Frangipani, Artists, and Angels.

“In the yellow street lights, to the cool breeze of a full moon night, a flower floated towards us. Nila grasped it in between her fingers, offered it to me, and asked, ‘Its name is Frangipanni, whenever you see this, will you think of me?”

Thus wrote Kaber Vasuki in his song ‘Frangipanni’, about a girl named Nila. She is a beacon of hope that sheds light on the souls lost in life's chaos. She isn’t so pure as it might seem, or is there any human being that has ever been devoid of any impurities? But her presence was soothing for those who had the grace of knowing her. Nila is someone who giggles when the night’s cold breeze wafts the thick smell of Jasmine flowers along with it; she is someone who packs her bag and leaves for Calcutta because, why not? She is someone whom you will wish to know, to have that shed of light to reach upon you, when described by such a songwriter as Kaber Vasuki. That is why, when her death flows in like a poem in this song, I felt my heart yearning for a cuddle.

After listening to the song three to four times, it bloomed in me the thought that I had known this girl somewhere. At first, I thought it was the warm voice of Kaber that made me feel like that, but no, I have read a story about a girl who resembled Nila in many ways. The story was about a girl named Louki in the short novella written by Patrick Modiano, ‘In the café of Lost Youth’. Louki is a beautiful young girl who roams around the streets of Paris and ends up in a café. This café is where young people with dreams, unrequited love, and false hopes of achieving greatness that only cities can offer, wind up to find solace among each other. And the mere presence of this mysteriously beautiful Louki provides the light that was desperate for those lost souls. To those who knew her, she gave them the warmth of her existence that soothed them. And like Nila in this song, she too disappears only to reappear when they least expect.

But it was not these similarities that triggered my curiosity about these two women. It was the death of Nila that made me think about Louki. Around 10.30 at night, the neighbour woke to a sound and came outside to look, and found a smudge of light spreading in the parking lot of their apartment, and in the centre of the light, Nila was floating; she spread her wings and flew.  Kaber Vasuki’s words in Tamil are so poignant that no level of translation or interpretation could ever capture the feel that this song offers. But there she lay in the light of the parking lot, and the imagery led me to a crushed Frangipani that Nila offers to Kaber in the beginning. Kaber’s emotions of betrayal, anger, sadness, and guilt all flow through the nerves of this song, which makes it more alive.

Louki’s demise is also very similar. She jumps from the balcony of her room, her final words, “That’s it, let yourself go”, said with a smile that could mean anything. With her death, she becomes ephemeral for the readers and other characters in the book. Louki, whom we were trying to understand, becomes a stranger the moment we thought we understood her. But the warmth of her existence remained.

Nila and Louki are both products of art and literature. I do not know whether they both existed in real life, but the essence of art and literature is that they can make you feel alive; they can make you feel like you knew both Nila and Louki in person. That through these artists, we poor lost souls can also have the grace of being touched by an angel. Of receiving the light that Nila gave to Kaber to find the way, to curl in the warmth of Louki’s existence that Modiano felt in the café of lost youth.