A window into a person who shivers on stage

A character study through fleeting moments on stage

This flash essay is part of a collaborative, constrained-writing challenge undertaken by some members of the Bangalore Substack Writers Group. This month, we used the prompt, ‘A Window Into…’. At the bottom of this snippet, you’ll find links to other essays by fellow writers.

The crowd applauds what they’ve witnessed on stage. A singer-songwriter raises his guitar to welcome the applause. The host takes over the mic and praises the performance. He then stares at the next performer in the crowd.

After rereading his lines again and again, when his name is called, he looks up at the host in shock. Anxious to face a crowd of storytellers, musicians, and stand-up comics, his palms sweat freely.

His uncle’s words from memory pop up, “Imagine the crowd as if they are kids in a school when you speak. You are there to guide them for a few minutes, that’s it.”

He comes up on stage and holds the mic with his right hand, only to realize it’s shaking and he cannot stop it.

He plans to read a few lines of what he feels is a poem. That, and there are flashes of stories, nascent ideas that have shaped his book. All that is still in his mind, and he thinks he’ll ace it.

He stands there frozen, no words coming out of him.

He pulls out his phone and opens his notes. Without once looking at the crowd before him, he begins —

Aa... so...

Here’s something I believe in

“Art, stories and words shower meaning onto this world”

As he reads more lines, the supportive crowd claps away. He is too involved to notice the reactions.

His cold fingers scroll on the phone, but all he can see is his dark reflection on the small screen. He pauses.

Why did I do this to myself?

What if no one likes it?

Is it even a poem?

Are some questions that pop up as the light comes back on the phone.

The poem goes like

Art, stories and words shower meaning onto this world.
Art that’s drawn from life. 
Stories that make you travel into different lives. 
Words that shape all the magic.
Truth is, this triangle of meaning is in fact a pyramid.
At its heart are ideas, people and more words.
Ideas that are sacred or revolting, 
People who leave their mark or drift away, and words 
that are just essential.

He manages to get back his breath and tries to breathe slowly. His heart beats like it’s his last time on stage. His mind races to give context, read out a few of his idea germs, and have a conversation with the audience. But he fumbles through it all and manages to say two words clearly, “Thank you,” and gets back to his seat.

“Well done,” a voice tells him from behind. “But next time be prepared to be humiliated,” it adds.

A nervous smile turning to relief comes up on his face as his phone disappears in his pocket.

The open mic where I read out my poem

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Essays by Bangalore Substack Writers Group: -

• The window that looks back, by Vaibhav Gupta, Thorough and Unkempt

• A window into the vegetable market by Rakhi Kurup , Rakhi’s Substack

• A window into permission for freedom: The FIRE Number by Shruti Soumya, Same Here

• A window into the fixity and flux by Amit Charles, AC Notes

• A window into a life on a sabbatical by Ritika Arora, Ritika Arora – Medium

• A window into bendy morals by Amit Kumar, EarlyNotes

• A window into Kalimpong by Karthik Ballu, Reading This World by Karthik

• A window into what makes a great Quiz Question by Rajat Gururaj, I came, I saw, I floundered

• Still Looking By Spandana, Spandana’s Substack

• Three Windows in a Week By Nidhi, General In Her Labyrinth

• A window into a screen-less day by Saniya Zehra Saniya’s Substack