Among the few other pieces I have composed, this was the first one I had the courage to release. Canon Event. It was a fun experience—figuring out the process of publishing, despite the long wait to get it all done.
It was in Bangalore, sitting at my cousin brother’s table, wondering what to do next. All his dusty electronics textbooks, curiously stared at me from the side. It was right after I checked the grades of one of my college subjects (Signals and Systems), which was quite disappointing, but honestly expected, considering how the exam went. I brushed off the feeling and went ahead, opening a blank project on my DAW (Logic Pro).
After countless hours of writing and researching my two very beloved characters, the idea stuck quite well. The inevitability of tragic experiences, even though simple and so unimportant, even. The feeling of “what could have been” if this very simple detail was changed. How it would strike a very different future. I sat with it for a solid minute. I didn’t have a title for it yet. But, I imagined the mind-bending simple decisions that shaped us, as humans. The very decisions, which would have remained the same no matter which version of us I took. No matter the universe, the tragedy that remained same—or maybe, the hope that glimmered. As depressing or reassuring as it was, there came the two motifs.
Starting with a mechanical, uncertain—or maybe even a bit unsettling—muffled piano motif in the beginning, that slowly gets accompanied by a plucked double bass. The repeated motif, though refined, always returned to the same base—unchanged. Like fate, unbending. Then came the rippling aftermath, echoing through lives. And, the second piano leitmotif denoting the tragedy of it all. Then came our decisions—robust and unwavering—denoted by a sustained French horn. The second leitmotif creeps in again, subtler now, but reminding you of the past that remains unchanged and the helplessness that came with it. That’s how I interpreted it—after I composed it.
Before coming up with it, it was just me and my earphones, the slightly sustained glances at myself in the mirror, full of questions, and sometimes—answers. It was sometimes about this friend I had, who left without a word. But the leaving wasn’t so abrupt. It was slow and painful, like cancer.
“In every other universe?” I asked myself.
The mirror said nothing. Just a subtle smile.
I looked away. Maybe it wasn’t right to look myself in the eyes after all that. Maybe that’s why she smiled.