strange and eerie, and the same 10 minutes’ walk in the cold down the hill to the bus stop made me feel unreal.

I went for the weekly shopping at a wet market but was allured by a familiar old tune. Following the music, I found an old man playing music with a guzheng at a sheltered corner of the nearby square. I saw him once on the other side of the market a few months ago. He did not play any music then, but he was sitting on a bench with his musical instrument and gazing at the busy crowds of people. This time, I thought he was trying to take shelter from the spells of rain. I decided to join him from a distance.

It took me some time to recall the name of the song, which was a pop song in the 1970s, partly because of my poor memory and partly because of the instrument. Despite my musical dyslexia, I could tell at least two or three strings of the instrument needed tuning, but the chorus of the music was unmistakable and mesmerizing, and it seemed to have quietened all the other sounds of the nearby market. Except for a woman, nobody was paying much attention to this old man, who must be in his late 70s, if not the 80s. Yet, he seemed to have all the joy in the world, and his smile did not match with the saddening lyrics of that piece of music. I couldn’t help taking a picture and two and three and… for him with my three-and-a-half year old cellphone. When he finished playing the music with the guzheng, he surprised me with a repeat of the music with a violin and then another repeat of it with a bamboo flute. He obviously loved the music, but it gave me goosebumps. After finishing that, he started a new piece of music, another old pop song with lyrics of even more explicit sadness.

There were passersby, but hardly anyone paid attention to the music except a little boy. I guessed the strange instrument attracted him. He ran away when the old man looked at his face and gave him a big, admiring smile. 

A couple of folks took the bench next to the old man to stay away from the rain, but they did not seem to enjoy the music at all. The old man asked them which instrument they preferred to listen to. Both did not bother to answer, but the old man kept playing.

The rain got heavier as if to resonate with the music. I thought it was melodramatic.  

He started a new song. I finished the guzheng version and decided to leave before I felt bad. I thought about giving him some money, thinking that he must be a regular busker in this square. In the end, I was wrong; there was no money collector or sign asking for donations. He probably just enjoyed playing and sharing his music.

I kept thinking about why he played all these sad, sorrowful and regretful songs. Was it because he was trying to remind himself of the miserable life that passed or some unfulfilled dreams, or was it because he was trying to recall all the good days he had enjoyed? One thing I was sure of – he was immersing in every single note he played, whether there was an audience or not. And, he was smiling all the time, ecstatically to be exact.

Writing now, I reckon the title of the third song may sum up what went through his mind then – Needless to Remember the Old Dreams.

I should have stayed until he finished the trio of that last piece of music.