Teens

He was the other guy. No, not the one who was exchanging stares with the girl. He was sitting at the other table. He was quite glad seeing their little tale unfold in just gazes.

He wasn’t the one who put the ball in the basket. He was just there by the court. Everybody cried the shooter’s name in unison. And he joined them too.

He was never the one who took walks in the fog. But he did listen when someone narrated conversations they had during those walks.

So he once told her about the guy who played basketball. Then he told him about her. He was standing by the balcony when they held hands in the Atrium. And his eyes welled up in joy. Then he went inside with slow steps to have lunch with his friends. He always laughed when his friends cracked jokes. In their gossips he somehow remembered experiences he never even had.

But sometimes it rained in the afternoon. Then he’d try to run out to the lawns. But he always ended up by the window and watched those who got wet. Hours later when the rain stopped he got out for strolls. He smiled while passing through the empty part of the road. Sometimes, he sang too. But he was too nervous about being heard.

During one such stroll he saw someone cry. Maybe he was the only one who saw her cry on that night. He didn’t know what to say. So he just asked if I could get her water. But she left because she didn’t know him and it was getting dark. So, he stood there after she had left. Then he cried too. But no one offered him water.

But he really liked the girl with short hair. He liked that unconventional expression that was always glued to her face. But whenever she was around he always pretended like he didn’t see her at all. So he ended up being sad when he drank, and lonely when he played music.

So one day, he kept the plugs aside and walked out of his room. He quietly slipped into some late night Maggie talk – the ones where everyone told their stories. He didn’t tell his because somebody was always telling theirs. But somehow he was there in all their stories. He was just never the hero. He was always his friend.

If you talk about experiences which made my life livelier – I had many. But when it came to dating, I was pretty a novice. So that night, walking beside K, under the canopy of green, yellow and red leaves; the mild breeze gently messing with her hair; and the sound of waves hitting the shore beyond the walls; all of it cohered to make it a lovely territory to dive in.

We were walking towards the Silver Jubilee campus. If Pondicherry University was Europe, Silver Jubilee was Paris; and Rome. Paris, because it was the abode of intimacy; as in you cannot stand there without having romance gushing through your nerves. And Rome, because it was not built in a day!

This Silver Jubilee, structurally, had two concentric circular highways running at a radius of around fifty and seventy-five metres. The inner one, sufficiently lit, encompassed a huge barren land. Between the inner and the outer were the neatly crafted academic buildings. And the outer circle, which was usually darker, was dedicated to higher levels of romantic manoeuvres.

And when we came to the point where we had to choose between the inner and the outer circle, I was quite tensed. Then K insisted upon taking the outer one. And that made me go insanely happy.

Being a novice all I knew was that my life was changing after this night; but I didn’t know in what way. And quite naturally I began to wonder how to begin that procedure. How to break the ice of the hour. Thankfully it was she who initiated the conversation; in an extremely “romantic” manner!

So tell me, are you afraid of darkness?

Going back to the time when I first came to Pondicherry, I didn’t really want to come out of it. Most of the North Indians who ended up in PU were driven largely by two incentives – the gorgeous beaches, and the cheap alcohol. But I was there because I loved the land – first in the pictures and then in reality. And I was just out of school. We were some two hundred undergraduates drowning in a sea of thousands of postgraduates like K. And settling yourself academically in such a scholarly atmosphere couldn’t be easy at all. But it was. And we realised that only when we encountered the actual problem.

Most of the girls around were at least three years elder to us. And the pain of being universal “brothers” was unparalleled to any other.

But K was truly beautiful. Or precisely she was what guys like me with ugly faces would call way-out-of-my-league. Yet, it was the irony of life, that if you fast forwarded a good number of bus stop encounters, exchanged stares, exchanged phone numbers, double meaning chats, and exciting dreams – you would find me there beside K in the “outer” circle of Silver Jubilee.

I was afraid of darkness. So, I told her that I wasn’t. And I wondered if talking about darkness was a conventional thing to do in a date. Actually, nothing happened which would comply with my popular idea of a date. We just walked through the darkness. And to be honest it was dark enough to calm your hormones to some extent. And as we passed some way through the silent night, I asked her, hazarding all my wishes, if we could walk in towards the inner circle.

Let’s sit here, she said, with an elderly tenor. As if she had infinite knowledge and experience with sitting. And I couldn’t help but comply.

And we sat on the edge of the footpath. And we sat there for some time. I began to make efforts to ignite some conversation. And I asked about anything and everything that crossed my mind – hometown, hobbies, plans, random variables, programming languages, celestial bodies etc. But K was totally stingy with words. She used nothing more than a word or two. And not too late into it, I realised that I didn’t turn out interesting enough!

But there was a lot of night still left.

And I kept my hopes of receiving a fair share of my expectations. I believed that my life was still going to change. I believed so, only until she motioned to cut me mid-sentence. And all she said was a creepily elongated shhhhhhhh.

The first blow of the night and it hurt. It hurt my usually non-existent ego. And it hurt me so much that I was compelled to make a call at whether to stay any further. Whether to embrace any further humiliation. But I eventually did because a part of me still hoped. And then…

Then she put an arm across my shoulder. So, all of a sudden blow-number-one was cancelled. A lot of good things begin by keeping arms around shoulders. And every little nerve ending in my body was a live wire. My heart synced to the rhythm of my favourite songs. The hope – it glimmered brighter than the sun in the opposite hemisphere. The world suddenly became a beautiful place. And my insides started to celebrate; because my life was about to change.

But although K continued to exist, her actions made me doubt my axioms; because, there was no action at all! As if she was my emotional inverse. While I was having a hard time holding my heart in its place, she sat there like a beautiful stone crafted with brilliant curves and weird glasses. And somewhere down the line the net sum of world enthusiasm remained constant.

It was getting terribly awkward. Every passing second killed a butterfly that tried to fly within my stomach. And I grew very impatient. Suddenly the weight of her arm began to bother me. Something felt wrong.

But I still hoped.

Let’s move, I intently blurted out patting her back. What followed was unbelievable. K turned her head like dolls do in horror movies. And through my eyes, which by then had adjusted to the darkness, I could clearly make out her stern cold eyes staring at me; further enlarged by the powered glass. Something terrible was surely on its way.

Don’t you dare touch me. She said, and calmly turned away. And yes, she said that with her arm around my shoulder!

But she meant it; because her voice was low and her tone ominous.

This was the second blow of the night. And now I no longer hoped. I accepted the fact that the night was doomed; that my life was going to remain the same. The night, so far, had been a strange one. There was so much I had expected out of this date. Every step we took inside the outer circle had led to the discovery of new realms of fantasies. But all that was returned was humiliation. Cold, bare humiliation.

Life was sad.

I immediately got up and began pace away. I tried to keep calm. I didn’t want to snap back at her and leave. But she was also my date. And as I slowly walked away through the darkness, the canopy of leaves, the breeze, and the sound of waves, I felt bad. And I paused; and then turned.

She was still there at the edge of the footpath. I chose to forget all the shame she had hurled at me. And then I hoped, for one last time.

I turned on the flash of my phone. I was about to ask if she wanted to come along. Seconds later, I was running as if my life depended on it. My knees ached for rest, my throat pleaded for water, and my lungs gasped for air. But I never stopped; not until I reached my room and sealed the door, and the windows, and the ventilators.

Later I came to know that K had hearing difficulties, along with several other instances of going berserk; some of them as serious as chasing a floor-mate with a paring knife. And stories such as these scared me to death.

K and I, we would still come across each other at bus stops, library, and reading halls. But I never dared to meet her eye. But that moment still remains fresh in my memory. And no matter how much I try to convince myself; that it was nothing more than an ideally executed prank; or the strangest example of absent mindedness; my throat still goes dry with the very thought of it.

My life was indeed changed. Never in my life was I going to date in darkness, if not not date at all.

Because on that night when I saw K through the cell-phone flash, she was still seated at the edge of the footpath; in the exact same manner as when I was there beside her; her right arm hanging mid air; resting against the shoulders of an invisible person.

So, let me begin with the stern proclamation that I am not someone who believes that a mirror would better help survival than a water canteen if ever thrown to a lone desert. But, at times, I do care about how I look; especially when I am about to be interviewed!

So, on that fine Saturday morning, as I enter the elevator in the dimly lit basement I am deeply relieved to find a body length mirror occupying the entire inner wall. And knowing the ability of an hour long bus journey in Kolkata to turn your delighted look to a dishevelled one; the glass lined wall surely seems a heavenly gesture to save my day. Yet as I look myself up the mirror I can no longer identify the charming angel who had left her house. All I find is a girl looking back at me with awkwardly inclined spectacles. Her hair is a mess. And a moment later I realize, painfully, that in fact, she is me!

But the respite is short-lived. As the lift ascends to the second floor, and as I am adjusting the sleeves of my churidar, trying to embed a professional tinge to my terribly unprofessional self, the ascent abruptly stops; and enters a man, probably in mid forties. I say man because he really appears one. And as he is standing next to me I feel as if the walls are suddenly closing in; and I also realize how short I am. And I truly hate when I have such realizations.

The elevator opens to a long corridor with a marbled floor; and then I observe that the walls are marbled too. And it’s polished to such an extent that you can make out an obscure reflection of yourself as you are walking by them.

The corridor ends into an overwhelmingly decorated and gigantic lobby initiated by a reception cubicle. The furniture appears like priceless antiques rescued from former royal palaces. And I take a moment to process the entire scenery. I am welcomed by an extremely well dressed lady with an extremely beautiful smile, who asks me to wait in the sofas that seat several others like me; candidates. Not often in my life have I come across glamour from such close range. And then, as I do, I feel like it’s, umm, awesome!?

The few yards walk from the reception to the waiting area, having every eye in that lobby on me, feels like a ramp in a lingerie ad. And all of a sudden I am horribly nervous and self conscious. I wonder whether my hips are swinging way too much; or whether the dupatta is hiding what it needs to hide, and yet not hiding too much; and blah blah. But, finally, I make it; eureka.

As I sit I eagerly look around to have a quick study of my fellow competitors; most of which, I find to my surprise, are girls. And then when I am convinced that, typically, there are way too many differences between their appearances; and also in the way they bit their nails; I decide to search the similarities.

And indeed that turns out to be an easier feat; as I find that a majority of them, unlike me, were in formal suits. And this sends a chill of inferiority down my spine. And secondly, I find most of the girls appeared only as tall as me, even after having their curvy bodies elevated by three inches by heels or wedges. And for a moment I recollect the painful memory of the previous time I had tried one of them.

And then the third similarity interrupts the chain of my thoughts. And I realize that everyone in that lobby looked shockingly similar in another particular way. And a second later I realize that all of them looked rich; annoyingly rich.

And amongst the randomly ignited conversations which were overlapping from all around, the girl in front catches my attention. And the guy beside me, in black formals, extends his hands and then engages in something which can truly be referred to as a warm handshake. Promit Roy, I hear him say and I feel that I am utterly left out. I feel that I’m repulsive; maybe because my hips really had weird swings as I walked in.

Meanwhile, I notice that my legs are shaking; vigorously. And it feels awkward when I stop doing so, and I carry on with it. And while I am doing so I hear a word originating at my side. And I realize that it’s a hi.

I turn towards him and spend a couple of seconds wondering if his eyes are originally orange. And when I am convinced that I was seeing it wrong I try to look for a comeback for my stupidity. And then, obviously, I smile.

Is it your first time? He asks in a deep voice and I wonder if it has something to do with my virginity.

No, I mean yes. I reply pretending like I don’t know that I have miserably failed at my try to not appear confused.

Yeah, and he gazes into my legs and adds a smile to his composure, I can see that.

You, I ask, your first time too?

No. He says and stares deep into my eyes; so deep that I can almost feel him touching my retina.

So, where are you from? I ask him in an attempt to avoid awkward silences.

I live nearby.

Meanwhile a man enters the lobby and takes a position which clearly suggests that he is about to make an announcement. And I realize that it is the man from the elevator. And he relays with total eloquence, you must know that this interview is for university scholarship. And you should also know that there is one among you, the best one, who would be entitled to absolutely free education. And to find who it is, we are about to begin the interviews shortly. Hope you are all set to portray your best self!

And his departure is as abrupt as his arrival; and after he leaves I find that the vibration in my legs has taken larger amplitudes. And the gravity of the announcement accelerates my heartbeats; and it seems like the tension piling up inside me could lead to an explosion at any moment.

And at the same time, I become envious of this guy who is sitting just a few inches away. I doubt whether I have seen such calmness, even in any of the parks I have recently visited. And in such a moment of crisis, all I wish is to find is someone like me.

I look around once again; this time with awfully competitive eyes. And I set myself with a mental note that everyone in that lobby has stolen a Cadbury from my school bag; at least once in their lifetime. And now is the time for vengeance.

But, of course, by everyone I mean everyone except him.

But, indeed, it is true that I am the one who needs this scholarship, badly; at least more badly than anyone else; because I am the only one who is not appearing annoyingly rich. And the worst any of the bastards in the lobby can do is deprive someone of the much-needed aid. And I resolute to not make that happen.

Meanwhile, the lady with the amazing smile turns up again; this time to only announce the order in which we would be summoned for the interview. I am comforted knowing that my turn would come in the latter half — the eighteenth; and Promit, the twenty first.

But, my body doesn’t obey my wishes. With every passing individual I become more nervous than what I’ve previously been. And as my turn approaches I gradually begin to expect some weird breed of animal, may be even a dinosaur, waiting for me behind the doors of my interview room. Yes, this aptly estimates the level of my nervousness. And in the middle of everything I find myself in a miserable mix of feelings. I find that I am dreaded to decide which of the needs is more urgent — the need to eat, or the need to pee!

And unexpectedly, like always, I end up striking a conversation; in an attempt to calm myself down.

You said you live nearby, right? I mutter without turning towards him. And later I realize that my words were mislaid in the air. It went nowhere.

But then he surprises me with, only if you are asking that to me.

Damn, this guy is treading my esteem. And I look with the corner of my eyes making sure that he is not looking at me. No, actually, I just wanted to know if there is any restaurant nearby.

There sure is. He replies instantly.

I think I’d have to rush once I finish with this. My stomach is pleading. And I wonder if he is silently appreciating the personification.

Absolutely, he smiles, you must. And he continues, you leave the building, take a right and walk straight. In the immediate cutting take a right again and make sure that you are walking towards St. Xavier’s. And once you cross the college take the first left; and a few steps would take you to the place I am talking about.

I take a moment and ask again, right, right, Xavier’s and left? Is that how it is?

Absolutely.

The food must be delicious there, isn’t it? I enquire wondering whether I’d be able to afford it.

He takes a moment and then replies; very slowly and calmly, hey, trust me; it’s the best one in Kolkata.

And the price; is it reasonable?

Yes. And I nod trying to guess where his reason range might fall.

I am counting on you.

My pleasure, he smiles and I realize that my bladder is about to blast. I immediately excuse myself and rush to washroom.

While coming back I cross the seventeenth person who was being carried to the interview room. But, I must admit that the recent conversation had actually lightened me up. And this time I walk comfortably; return his smile with a more pleasant one; and take my seat.

If you don’t know already, the scholarship is also means based. He informs as I settle down in my seat; and I shoo the words away until I process again what I just heard.

And I abruptly speak out, what?

Means cum merit; you’ll get the scholarship only if you need it. What else do you think they asked the income certificates of our parents for?

And I understand how stupid I have been in not deducing the obvious. Are you sure? I ask to confirm.

You should have checked the prospectus, which I obviously didn’t. And fortunately, that was the most reassuring information I have received on the day.

So when my name is called out I walk out with longer strides and more confident steps. I remember him gesturing me with his thumb held up and decorating his face with a soothing wide grin. And as I walk out of the lobby, I am convinced that this guy, Promit Roy, was way more relieving than the body length mirror from the elevator.

The worst thing about an interview is the fact that you never know how it went; because you can never predict what the interviewer wants from you; even if you and the interviewer shared an elevator in the morning. So if someone claims that it went good or well, even great; you would have to conclude that either they have just appeared how they wanted to appear; not how the interviewer wanted them to; or simply, they are lying.

Luckily, it is the first one for me.

And sadly, as I return to the lobby I can’t spot my reason of being lucky. Promit Roy, the twenty first, is gone.

I reach out to a few people beginning with the girl in front; enquiring about where he is. But no one seems to have a clue. And it appears like he didn’t even exist in the lobby. And to my greater regret, the twenty-first candidate is marked absent when the authority is convinced that he had abandoned the interview. And I conclude, Promit is gone!

So, not to my surprise, I have to welcome this ominous thought; that I’ll never meet this person again. And my disappointment leads to hunger. And I walk out of the building mumbling right, right, Xavier’s, left in my mind.

And as I consciously try to walk across the street, I can’t help myself but think about this guy. I think about how screwed up I was and how he had lifted me up. Maybe anybody could have come up with that; since it was a pretty little conversation that lifted me up. And maybe it was my fault that I was not habituated to talking to people. And maybe Promit Roy wasn’t that special at all. And maybe all this time I was doing nothing, but just over thinking. And maybe I am a sentimental stupid!

And in the mean time I cross a number of restaurants and food stalls; engaging undeniable smells of the intricate masalas. And my stomach starts to plead; rather literally on this occasion. And I expect the one he mentioned to be really good; or to put it more appropriately, I expect it to justify his words. And then I cross Xavier’s.

As I take a left, I can indeed see a food stall; not a one with glass lined walls and extravagant mannequins at the entrance; like the one I had imagined. It was in fact a little potable stall; using the shed of a tree to good advantage; beneath which laid are the benches that sit a number of customers. And almost immediately and involuntarily I relate it to the lobby where I had been sitting all these while. And the contrast in the aura and the mood is far more significant than the contrast in the physical orientation of the place.

And as I take a few more steps forward I find a tall guy in a kurta, sleeves folded, assuming the behind of the stall. And he looks at me, and I almost shout, Promit?

Had any problem finding the best stall in Kolkata? And I believe he has not stopped grinning from the moment I left for the interview; because it is the same identical grin; exactly the same one.

And I try to make sense of whatever is happening. The day already had too much under its hat. And then, I know that even more are on the way.

Why did you leave, is all I manage to say.

Because leaving was necessary, he replies without disturbing his smile, making that even possible. And it still doesn’t make sense as I keep standing there, dumbstruck, trying to figure out an explanation.

And suddenly it strikes me; like a huge thunderstruck; right on the top of my head.

Hey?

Yes.

You said that the scholarship was also means based.

Yes.

So, I mean, did you walk out because…

No wonder my dad doesn’t make much with this little stall. And I don’t know how he pulls that off! Speaking and smiling at the same time.

But, why? And both of us fall silent.

Hey, you don’t have to worry. I came back with what I always want to have.

And that being?

A customer! He paused. You know, I always do get a customer.

You have done this before? I ask him remembering him say that he wasn’t appearing for the first time.

Precisely, madam. And he comes up with this more beautiful and gratifying smile. And I wonder who should be one actually grateful.

But before I can say anything, he cuts me off, madam; I think it’s time that I take orders from my customer; and you’re the best one I ever had.

It was very unlikely that we were both sitting on the high edge of the terrace. Actually, we didn’t fit anywhere else on that morning. We were both outcasts to our own worlds. We were always among people stuck in inappropriate surroundings.

You could clearly tell that this person was by far the most awkwardly dressed individual around. The scorching heat didn’t stop him from dressing in black. And the brim of his hat grazed right above his nose; concealing the pair of his mysterious eyes. I had no clue about where he came from.

So, it was him breaking the silence; because, it never is me.

“Why are you here?”

I was there because I didn’t want to be anywhere else. Wherever you be you would either have to talk, or listen. I never talked a lot. And I was tired of listening.

“Allow me to help you”, he said again.

It is usually hard to get me to speak. But he did. He sensed the weakness. And he was using it against me. And I had to remember things which I wanted to leave far behind.

“I don’t know. I broke up last week. My father’s health is worsening too. Nothing is working out”.

My shoulders collapsed in despair. For a moment I thought it was better to keep things to myself. But I also needed to reach out to someone; without being judged or misunderstood. And maybe a stranger was my best chance at it.

“Nothing ever does. That’s how it works.”

“Who are you?” I realized that this should have been the first thing to ask and know.

“I am an agent, you see? A salesman to be precise”, he explained.

“So, why are you here?”

“To sell. Quite obvious, isn’t it?”

And amidst everything I was going through in that moment, the last thing I needed was a salesman shaking me up.

“In case you’re wondering, I sell death”, he continued revealing his unshaped teeth.

I wasn’t shocked, but irritated? Certainly. I responded, seemingly annoyed. “I don’t have time for jokes right now. So please leave.”

“No dear, it’s business. And death can sure be sold. And it works like every other product. I convince people to buy it.” He paused. “I convince people to die.”

“And why would you do that?”

“Because sometimes it’s the only way out, the true solution.”

“Bullshit”. I didn’t know what this man was after. And for a moment it appeared as if he was present there to amuse me. So I continued pretending to be curious.

“So, free service?”

“Not exactly”, and there were the teeth again. With teeth came surprises. “Job satisfaction, you understand?”

“Yes, it’s highly satisfying to convince people to die”, I mocked, “How good are you by the way? How many have you convinced so far?”

“Well, I’m well off, I suppose. There hardly is any competition. I’ve convinced people around here as well.”

And then, all of a sudden, it occurred to me — that today wasn’t the first time I was seeing him. Quick flashes ran through my head; the backseat behind Farhan anna, the night when he crashed into a running train; the benches before the library, with Ferman, the day before he hung himself. He was there. With people I knew. And they were all dead.

Now I was immensely shocked. And though silence of that morning had somehow subsumed me, my insides couldn’t stay calm anymore. My blood boiled with every drop of sweat that formed on my forehead. It felt like my heart was pounding next to my ear. I was more infuriated than scared. And I didn’t know how to deal with this. I couldn’t bring myself to settle with just words. So I cried in disbelief.

“You killed them!”

“No. I am not a murderer. I just convince people to die. There is a difference, you see.”

“They had family”. I was in tears.

“So do you. So does everyone.” He placed an arm around my shoulder. I shrugged to remove it. “Calm down. Look around. What do you see?”

Few yards across the watchtower the gardens ran along the university highway. And the gardeners wandered under the sun, cropping the branches with their oversized scissors. Not a leaf was going to be left jutting out oddly from the row. They were all etching for perfection.

“Why do you think they’re doing this?”

“So that they can earn; so that they can feed their wives, parents and children; to afford education, to pay for their needs.” I yelled. “You see, not everyone is as cruel as you are.”

“Food, education, needs! What are needs for?”

I was never a violent person, but then I seriously considered pushing this man off the roof. “Needs are for life. Your cold heart is not going to comply. People to live, not die.”

“Living?” The man laughed out. “That’s the biggest joke out there. People are too dumb to get it.” He paused. “No one lives. People just buy themselves time. Everyone you see here is trying to escape; trying their best to escape immediate death; either for themselves, or for someone else.

“Fancy anyone. Doctors. Bankers. Labourers. Priests. Everyone.

“What is point in planting stones, watering them, and then expecting them to flower one day. Life is fake.

“Because death”, he adjusted his hat and clenched his knuckles, “is inevitable! No matter what you have or what you earn or what you know, you can’t buy forever.”

It did and didn’t make sense at the same time. I had nothing to say in response. I was just hoping that this man leaves, and never comes back. And meanwhile my heart thumped at an abnormal pace. And I felt void forming in my stomach.

“Look, dear”, he again put an arm, and this time I let it stay. And as he pointed towards the ground he spoke with a fatherly tenor. ‘There, my child, there is the truth. How can you not see it! You don’t have to be stiff. You can stop shaking your legs. This is easy and peaceful. Just let go.

“Look down there, it’s beautiful.”

Warm tears rolled down my cheek. My vision blurred. And I leaned to embrace him. “I can’t do this to my parents. I can’t hurt them.”

“They are already hurt. Everybody is. Why do you live. Eventually, there would not be a thing. Not a stone, nor a memory. You leave now or later, how does it matter?”

Choking in my own tears, I asked “Can I see Reya once?”

And he smiled. “Kid, she’s gone. There is nothing left for you here”

And as I gasped for breath, I asked for the last time “Can I never be happy again?”

He lifted his hat to look deep into my eyes. “I don’t know. But what after that?” And he wiped my tears with his palm.

He held my hand, “Trust me. The pain is about to end.” And I looked at the pavement, far beneath the watchtower. And it felt like I could almost reach it with my arm. He whispered. “Just let go.”

I looked over my head. The sun was blazing brighter than any ordinary day. And I could sense the blue of the sea from the corner of my eyes. Yet the day was getting dark for me. I was seeing things in blur. I was a whirlpool of emotions, but none of it made sense.

I was about to faint. He saw it. And he gave me a reassuring gesture. A gesture to fall.

And I left falling to luck. And as I finally closed my eyes I didn’t know which side I’d fall to — life or death.

Life, it was.

I woke up to heavy raindrops hitting my face. I didn’t know how long it had been. My lips had split. Blood and dust had painted a side of my face. And as I stood up to face the sky, the rain washed them away.

The terrace was huge. And as stood against the edge again, I saw people underneath. Sayan, Sid, Poulami. And then, I spotted Reya.

All of them drenched wet; shouting my name at the top of their voices, and scrounging at every corner of the campus. Someone pointed a finger towards the terrace; right where I was standing. And they jumped and waved their hands; they cried my name in unison. And even from the top of the tower I could distinctly make out the spark in their eyes. I felt grateful.

Seeing them I remembered every detail of the morning. They rushed to me in the form of guilt; cold, bare guilt. Guilt of almost being at the edge of life. The rain had washed away my weakness. And as I looked through, I saw clearer than ever. I realised the salesman was gone.

He was never there at all.

I was the salesman.

Not everyone falls towards the side of life. Not everyone is as fortunate. Ferman, Farhan, and many more have fallen prey to the salesman. He is a parasite, wandering around, looking for a host, a prey, a customer of death, at the cost of life. But life, if you do not already know, is non-transactional. Life is priceless.

And such moments which make life priceless are the ones which almost took it from you.

That evening I remember walking out of the door at the base of the watchtower. Reya rushed to give me the tightest hug of my life. And the way she clutched the back of my shirt, I was convinced that she wasn’t going to let go very easily. Poulami shouted from behind, in her usual sarcastic tone, ‘The hug is postponed. Calling aunty is prescheduled. There are at least fifty missed calls since morning.’ Reya turned around. “Priorities”, Poulami smiled.

But Reya continued to sob on my chest.

And as we strolled back to our hostels, I felt him for one last time; hiding behind the doors; quietly peeking at his failure. I turned back and saw him disappear.

Sid shook my arm and asked who it was. “The salesman”, I smiled and we left.

It was a natural struggle boarding the train on that day. Like any usual Saturday evening, Howrah Railway Station had collected the entire office folk under its terrace. And getting a seat on such an evening local was as great a feat as hiring Michael Jackson to perform on someone’s wedding!

And needless to say, after inevitable pushing and pulling of random strangers, I occupied, rather earned a window seat. And since I wasn’t actually acquainted to train journeys I began to wonder how I was supposed to spend the three coming hours.

Initially I gave a call to my girlfriend. She was perhaps the best anti-boring pill I ever had. Then, credits to my amazing fate and the wonderful battery life of my phone, the call disconnected within a dozen of minutes. And I was restored my useless what-to-do and good-for-nothing states. At last, in anticipation of some sort of excitement I chose to look intently at the surrounding passengers!

The man before me seemed to be included among the so called ‘office folk’. With his insurmountable skills at anywhere-sleeping he was fast asleep; in the traditional head-rested-against-window-bars manner.

Beside him sat a young guy who was older than me. He was bare footed. Later I learned that he left his slippers behind while being chased by a policeman. ‘I was participating in some political rally’, I heard him say.

There was a woman in bright yellow sari right beside him; the kind of bright, which when looked at, strains your eyes. She appeared to be least interested in the prevalent conversations.

And the man on my left was in kurta & lungi; ‘typical south Indian attire’, he claimed informing us that he was a Bengali by origin who was well settled in Kerala.

And I thought there was this good deal of diversity flourishing inside the compartment.

Honestly, I sucked immensely at approaching people & striking conversations. But with the slowest possible passage of an hour I was left with no other choice.

The compartment had somewhat vacated by that time. There were people occupying the seats only. A couple of youngsters were leaning from the doors. And it appeared that they were doing a job equivalent to the one a khalasi does for a bus!

But I have to say, air was gushing in through all possible pores of the train. And with the sun about to descend beneath the horizons outside, the journey seemed sufficiently soothing.

At the next station entered a man with a bunch of litchi branches. Indeed, quite a big bunch it was; piled with great force inside a plastic bag! He smiled at the man beside the Keralite immigrant. The smile indicated that they were supposedly married couples in their previous lives. Keeping the plastic bag on the section bunks he cried out, ‘Sanath da, remind me before Nabadwip arrives. I don’t want to forget these too’, and adjusted a seat beside that eye-straining yellow sari. The lady continued to appear not-interested. She made a face that suggested disgust & resumed tapping her phone.

Thanks to these re-incarnated lovers, there was finally a topic of discussion ignited in that compartmental section.

Ah, forgetfulness it was!

And the man, who had just entered with litchi, began narrating incidents from his life where he seemed to forget almost anything and everything! Like he began describing the instance when he had left behind in the train, a sack comprising new year presents for his family; and how he had miraculously recovered it through a friend who was smoking weed in the car shed.

And later his associate reminded him the incident in which he had forgotten his cell phone while visiting the former’s house.

‘He had scrounged for it at every possible corner and guess where he found them at last?’ noticing my unblinking interest he asked me.

And I still didn’t blink.

‘It was right there in his back pocket’, he marked and looked like having a tough time suppressing laughter.

Although he was exaggerating his expressions, the manner of his narrative was somewhat humorous.

There was a moment of silence.

The Keralite, who was intently listening to the man beside him, spoke now; after half an hour of incredible hibernation.

‘We all have been knowing it wrong. Forgetfulness, nowadays, doesn’t come with age!’, he said with great fervor. ‘And it is frequently seen in teens these days’.

Now being a bubbling representative of the youth society that seemed a direct sentimental attack.

Yet, I chose to keep my mouth closed.

He continued keeping his palm on my thigh, ‘this brother will surely agree. Don’t you?’

I had to smile.

‘Let me justify my statement’, he said and let me tell you, this man had great power in his voice. And no matter how much his attire contradicted, but his manner of speaking approved him of being a man of deep knowledge. And the slow and steady flow of his words attracted a lot of ears; even the one of that yellow sari woman who had nothing to do except being not interested.

‘There was this boy from my neighborhood of Bengal; he was staying over in Kerala with me; perhaps, appearing for some strange exams’, he continued. ‘After he had left for his return journey, I found both his phone and laptop cuddled beneath the sheets. How disgusting! The way he carried himself instigated a lot of doubt. But had it not been him, I would never had developed this epic aversion for forgetful people.’

The litchi-man raised his eyebrows over his head.

‘I send them back with my friend who was travelling to Bengal.’

He paused for a moment.

‘My friend suggested me that, provided his carelessness, it would have been a good idea selling off those gadgets. But I refrained’, he marked, with great emphasis on the word ‘sell’.

‘But you know friend, such heinous acts are not for us. No matter how bad a situation you are in, if you have education in your stomach, there will always be an invisible hand pulling you from being evil.’

I nodded.

The litchi-man took his turn and said with a grin.

‘People who have such intentions don’t need you to drop your stuff in their home. You will have your things inside your pocket and yet they’ll take them away just from under your nose.’

‘Exactly, it’s just pooop & fooos’, said the Keralite. And he said it in such a way that the yellow sari let out a sudden high pitched cry of laughter; so high pitched that the office-man who was sleeping all this while woke with a jerk!

And he looked like he had no idea about where he was.

And she looked embarrassed.

‘I don’t know, it feels like they have some kind of magic wand. Its abracadabra & their job is done’, I finally established my point.

And all the passengers around me began showing their teeth.

That lady looked adorable.

The young guy who was older than me had a decent set of teeth.

And the eyes of the Keralite narrowed. His teeth were red with pan stains; and the upper set was widely placed. But perhaps, he had this good genuine smile.

Later the litchi-man was reminded his packet and he sighed vigorously before getting down. His last-life-partner got down in the next station along with the Keralite.

And it was weird to note that the Keralite, not even for once, cared to close that unshaped smile from the moment he began doing it.

And at the end of my three hours I got down too. And it was surprising to note that the journey which was supposed to be exceedingly boring, rather ended up being fun and memorable!

I was lot more than just exhausted while walking back home. And the idea of laying in my cozy bed made me quicken my pace.

For a moment I thought of informing dad that I had safely returned. And I remembered that my phone had a ran out battery. Yet a natural instinct made my fingers reach for my pocket.

I couldn’t feel my cell phone.

And neither did I feel my wallet.

I stood astounded and launched an elaborate search inside my bag.

Obviously, it could never be in the bag.

And I realized the reason why that unshaped smile lasted eternally.

And I couldn’t help but bear a faint smile too.

And my insides were laughing at myself; perhaps at how miserably I had failed to notice the extraordinary ‘Magic Wand’!