It’s terrifying how accurately some pieces of music can recall certain times and places and emotions. Especially places.
I came across Neil Finn’s Song of the Misty Mountain and before the first verse had finished I was transported back to A, to those not-so-cold Gujarat evenings and all the people and events associated with the last one-and-a-half-years. How many times must I have played this song while cramming for a CF test or a DM exam ?
It is a brilliant night. The moon shines through the birch-branches and I understand what some authors meant by calling moonlight silvery. I get up and stand outside on the balcony letting the cold December breeze blow through my hair until I’m neither in A nor in this small university, until the far away lights of the little French town become the twinkling lights of some fairy city.
Suddenly, I can’t wait to get back home. And I’m not even sure what I mean by “home”.