the singer thinks he is the song

 

there was this singer*. for three decades he reigned over his fiefdom, unparalleled, unchallenged. 

his voice was what animated the greatest heroes, lend them their heroics, romance, philosophy, politics and pathos. and he did justice to all. nobody grudged his position, because nobody felt it was undeserving. 

every tree has to shed its leaves, branches, glory. so came our singer’s time of wane. his voice was less heard. in fact voices ceased to matter, as machines took over. but the songs continued.

there grew a generation who didn’t know the singer. who did not pause for the burden of his song.
slowly oblivion crept in, and the singer became just another face embossed on antique collections. 

but the singer was very much alive, and missed his glory. his frequent reminders went unnoticed. and the agony of slipping into the sunset of memory unsung must have taunted his steely nerves.

the newspapers carried a small story of an aborted self termination bid. was its inconsequential nature that made a legend’s truncation attempts unworthy of news? or was it a consideration not to tarnish the past glory?

we should be graceful in exit. lime lights are not eternal. ripe fruits fall, and the younger ones take their place. the world keeps re inventing itself in endless cyclic repetitions. 

actors change, the act goes on. singers change, the song is endless.
trouble is when the singer starts believing that he is the song.

* on a legendary singer in the Tamil movie industry who allegedly tried to end his life. 

***