An (accidental) Night with Mr. Bennett

The songs tugged perfectly at one's heart, as perfect as a gentle breeze kissing your sun-dried hair or a cruise on the River Rhine one cold afternoon of July. It was the kind of music that hits the deepest recesses of the soul, the kind that lingers and plays in your mind long after the 87-year old singer takes a bow and says good night.

I had no expectations at all. I even turned down a ticket that landed on my lap at the last minute. I was just at the PICC to wait for mum who nagged me for a ticket several days before.  There we were at the central bank governor's exclusive dinner for his guests who would be watching Mr. Bennett.

I was not part of the dinner nor was I given a ticket for the concert. I was just there to accompany my mum. I expected to wait along with the governor's bodyguards, chauffeur and the rest of the VIP crowds' escorts and minions. I didn't mind. I just wanted mum to have a nice night.

But the ticket that landed on my lap the last minuted allowed me to enter the concert hall, packed with men and women in their twilight years, with their canes and wheelchairs.

I sat there listening to Mr. Bennett in awe, immediately understanding why the country's oldies braved the traffic, the weather and the long walk to the PICC Plenary Hall from the main entrance.

The songs hit right home for the crowd who knew Mr. Bennett songs by heart.

It was a perfect night for mum, especially. Thank you Mr. Bennett for giving her the time of her life.