Two of the many faces!

Leela was an expert in her field. Her fame in the field of Sugam Sangeeth, as music and as a composer was unparalleled. Her words about Sugam Sangeeth meant, 'authority'. No one questioned her, usually. Fame and praise had become a part of her daily life now. Humility, she practiced. Never once, showing to the world, the pride that she felt at her work. She remembered that day, what a famous poet had quoted in one of his speeches. He had said, 'We poets write poems to express ourselves. Not always do these poems reach the common man. But because of musicians like Leela, our poems become famous and people remember us, along with her, when they hear her music.' She had felt so much pride at this. But it wasn't always as flowery and nice, as she would soon see.

Just as she was remembering this, her name was announced on the microphone. She remembered, that she was, on a stage, in a big program in Bangalore. She was supposed to give a speech, on Sugam Sangeeth. She felt like a proud mom, talking about her own child, as she stood up and walked towards the microphone. She started addressing the audience, telling them about that particular field of music, how it had grown in the past few years, etc. She quoted the words of that famous poet, making sure she eliminated her own name. She was quoting a fact indeed. Sugam sangeeth does do the work of popularizing these less known poems, and sometimes, poets too. They were great in their own way. Without their poems, her music would be futile too. But the common man would pay more attention to the poems when sung to him as songs, rather than when he is asked to read those poems. That's what she quoted that day. She found most of the people nodding their heads in agreement to her words.

From among the audience, suddenly a man stood up. He said 'We poets, we write poems, only to express ourself. We don't want you musicians composing them into songs or anything. We don't write for the sake of that' He said. The auditorium became silent. She had seen this man before. Yes. His name was Ram, a new age poet. She remembered. Not wanting to cause a conflict, she said, with a little smile, 'Sir, I will make sure, that at least I, will never tune your poems.' He didn't know what to say and he just sat down. A few smirked and a few laughed. But the silence was broken and she continued with her talk as if nothing had happened.

Days after this, one day, she sat at home, listening to the radio. It was time for the song of the month. She heard the name of a noted composer, and lo! and Behold! the poet was none other than the Mr. Ram. She listened to the song. It had been done well. The lyrics and the tune complemented each other. She remembered the incident during the speech. Had he been just bitter? Or was he a downright hypocrite? She wanted to find out.

Incidentally, she met him soon, after a few days, at another program like one of those. She wasn't the type to keep quiet. So, directly, she went to him when she saw him. He greeted her, as he saw her approaching. 'Namasthe, madam. How are you?' She replied 'Namaste, Raam ji, I am fine. Thank you. I hope you're doing well too.'. He smiled. And she continued, 'I heard the song of the month on radio. Good work, sir.' She said. He gulped. He knew what she was referring to. For him, the time for defence had come. He said, 'Yes madam. The song has come well.' And he added, defending himself, 'A poem, madam, is like a child. Till it's in the womb, it belongs to the mother only. Once it's out in the open, it has been given to the world. People who visit the child, they want to play with the new born, they keep it on their lap and cuddle it. But it still belongs to the mother. Only, the mother can't really stop the others from playing with it.' He said. He felt proud of his analogies.

She smiled. He had been a bitter hypocrite. She just nodded at his words, silently and made a move, as if to leave. He stopped her and said, 'Madam, can you tune a couple of my poems, I would be honored'. To that, she replied,' I made a public statement, Mr.Ram. I am going to stand by it. I am sorry. But I wish you all the best.' And she left, leaving behind, a dissapointed man. She had seen, the typical two-faced human, she thought. But then, what did she know, these may have ben two of the many faces. Many, may be, indeed, but all harmless to others, except to his own reputation.