The air is cool.
The lights are dim.
The stage is set.
The audience is ready, seated two meters apart. I can’t really tell who’s who, but I think I see Stan in the front row. Ronnie could be sitting next to him.
‘Right,’ I tell my pounding heart. ‘Piece of cake.’
This is the GDN’s first ever Open Mic Night, and I’ll be the first one to take stage. I look at the mic stand right in the center, then glance at the backdrop; it’s a harmonious arrangement of fluorescent lights and letters that speaks all about the grand event. Expectedly, the music comes on: trumpets, drums and a beautiful 80’s melody. That’s my cue.
I breathe in.
I walk in.
“Hey, hey, hey,” the words shoot out of my mouth with absolutely no confidence. When the music mellows down I quickly realize just how loud I am.
The audience is clapping.
There is a whistle or two.
Surely that’s my wife and daughter.
I’m here now, standing in the center of the stage, allowing the audience to get a good look at me, allowing myself to settle into a rhythm. I’ve never done this before. Did I close my eyes for a few seconds there?
I remember to breathe out.
“These have been trying times,” I say. “To those who have lost a loved one, know that you are in my prayers. To those who have helped us fight and survive, you have my deepest, most heartfelt gratitude. And for that reason, tonight, we simply must talk about love.”
I find the courage to grin.
“Love is a funny thing, isn’t it?” I say. “There are many ways to express it, yet when unexpressed, it doesn’t mean that love does not exist. So, without further delay, here are ten reasons to say: I love you.”
“On the night before our wedding, when the sky was clear and there was nothing but the moon, I looked my woman in the eyes and said: I love you.”
“On the day of the wedding, right after the big moment, I said: I love you!”
“The day after the wedding, I remember we had decided to have lunch at the restaurant. I’d forgotten my wallet, but saw that my wife had carried her purse. I started off by saying: Honey, I love you…”
“The very next day she took my credit card. The bill notification came to my phone. I was…not in the least surprised, but worried? Yes! So, I called her, and we spoke for a few minutes. By the end of the conversation I was no longer smiling. I ended the call by saying: I love you too.”
“The night after she’d crashed my car, we were still in bed. I was pissed off. She snuggled up to me from behind and whispered: I love you.”
“It was our sixth…no, seventh anniversary. I’m so sorry, honey!” I say, one hand up in apology. “The gift that she’d got me was something I’d wanted for a very, very long time. A white Fender Strat - a dream of a guitar. I remember going down on one knee to say: I love you.”
Now, I pause.
“...it was sometime in 2015 that a dear friend of mine passed away. His brother had called. I couldn’t speak a word. I couldn’t move. Nothing…until my wife hugged my tightly, saying: I love you.”
“It was the 14th of June 2019. I was a nervous wreck until the doctor told me I could finally see my wife. And when I did, there they were: my wife and the new girl in our lives. I remember taking her in my arms, saying: I love you.”
I clear my throat, smiling again, still swimming in my thoughts.
“Well, my wife has this friend. A good man named Davis Maastram, and he is a world class moron. He had invited her for a business dinner once and she couldn’t refuse. I remember calling her that evening, and the call ended on a…sour note. Still, those words were…. yeah, you guessed it right: I love you.”
I laugh, realizing that I truly hate Davis.
“Yesterday…” I say, trying to find my wife. “…was just another day, to be honest. Nothing fancy. Our daughter woke us up at four in the morning. We fought for our sleep till about four-thirty, and then obliged to her demands. And when the sun finally came out, we all just looked at each other…and smiled. What else do you call love?”
“This is Vishnu Dasgupta signing off. Thank you, everybody!”
The lights come back on.
The audience survived.
Stan is far from impressed.
