Raghav leaned forward. He knew that song. Ilayaraja’s nocturnal, melancholic melody, and SPB’s voice floating like a lantern in a dark forest.
The man who walked into the old mobile phone shop on Anna Salai was not looking for a new phone. He was looking for a ghost.
The shopkeeper, whose name was Bala, sighed internally. Another customer wasting his time on default ringtones. “Sir, which one? Apple’s ‘Marimba’? Samsung’s ‘Over the Horizon’?”
Bala transferred the finished file to Raghav’s phone. “Set this as your ringtone,” he said. “But be warned. When it rings, you will not be able to ignore it. And people around you will stop and ask, ‘What is that?’”
He took out his phone. He called his own voicemail, just to hear it.
A tear rolled down his cheek.
Raghav confessed his secret. “My father passed away last year. He was a huge Ilayaraja fan. But in his final months, he couldn’t remember faces. He couldn’t remember my name. But one day, his nurse played a song on her phone. It was ‘Aanandha Raagam’ from Kavidhai Paadum Ulagam . He looked up, his eyes clear for the first time in months, and he whispered: ‘SPB. Ilayaraja. Good.’ Then he closed his eyes and hummed the first line perfectly.”
And he smiled, because he knew that from now on, every time that ringtone played, his father would be calling.