Leaving the Station

 A rough day at work. Correction – another rough day at work. Listening to stupid supervisors, directing the laborious labourers, and uploading everything on the sluggish system – this train journey was a break blessing from the hell that was my life of being a junior construction engineer.

As always, I was stuck at work for longer than expected and had to rush through the train station crowd. I had so dearly wanted to pick a Dhruv comic book on my way but then I would have surely missed the train. With a slight regret, I made my way to my seat – only to find the entire lower berth occupied by a family. “Uncle, this is my seat. Can you check your ticket once? I am sure there has been a mistake,” I said to the man who was busy eating a banana.

“Yes, it could be your seat. We will sit here for some time and, once the train starts, we will be on our way. Our seats are too crowded right now. Just let us finish our lunch,” he said calmly and took another bite of his banana. For lunch.

I sighed, looked around for a place to sit and found one on the side lower berth. I did not want to miss out on the fun of looking out at the neighbouring train when the train started moving – its slowness kept one guessing about which one was moving.

“Are you always this kind or just too silly to believe that they will leave?” In my eagerness to observe the trains, I had not noticed the girl sitting opposite to me. She continued reading her comic book even while I struggled to make sure that she was talking to me. It was a Nagraj comic book and I felt slightly jealous.

“They’ll leave, right?” I turned my gaze away from her to see the man take out his chappals, and get comfortable by folding his legs under him. The banana was in its last stage.

“Of course, they will. Once they reach their destination,” she replied as she turned a page, “Just ask them to leave. Unless you plan to sit on my seat for the entire journey, which, frankly, is out of the question,” she smiled.

“Can you guess which train is moving right now?” I asked her – as I saw the other train move, or was it ours that was leaving?

She looked at me oddly, narrowing her eyes as she shook her face, “Just look at the wheels?”

Instinctively, I saw our train’s wheels moving and thought, ‘What a killer of joy! The idea is not to look at the wheels.’ I saw the girl place her comic book, still open but face down, on her backpack as she stood up and left. I noticed that her backpack was exactly like mine, except for a little keychain of the Hulk dangling by the zip on its side pocket. What a character!

Meanwhile, my berth’s colonizer was collecting his family’s banana peels in a plastic bag and was shoving it under my berth. I returned to look out of the window – it was time to enjoy the backward flow of numbers on the poles near the station. 37… 36… 35…

“These ones?” I heard a man say as he pointed at the family. The girl, who had spoiled my guess-the-moving-train game gave a little nod, and the ticket checker immediately asked the occupant family to show their tickets. The banana guy tried to reason with him but, eventually, all of them stood up to leave. “Take your trash along,” said the girl as she got back to reading her Nagraj ka Badla. The man looked at her in anger, picked up the plastic bag, and shepherded his family away.

“That was well done,” I picked up my backpack, kept it on my now-empty berth and took my seat while smiling at the girl.

“You should have done that yourself. And you are welcome,” I was getting used to this sarcastic tone.

“Oh yes, thanks. I didn’t know it would work like that. Did you have to bribe him?” I asked her while taking out my wallet.

“Not everything works on bribes. Sometimes, you just have to act,” she said, still refusing to get her eyes away from the comic book.

The view outside the window from my berth’s side was not so engaging – just plain grounds and meaningless trees. I had lost count of the poles of course. Nagraj’s queen had cost me the thrill of two games now.

I was about to take my earphones out of my backpack when I saw the Hulk keychain dangling in its side pocket. Oh no! Nagraj lady was surely going to spit venom at me now. Just as I picked it up to return it to her, my eye was caught by the envelope peeking out of the bag’s front pocket. I recognized its peculiar pink and that offensively filthy floral design. I immediately picked up the backpack, approached the girl, and said, “Excuse me. I am sorry but I picked your bag by mistake.” She took the bag and kept it behind her. As I continued to stand next to her, she simply looked at me and raised her eyebrows in question.

“Are you going to Delhi for Unnati’s wedding?” I asked.

“You had no courage to talk to the ticket checker but you had enough of it to go through my bag?” she asked as she snapped shut the adventures of Nagraj.

“Wait, wait. I didn’t go through your bag. I just saw that ugly invitation card in its front pocket,” I said pointing at the bag.

She looked back at her bag and said calmly, “Hmm, yes. I am going to Unnati’s wedding. More like Bipin’s wedding. I mean I am going from the groom’s side.”

“Do you mind giving Nagraj a break? I have something to tell you about Unnati and standing in this passage is a bit awkward,” I said. The train had come to a random halt – quite usual with Indian trains.

We were soon sitting next to each other. “Well, so… before I start,” I said as I took out the same invitation card from my backpack, “I am going to the same wedding. Unnati happens to be my ex. And I don’t know how to put it mildly but she is a horrible person!”

“Wait, you’re going to your ex’s wedding?” she asked looking at me in amusement.

“I know how it seems but her family is like a friend of my family’s and I am going as the representative. But if you are the friend of the groom’s, I thought I’d let you know about Unnati - an attempt to save him? Consider it as a favour for what you did for me, maybe.” I left my words hanging.

“Well, this is awkward. Bipin is not my friend. He is my ex,” she let out a loud laugh, “And thank you for letting me know that Unnati is his perfect match. How I’d love to see them both suffer! I am Preksha, and you are…?” she asked.

The train’s wheels were set into motion.

Missive and Miss You

 Letter from Sumeet to Nikhil

Hi Nikhil,

                Please accept my apologies for writing in so late. I hope you are back from your trek with no bones broken this time. As for my absence, there were some issues with our Tokyo factory and I had to be there to set things right. I know the engi-nerd (if you still identify yourself as one) in you would be keen to know about the details – but trust me, I have nothing to share on the technology front. Our employees in Japan are far too efficient to leave room for any concern of that sort. It was all about good old regulatory compliance. A few signatures here and there magically lifted the factory back on its feet.

                Anyway, do not think for a moment that I have forgotten about our next step. My earlier hesitation aside, like in my last letter, I assure you again – we must meet. It has been a good seven years since we started this written correspondence (RIP dear findpenpals dot com). Over these years, we have shared so many details about our lives – from favourite songs and dreadful movies to forgiven enemies and dead relatives (again, RIP findpenpals) – that it now seems alright to exchange a few words with you in person.

                As for the terms of our meeting – I cannot seem to find any. For obvious reasons, you might expect my company’s security to have an eye on us – even while we meet at the said cafe. But do not consider them obtrusive in any way. I have grown used to their hidden presence in public and it’s a total non-issue. No gifts shall be accepted (certainly no trinkets from your treks) and you’d be wise to not expect any from me either.

                I shall have to cut this letter short for I have another meeting to attend – this time, it’s Toronto that demands my attention.

Cheers, etc.

S

Letter from Nikhil to Sumeet

Respected Sumeet,

                Thanks for writing such a formal letter. As I had suspected right within the first few months of bumping into you on findpenpals, you have been bitten, naah… entirely consumed, by the corporate bug within just two years of leaving college. My trek went fine and, even with my forty-two years, I am quite proud of having my every bone intact. You had to be there to feel the fresh air and the sound of the river. Well done on the Tokyo magic though! I am not proud or anything – all you did was to scribble your name. Can’t wait to read your company’s media release boasting about how you tackled this monstrosity. Also, well done on the engi-nerd pun – your wealth continues to offer no help to your wordplay.

                Not a day goes by when I don’t offer condolences to the blessing that was findpenpals. It gave me the superpower to express my thoughts, and more importantly, offered me a friend – someone who flies across continents and still pays attention to the blotted features of my eventless life. Talking of which, remind me to tell you about a calendar that I saw during my last trek – it glows in the dark! I would have bought it for you but naah – what use does a rich boy have of trinkets from poor me?

                As for the meeting terms, I won’t mind your bodyguards as far as none of them sits between us on the café table. Would they mind if I get them some gifts? I got some bug-shaped bookmarks on my way back from the trek. As for a gift from you, nothing less than all the stocks of your company would be acceptable.

                I would have told you how thoroughly excited I am to finally meet you in person. But then, like Toronto operations wait for your attention, my pile of unwashed clothes waits for mine.

Yours in anticipation,

Nikhil

Meeting Day

Nikhil had been sitting at the café for about fifteen minutes since their designated meeting time. It was a small café offering nothing more than sandwiches, tea, and coffee. He had decided to reveal everything to Sumeet in person. This seven-year façade should not go on forever anyway. Having ordered his second cup of coffee, Nikhil’s anxious excitement was drifting out to give room to empty frustration. His eyes wandered to the café’s door once more. And yet again, he was disappointed. A girl in her late twenties was walking in. He wondered if maybe avoiding looking at the door would bring Sumeet in. He looked down at his cup of coffee and let out a small chuckle at the silliness of his thought.

“So you had not lied about laughing out aloud to yourself,” said the girl standing next to him.

“Excuse me?” Nikhil looked at her in surprise. She was wearing a rather plain-looking outfit with an ordinary bag hanging off her shoulder.

“You weren’t the only one making things up, Nikhil, if indeed that’s your real name. It’s me – rich boy. Not a boy, and not rich either – as you can guess from the absence of my security personnel,” said the girl with a grin.

“Wait, so… You are Sumeet? I mean you are... whoever you are? You were lying to me, this entire time?” asked Nikhil, still struggling to figure out his thoughts.

“Just as you were to me! You certainly aren’t the chirpy forty-two-year-old adventurer you claimed to be. I’d put you around twenty-eight? Did you really leave your job and go on solo treks funded by borrowed money? Also, this stunned silence speaks nothing about the quick-witted Nikhil that I was promised in the letters,” said the girl taking a seat opposite Nikhil.

“Stop making observations about me… and wait, what’s your name? Also, what do we do now?” asked Nikhil.

“We do what we have done in the past – share stories from our lives. Are you okay with that? And it’s Smita. Sumeet is my brother and it was our collective idea to sign up but then he lost interest in a matter of a few letters and it was all me after that. Shall we spend a moment in peace to pay respect to the death of the findpenpals website?” Smita asked and beckoned the waiter. “One coffee please.”

“Without sugar please,” said Nikhil still eyeing her suspiciously, “Yes, we can do all that. And yes, it was quite sad when they decided to shut down the website – I mean the fact that we’re both here after seven years of letter writing shows that what they tried was not an utter failure and yet…”

“True, and sad indeed. Not all things that work live forever, right? But hey, you remember about how I like my coffee. Now tell me all about the adventures from your last trek,” asked Smita.

“Umm, as for that, there was no trek – not the first, not the last. I work at a government-run library for poor kids – all my ‘adventures’ were snippets from the books that I read in the silence of the library. Sorry, but you can sue me – I guess that’s what a corporate type like you would do, right?” asked Nikhil, not quite eager to leave anymore.

“That can be arranged. But the corporate type sitting in front of you is actually just a struggling painter. I paint landscapes of cities and try to sell them at an art shop. So now you know what I meant by our operations at Tokyo and Toronto,” Smita smiled as she took the cup from the waiter.

“That was smartly done,” said Nikhil with a nod. “Talking of art, I know we had agreed on no gifts but still… here.” He took something out of his bag and kept it on the table. In the funkiest font, written on a table-top calendar were the words, “WHEN THE LIGHT GOES LOW, I GLOW!”

Smita took the calendar in her hands and let out a hearty laugh.