Spice of Life : Valentine’s Day, when the world lost a nightingale

A few couples, including school-going teenagers, sauntered here and there in the huge garden holding hands and whispering sweet nothings to each other. We settled down on a comfortable bench in one corner. It was then that my husband requested me to sing, writes Sonika Sethi

I was never a good singer but definitely an average one. My music teacher always ensured a slot for me in the school choir, though never the lead. It was on Valentine’s Day years ago that my singing sojourn came to a halt, forever, on a tragi-comic note.

That Valentine’s Day, my husband, then my fiancé, borrowed a Yezdi bike from one of his friends to ferry me to Chandigarh, much to the chagrin of my parents who wondered what was wrong in going on a date in a car, writes Sonika Sethi (SHUTTERSTOCK)

We were engaged for about two years before our wedding. About two-and-a-half decades ago, parents didn’t allow their daughters to roam around freely either with their boyfriends or with their fiancé. My parents, however, were made up of different stuff altogether and therefore post-engagement, we moved about attending our friends’ and relatives’ weddings and occasionally going out on dates. Visiting Chandigarh to catch up with friends or for shopping sprees was also part of our two-year courtship. One Valentine’s Day, we planned a soiree to Chandigarh and that was the last time I sang, publicly.

That Valentine’s Day, my husband, then my fiancé, borrowed a Yezdi bike from one of his friends to ferry me to Chandigarh, much to the chagrin of my parents who wondered what was wrong in going on a date in a car! After watching a movie and a hearty lunch, we looked for a peaceful spot far from the madding crowd of the gehri-bound, balloon-laden Gypsies and bikes of city youngsters. We took refuge in the serene Leisure Valley of City Beautiful, opting to bask in the bright February sun and our freshly sprouted companionship.

A few couples, including school-going teenagers, sauntered here and there in the huge garden holding hands and whispering sweet nothings to each other. We settled down on a comfortable bench in one corner. It was then that my husband requested me to sing. Till then, I had never doubted my singing abilities and, therefore, readily picked up my favourite song out of my repertoire.

I had crooned but a few lines when there was a sudden commotion in the gardens and men in khaki could be seen rounding up couples, including the teenagers. Two policemen approached us and in a condescending manner told us to vacate the spot. My husband, who had in the past served the Indian Coast Guard, showed them his identity card and demanded what was wrong in sitting in a garden. Gardens, after all, he commanded were created for the public to enjoy. A few teenagers, seeing that my husband had countered the policemen, hurriedly approached us and pleaded to him, “Bhaiya hum to sirf ghoom rahe the (We were only taking a stroll).”

To cut the story short, the cops acknowledged our reasoning and apologised for the inconvenience caused. However, the crooning mood was over by then as, the minute the policemen left, my husband commented, “Kaisa gaana gaaya, police hi aa gayi! (The moment you sang, the police arrived!)”

Of course, neither the police’s intervention nor my husband’s comment could have deterred me from singing, but the fact is that since that day, my husband has never asked me to sing! On an impulse, if ever, I pick up a random strain to hum along, he is quick to remind me of that Valentine’s Day and the repercussion of my singing. Phew! Not my fault that the world lost a nightingale on Valentine’s Day.

The writer is associate professor, English, SD College, Ambala Cantt, and can be reached at sonrok15@gmail.com.