Walk Without Walkman
A while ago, I wrote a novel, but never published it. It sat in one of my drawers for years, collecting dust. But then last year, I was exploring a rainforest in Yunnan, and listening to an old song that reminded me of the time when I wrote the first draft of my novel. Why didn’t I ever publish it? I thought. After my holidays, I pulled out the manuscript, dusted it off, and started working on it.
“When are you going to publish it?” my editor asked. Even though I was content with the latest draft of the manuscript, I wasn’t happy with the title. It was a coming-of-age story of a hopeless romantic teenager, who moves to Canada, to achieve the biggest mission of his life: lose his virginity. So initially I titled it “Horny Boy,” but a part of me knew it didn’t do justice to the real story, which was about him discovering and accepting his true identity. So I wondered what could be a great title for a story that enriches the themes of the immigrant experience, the ethnic humor, and most poignantly, self-discovery. But nothing came to me. The more I brainstormed, the worst the titles got.
Then a few weeks ago, during my daily walk, all of a sudden, my phone died, so I continued walking, without any music, just me and my thoughts. And that is when I remembered my youth, my yellow Sony Walkman, and Nani, my maternal grandmother.
Nani loved music, especially classical Indian music. I vividly remember the day she took me to the red light district in Lahore, and introduced me to the sounds of Tansen, the legendary Indian musician in the Mughal court, known to bring down rain with his music. When I got my first portable music player, I spent hours on my bicycle, listening to music, and exploring the city.
“I love it,” I told Nani, “I love it so much, it’s truly magical.”
“Real magic,” Nani said, “happens when you listen to the music within.” I didn’t understand what she was talking about. She told me to go for a walk, alone, and to leave my Walkman behind. “Why?” I looked at her. “When you walk alone, just you and your thoughts,” she smiled, “you get insights.” So I followed her instructions, and something happened, something magical. Since then I have gone on these quiet solo walks, to clear my head, to get new ideas, and to simply get away from all the daily distractions.
That day when my phone died, when the music stopped, I took off my headphones, put them in my back pocket, and continued walking in silence. I should do this more often, I thought. At first, it was a bit uncomfortable, because I was used to listening to music, but after a few days, I started enjoying these walks.
Last week, during one of my quiet solo walks, I noticed a flower, and a thought came to my head: it’s blooming, just like the boy in the novel. I kept walking. The horny boy is blooming. I liked how those thoughts were emerging from another plane, I liked what I was receiving. Then all of a sudden, a fully-formed title came to my mind:
Brown Boy Barely Blossoms.
And I knew it was time for me to publish the novel.
