Belonging

It was 3.30pm; I was strolling home in my quiet, isolated suburban street, having finished school just moments ago. As I arrive home, I find my parents not to be at home, as I opened the door of my majestically standing home, it was not to my surprise to only be greeted by the silence that bounced off the beige walls and the occasional hissing of my Persian cat. Abandoning the company of the cat, I went outside and decided to lie tranquilly under my favourite hefty tree, which was found amid the neatly trimmed turf. The striking array of daffodils and the soothing aromas they breathed out created a pleasant sensation, comforting me. Looking ahead I spotted the gunmetal silver vehicle approaching which was just on time. I waved my arms frantically to draw attention to the dazzling, polished Ford and to my relief the car suddenly stopped in a croaking halt, parking between the beamers nearby. I confirmed the travel cost of $10 before entering into the taxi, positioning my Violin case across the backseat. I opened my diary instructing him to escort me to 42 Blane Street, Wentworthville which was on the other side of town to attend my first Violin lesson. Travelling along the vacant, stretched highway the driver speed’s intensely. My alertness increases, recalling my parents’ words concerning the dangers of travelling in an unknown vicinity. Contrastingly, the heavenly music of Mozart played softly through my earphones on my iPod, providing me sense of encouragement to become the most talented violin player and endeavour to be the finest. The sense of isolation slowly begins to increase as the sonata drew closer to a climax. It seemed as if I was travelling on a road which leads to nowhere. I felt the shivers running down my back and a wave of certainty washed over me as we gradually progressed to a new unfamiliar environment. Suddenly, far in the distance a red brick building is in my sight. A nearby sign board reveals that the building is my destination, “Wentworthville Violin Academy”. As we slowed down coming to a halt, I took out my wallet and paid the taxi driver the required amount along with a small tip before I got out. Walking hesitantly, I gaze around the place, not too comforted. As I am about to enter the door my eyes catches the sign ‘’Please take off your shoes before entering”. I took my almost brand new white Nikes off and placed them down among other battered shoes, mainly appearing to be of girls’. As I walk through the sliding door, a cacophony of coconut and sandalwood drifted through the air accompanying by the sounds of many violins playing a sonata. I approach a desk in the corner, only to find a Ganesha who welcomed the visitors to the academy. There is no one there, however a small booklet and a pen. I saw the names written of different people from different parts of India, some included; Anjali Kumar, Raj Singh, Priya Patel, and Abishek Mistry. Underneath them I carefully inscribed my name, ‘Kieren Fernando’. Looking around the room, seeking where to go, I hear the tunes of many synchronised violins playing and decide to follow where the sound was coming from. This leads me to the core room. I slowly open the door and peaked inside… The room is extraordinarily small; I distinguished the Guru almost immediately as she had her legs crossed, positioned comfortably on the floor. Forming a circle, she sat in the middle of her disciples whom mimicked her every movement. Their violins lay calmly on their thighs, which was a unique position I had never witnessed before. The rich, melodious resonance of synchronised tunes played as one. With determined faces, the students played deeply, all having their chins forward and bows moving together in unison. As their work of art concluded, I hesitantly walked in, noticing many of the students who were girls culturally dressed, looking at me with judgemental eyes. The teacher welcomed me. Her unfamiliar accent being very strong made it difficult to understand her English. She was draped in an orange saree, and had a dot on her forehead, with dark kohl outlining her almond shaped eyes. She reminded me nothing of my mother who often wore a suit. Some of the students hesitantly shuffled here and there, forming a space for me to sit in. I sat down, confused, trying to make a bond with them. I grabbed my case and calmly opened it, removing a brand new violin and bow which I had furtively purchased with my own pocket money. Looking around I slowly began to cross my legs trying to achieve the same position all the other students were in. Instead of using resin on my bow to smoothen out the horse hair, the guru gave me a petite piece of cloth and special oil and which I had never seen before. She told me to use that as an alternative to the resin because it’s much more effective. Over time, I progressed forward from the basics and as my skills were more enhanced, the unique experience grew more pleasurable. At the conclusion of my first lesson, I packed up and told her that I will definitely see her the next day, regardless of any circumstances. This brought an immense smile on her face