Of Sector 17 plaza's forgotten melodies that still linger in memory

If I close my eyes, I can still see it — like a reel flickering back to life. A visually impaired man swaying to the rhythm of a harmonium strapped to his chest, his fingers dancing over the keys as his voice rose above the Sector 17 plaza. “Yeh zindagi ke mele …”

His voice carried through the plaza like it belonged there, and Sector 17 seemed to pause for a moment, its milling crowds stopping momentarily to listen.

A small boy, maybe his son, walked just behind him, guiding gently, but mostly watching—because the music needed no help.

Sunlight fell in slanting beams across the corridor, catching the sound and carrying it down the wide, empty plaza, like a scene straight out of the movie ‘Mela’. The harmonium swayed with him, his fingers pressing keys with devotion, lips moving in rhythm with the melody.

For us kids, it was magic. We stopped our bicycles, paused our games, even whispered sometimes, afraid to break the spell.

The plaza used to be almost deserted then — more people than cars. Taxis lined up behind Bakewell, the rest of the sector abandoned. We ran, played around, but always came back, drawn by that sonorous voice.

Some said he came by train daily from somewhere in Haryana. His children took care of him. It wasn’t money, it was life itself, joy itself. The world was his stage, and he played it with all his heart.

Then the city grew. Cars multiplied, horns blared, cassette shops set up speakers that rang down the corridors. That swaying harmonium, those dancing fingers, that voice that could stop time—it was swallowed in noise. The plaza lost its hush, and the song disappeared, slowly, imperceptibly, until one day, it was gone.

Now, when I walk through Sector 17, I swear that sometimes I can hear that voice again, a hint of melody curling in the air, only to vanish. Perhaps he left. Or perhaps we stopped listening. The music isn’t gone — it’s buried under the rush of commerce, under the clamour of progress.

The song he sang, “Yeh zindagi ke mele, duniya mein kam na honge, afsos hum na honge…” it was about us, or perhaps him too. Or was it about the continuation of joy, of life, even when we will no longer be there? Maybe that’s the point: the world goes on, melodies linger, moments pass, but if you remember to listen, the stage is always alive, the music always playing, and for a fleeting instant, we are all still part of it.

Saurabh Malik, Chandigarh