From the Top of the World

A prolonged exposure to early morning sun forced him to leave his bed earlier than usual. The glass windows with a sea view definitely helped. It was a breathtaking sight and would have been even spectacular had this been a non-business trip, he thought to himself, pushing the blanket aside and feeling uneasy from the previous night’s sleep that was anything but sound.

He was addicted to his morning cup of espresso, a concoction that had to constantly pass his perfection test with the right proportion of sugar, milk and coffee. A lot of times he ditched the espresso in Hotels because “it just wasn’t right”. His need for perfection extended beyond his professional realm. It made his wife’s life miserable in the early years of their marriage, till she got the balance right, or so she thought.

He gave her an assuring smile while sipping the coffee; it was his way of expressing gratitude for all that the woman did for him. From seeing them on the edge of bankruptcy to managing the inflating egos of his teenage boys and for sticking to a partner as busy as him like a rock sized chewing gum under a wooden bench.

“I remember you loving that bag I got the last time. Ofcourse, it was Roberto Cavali, so what’s on your wish list from France this time?” he asked her, still staring at the waves crashing against the perfectly white sand. “This time just a quiet lunch with your wife. Is that too much to ask for?” she said. Before he could frame a comeback his noisy Blackberry came in the way, like always. Several times his wife thought an extramarital affair would have been easier to deal with.
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“Can I try a little bit of Folk fusion this time round, what do you think?” He asked totally hoping a negative response. “It should be for the masses yet retain the sophistication that our label is known for. I want Vrisha Kapoor to gyrate like never before. You get the picture right? I think you are giving me a sure shot hit number this time, I trust you on that!” he quipped and zoomed away in his pearl white BMW leaving him baffled. He has been composing for 20 years now but requests like these still left him clueless, frustrated and constantly tested his anger management skills. He couldn’t stop himself from remembering the director’s mother and sister for half a minute and began humming a classical number to find temporary solace.

After two neat gulps of scotch and 2 sleepless nights he tried to close his eyes without dozing off while listening to the recording of their first raw mixing session along with his Lyricist best friend. They heard the first few minutes staring at each other, trying to converse with their eyes. “What the fuck do you expect? I can’t make a song like those Qawali type guys with no substance. Dance number can also be dignified, right?” he said breaking the silence. The lyricist poured himself a drink and responded with a deep sigh. “You know him. He will say this is not what the public wants!” he answered mimicking the director’s almost masculine voice. There was an instant burst of laughter that echoed in the huge hall. “Lets take a long walk and hum something. Remember, there were times you churned out hits in your sleep?” he said trying to lift the composer’s spirit (pun intended). He chuckled and thanked god for making him stick to a lyricist of his calibre.