The Music Teacher

I sat down at the piano, burning pages of painful memories into a soothing melody. My fingertips traced the piano keys softly. Music calmed my mind so easily. The world could be burning around me, but I wouldn’t even notice if I had a piano in front of me. But today, that wasn’t the case. The world was burning around me - figuratively, of course- and music wasn’t calming me down.

Sighing, I got up from the stool and got ready for another gloomy day. Sure, the sun was shining, and quite brightly in fact, but that didn’t change the fact that my world seemed to be collapsing.

I readjusted my bow tie and tried to look as sophisticated as possible. I picked up my suitcase, glanced at the mirror one last time and walked out of the small, dilapidated room that I call home.

It’s December 1940, and I’ve lost the longest job I’ve ever had. I taught music at a central school in Madras for eleven years until they decided that to cut the budget to give more to the war. And of course, the first subject to be cut out was music. According to the Principal, we were raising boys who would fight in the war one day, not sit and play the piano.

Job hunting is an unpleasant thing to do in general. Doing it in the middle of a war, now that was even worse. I had spent the last week pouring over various newspapers, looking for potential jobs for a teacher in the job section.

The last two schools I had interviewed for said they would get back to me, but so far, nothing. My mother had always said that three was a lucky number and I was counting on this third interview to go well.

It was a few minutes’ walk and I found myself in front of a huge building. Clearing my throat, I walked into the front office and knocked on the Principal’s door.

“Come in” A gruff voice replied.

I walked into the room and was greeted by the sight of an old man sitting with his hands crossed on the desk. A quick glance around the room told me that he was an extremely tidy man, one who commanded respect.

“Good morning, sir, I’m here for a job appointment” I say, holding out my hand.

He eyed me skeptically while shaking my hand.

“I saw your job offer in the newspaper” I say, cutting through the silence.

“Very well.” He pulled out a folder from his desk, “So, what subject do you teach sir?”

“Music”

He stopped halfway while flipping through the pages of the folder and peered at me through his spectacles. The uncomfortable eye contact lasted several seconds and I wished I had lied.

Finally, he got up and held out a hand, “Very well then, I believe this interview has come to an end. Thank you for coming.”

The expression on my face must have been one of utmost confusion because he sat down again and said “I hope you know that music isn’t one of those subjects we give priority to now a days. We encourage our boys to join the army and make their parents proud, not to play the piano. This is war; we have time only for warriors, only for the tough, not the weak. It’s a game of survival, and it’s one you’re decidedly losing.”

I dejectedly walked back home. It was the war that made people see everything in black and white. Maybe, one day, after the war, we’ll all learn to live in color again.