The drummer

‘What do you know about life mom’, her son said in moments of anger. ‘You know nothing. All you know is how to write what you want to write. Your characters, your story line, your ending. Life is different, it is not as magical’.

Diana lost her words. Asher her only child was a lot taller than her now. He was physically more powerful than those weak hands that brought him up all those years. He was having a bad day at school. Despite his longing for music session, he had not been selected by the teachers.

Asher was struggling from stress of curriculum, long boring hours at school, the tiring routine of waking up early in the morning. He was not happy with his teachers, with their style of teaching and disciplined school life.

Music he assumed would be like a breather. He will learn how to play drums, to beat them with all his power, skill and beat. He was so sure it will release all the bad energy of the day for him.

Yet he was being unlucky. The day started with him being late at school, having to hear a long lecture by her teacher who never failed to embarrass him in front of the whole class. He had started to think she looked forward each time to disgrace him. In a hurry he left his assignment at home and could not convince his teacher. Yet the worst of them all was the news that he was not being chosen as a drummer.

As soon as he entered the house his mother tried to calm him down, to tell him its normal, nothing comes expected in life, there are failures and surprises every now and then. This is when he realised he could take it no longer.

Diana sat in the same posture numbed, as if she was being bit by a poisonous snake. It hurt her more for she had brought it up with great care and devotion.

She brushed her tears, took a deep breath and stood up. Her feet trembled for a while before she realised in the battle between a mother and child, an injured mother is a nurse too.

She went to the kitchen and made her son his favourite smoothie. ‘Perhaps he was low on his sugar levels,’ she came up with an excuse to ignore the comments of Asher.

She knocked at his door that he opened with a bizarre look on his face. ‘May I sit with you for a while, will not take too long’. She asked.

Asher opened the door. He was feeling bad. He never had been that rude to his mom. She had no role to play in how he felt. Yet she was an easy target, she let him take all his anger out and he felt a lot better. Yet the clouds of guilt weighed heavily on him afterwards.

‘ May I tell you something I never told you before?’ She looked up at her son who felt a stranger all of a sudden.

Asher finished the drink, that had a signature of a mother’s love and care all over it. He nodded his head and looked into the eyes of his mother.

‘I have seen many failures in life. There were times when I had no coins in my pocket. The times when I worried I will have to start begging or living on the streets with you. It was a very hard time when I felt emptiness, a complete silence around me…. just like the inside of this drum that you have. Diana pointed at the drum in Asher’s room.

It was then when I found the mallets were my hands, life created tension rod all around my shell. I made it resonate… that music is my writing.

Life is a bit of a slow train journey in hard times. It has moments within moments of failures and surprises in store.’ She paused before she found something else to relate to.

‘It is like your smoothie, with flavours of sarcasm and disappointments too. Don’t take it too seriously. Set aside your fears, punch the damn key and add hope and hard work. It will energise you every time.

Diana took the glass from Asher who was left speechless this time. After taking a few steps towards the door she turned around,

‘And guess what, life is like those words coming straight from the heart, a writer’s heart and soul, the sweat and blood, the wisdom and music, those gems that no one reads.’

‘Next time you doubt a writer, my son, on an understanding of life, I want you to re-think.’

She then walked out of the room and shut the door. She wanted her son to practice on the drum pad called life.

8 thoughts on “The drummer”

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