I like to think that when R came on stage that evening he walked confidently and commanded respect. Instead, R, gangly, wearing a long shirt over his trousers, stooped and diffident, seemed to labour his way to the microphone. There was a preparatory silence from the crowd, tinged with the unease that would soon erupt into booing. Then he picked up the microphone, the background music started playing and he sang in that haunting clear voice the song that we had heard a hundred times already. Yet we had never heard this song. I remember feeling the nature of the silence change - impatient to stunned to expectant to ecstatic. The song stretched itself out in time and it seemed to me that everyone was in love with R. There was just him the voice and us the ears. How did the song end? Did unease creep back into the silence or did one reflexive applause snap us out of our reverie? I don't know. Suddenly there was the thunderous applause, the crowd on its feet and clapping for a long time. Then R bowed, slowly the stoop and the diffidence seemed to return, and walked away. There were other songs that followed but memory had had its fill. On our way back to the hostel many of us cheered when R walked past and there was a respectful appreciation in the way we spoke about his song. I only remember speaking about his song.
I never knew R personally. Though he regularly sang for the college band after that evening and though he sang well, my friends and I never felt the same magic. What was it that happened to transform a famous song (S P Balasubrahmanyam and Ilaiyaraaja had created this song in 1979 for the movie Pagalil Oru Iravu and since then loyal listeners had turned it into a classic number) into R's song? I like to think he loved the song and he sang it sincerely and the crowd couldn't help but respond. When I look back now I understand what people mean when they say life shines through.
