The Foolish Fellow -Jaya Jadwani

Jaya Jadwani

Translated by Deepa Kumawat from Hindi original “Bevkoof Kahin Ka” into English

Frittering with time to settle her luggage made the guy restless who was standing outside the window of the coach… maybe he wished to bid with the words such as ‘come back soon, or ‘give me a call once you reach, etc., etc.. A passenger next to her seat was watching both of them through the grilled window. He observes a lean girl dressed in a salwar suit, which seems to be younger than her actual age has the least interest in the man who came to leave her for the journey. She adjusted her trolley bag, kept her laptop bag on the seat, a newspaper, some books, a purse and a big Samsung mobile on the top of her belongings. She had already placed the food packet. She assumed the journey to be greater than any celebration. Finally, the train moved with a jerk and journey began. With this, she sticks a half-hearted smile to her face and shakes her hand to gesticulate her adieus to the man on the platform. Some unheard and unspoken blanks were seemed to be moving on his fading face on the passing platform. Sadness at his end was a sense of pleasure on the girl’s side. On a slow pace, the platform was being left behind. She feels like heaven in an airconditioned compartment after facing anarchical sounds around the platform. She wiped her perspiring face and took her seat with a relieved sigh. Observing the co-passengers through the jaded eyes, her glance stayed on the man who was lying on the opposite lower berth. He smiled looking at her, and she replied with the same gesture most simply. Relaxing in her reserved berth, she was peering the backward moving platform followed by the vista of the passing city. . . her face wore a blissful look. Suddenly she felt thirsty and started looking for the water from her luggage.

Deepa Kumawat

    "Oh! I think it is left in the car!" she jabbered.

   The person in the front berth offered his bottle "take this, I have two".

 "Oh, thanks," she took it unhesitatingly and immediately broke the seal to quench her thirst. The person was gazing the water that was pouring down through her crystal throat, or maybe he had some motive.

   "Thanks, sir," she capped the bottle and put it between her knees.

 Soon the train attendant came, placed two bedrolls in front of them, and walked away. They unrolled them on their respective berths. Until now, only two of them were there in the compartment, the rests have not yet boarded. 

"I love to travel by train. One can have ample private space for oneself. . . can read in solitude, can think in peace, can be lost in one’s own world of imagination, but. . . all it can be enjoyed without switching on the laptop. Air travel cannot fructify such pleasures as half of the time is consumed in airport formalities, thereafter the takeoff is followed by a swift landing on the destination," The lady casually shared this to the unknown passenger travelling alongside and covered herself with the white bed sheet through the neck. For some moments, her eyes were at rest. But, the man was cautiously gazing at her tranquil face. It seemed as if she has reached here after running from a distant past and urging to dissolve herself into eternal calmness.

      "Are you in a job?" he initiated further.

 "Yes, in Axis Bank. I got a five-day leave after a long time and so I 'm going at my brother’s place in Delhi". Now, she seems much delightful as the calm of the face glided through her entire being.

"Good . . . a bank job is supposed to be a comfy one. Just take your seat in an airconditioned office and keep tapping the keys of your computer board, isn't it?"

"Where do you work?" she asked amusingly.

        "For a Newspaper. . ."

 "Ha, ha. . . that's why you think so of a bank  job. . . you know, we often adore things that we do not possess Mr.…" she looked at him interrogatively.

         "B.K.K…"

       "B.K.K", she laughed out to this.

 "May I know your name?" he asked in reply without bothering about the reason for her laugh.

    "My name is S.P.," she replied naughtily and grinned again.

      "S.P.," he got startled by the acronym.

 Looking from the window pan, she uncovered S.P. as "Samiksha Purohit". She often likes to enjoy the panorama from the train and hence, she thought for a while why she is being tangled in a useless conversation with this guy. It is better to eat something of her choice, read, and sleep. The train departed at one o’clock noon from her city, and now it was almost lunchtime.

      She sat down and dragged the food packet.

 Having eye contact with him she said, "It is lunchtime. . . I'm feeling hungry now as I haven't had my breakfast properly in a hurry to catch the train."

"Oh sure! I should also take my lunch. Lets’ see what my wife has packed in it.

Both of them started opening their food packets. Samiksha had a food packet that she bought on the way to the station while B.K.K had homemade complete cuisines - Chole poori(a popular breakfast with spicy grams), stuffed bitter gaud, green chili pakoda, green chutney, stuffed rice, and Rasmalai (Indian sweet dish) etc.

 "Please have some stuffed bitter gaud. My wife cooks well . . . just cook well," he repeated jokingly. Samiksha didn't hesitate to sneak a look into his lunch stuff and picked up two bitter gauds quickly.

 "Actually, as I need to be at the office at nine -thirty in the morning, I hardly get much time to spend in the kitchen for variety of dishes and so, either we go out for dinner in the nights or prepare meals with shortcuts," saying so, she offered him from her lunchbox.

    "Keep everything here . . . let's share and eat together."

 They used the table between their berths to place the food and were busy with their conversation.

    "Was he your husband who came to see off at the station?"

       "Yeah, he was my husband."

     "I noticed, he wanted to tell you something."

          "Yes . . . I know what he wanted to instruct as always. You know, these doubtful men do not leave a chance to show off their so-called manliness. He would dictate me- 'Beware of the strangers, don't take any eatables from them as if I am a chowhound and blah- blah- blah. Moreover, if there were substantial number of male co-passengers in the coach, he will strive hard to change my allotted coach by finding the Ticket Collector then and there. They behave as  we, the women only, possess the tag of gossiping . . .  why do these milk-toothed naive men get afraid to see themselves in the mirror?" she angrily looked at him during the conversation as if someone complain about a child to an elderly. 

 "Maybe, he was being insecure and possessive about male gazing at me when he is not around me."

 "So what if I'm not a property. You know, the society we live in, a wife is no less than a property. The more beautiful and intelligent she is, the richer a husband can feel himself." Staying his glance at her with more interest, now he thought, "To mingle with co-passengers is not only one of his interests but is also his skill. But as of now, he feels it like a windfall to the needy." 

   "What do you want to say?" making an eye contact she asked.

 "I wish to say what you've already understood. You are beautiful and it is not his fault. Husband of a beautiful woman naturally become 'helpless' one day, and as time passes even their wives do not pity on them," suddenly they both laughed out loud, and it shattered the hesitation between them.

        "Well, your wife really cooks delicious. I'm sorry I ate most of your lunch."

   "So, you may feel lucky to have this Rasmalai further," he offered.

      "No, no. . . then what’s left for you?"

          "Don't worry, I'll have the Gulab Jamun (sweet brown dish)," he jiggered.

   "You are fortunate enough to have such delicious food unfailingly."

 "Ha, ha. . . you know, oftentimes, we be oblivious whether we are fortunate or misfortunate. We often wrangle up due to my odd job timings. I leave home after lunch and return by four or five o'clock in the morning and so I sleep till noon to revive. She always pines over what is not there instead of being happy and thankful for what she has effortlessly. You will wonder to know that I simply hand over my total emoluments to her and love to ask her for my petty expenses and still it's always difficult to make her happy. . . .

 "I'm not an exception to the like situations Mr. B.K.K. He lives with the thought that I don’t love him, that he who demand love often be a nuisance for the other, that love cannot be found elsewhere , only you need to search it within where it cannot be shared and so on. . ." she paused suddenly. 

 "I feel that the materialistic world is much more loyal. You purchase something, pay for it, cheap or expensive, little or more, and bring it home forever. But, the exchange in the market of relationships seems more dangerous. No matter one is in a role of a husband or a wife . . . the debt of marrying someone needs to pay and repay throughout the life. The so-called institution of marriage decorated under the banner called 'Love' flourishes on the very same principle of giving and taking per se."

 Samiksha just nodded. Sinked in the unknown valley of thought she would look at him and outside the window alternatively. It was almost half an hour they had lunch. As of now, they both were pretending to get engaged with their books. Samiksha tried to raise her eye a bit to peep at what he was reading… Palm Grout and Richard Branson. . . .

 "Oh, so you Do you like to read books on positive thinking?’ she turned and flipped the pages of his book.

 "Well, yeah. I like to read them during travel. The cleansing of the mind is equally important as cleaning the body. The reality we face in our day-to-day life is quite bitter than we imagine," he spoke his heart.

 Samiksha reacts, "Hmm. . . Sometimes I too desperately want to fetch those feelings in books, which I really want to get manifested in my life. But . . . this is seldom possible . . . one needs to take step for one's own dreams, words can only act as the guiding force. . . . You know, I, at times, get astonished how people achieve so much in this one life and I couldn't find my ways. . . I wanted to be an airhostess; I got selected too, and worked as an airhostess for two years. But, my parents forced me to leave from there with the injudicious societal reason that no one would get married to an air hostess . . .," she repented in shaking tone or maybe it was her long hid frustration and agony that sprung up and now is visible to others. 

   "Don't tell me that you came back leaving the job?" he presumed.

 She regretted and continued, "Did I have another way out? Then they got me married. After marriage, I qualified for a bank examination and now I am with a bank. Look at the irony of life where at one hand I had dreamt of flying in the sky yet I'm living like a puppet swinging round within the same circle. . . ."

 "In life, we need to pay or give to every relation but when it comes to compensate to the parents, it leaves a deep wound within," The murmuring words of B.K.K touched her ears and then he continued his sides of the story.

 . . . She was looking out of the window, at the never-ending lineage of the passing woods, things moving backward, left behind fields, animals, poles, and a lot more. She likes to move away from her worldly identity. She as a tiny toot, as described by her mother, used to hang on to the window of the train and look out for the whole night with sleepy eyes.

 Amidst sleepiness, she was trying to listen to him and soon realizes she is finally caught by the sleep on her berth and it is someone else who is still awakened, listening to him albeit she was unable to catch hold of any of his word at the moment.

 "Please, wake up now . . . see, the hot coffee is waiting for you," such words broke her sleep. Astonishingly looking at him she asked, "Which station is this?"

 "It's Nagpur. . . . Have your coffee," he urged and said, "I am just coming. . . If I fail to come within time . . . then pull the chain."

"Hey listen. . . where are you . . . I would not be pulling the chain," She haphazardly woke up and sat down. The coffee was about to spill out. . . and he has left. 

"My God, I wonder, such insane people still exist. All his luggage is here and if I

don’t pull the chain. . . .

 She finished her coffee and anxiously awaited. The adjacent seats were still unoccupied and she was alone. She could hear a child's cry from the next lane and the mother coaxing him . . . meanwhile the train starts moving at a slow pace. "Oh, no! What should I do now? I even don’t have his mobile number . . . Bevkoof Kahin Ka (The Foolish Fellow)," she agitated and pulled the chain.

 The train slowed down to a halt. "What will I answer if someone comes to inquire?" she frightened. With her heart pumping in fear, she ran towards the gate of the coach. . .the train had not yet left the platform, and see , he was rushing back towards it with some food packets in both of his hands. She waved her hands to hurry up. Finally, he managed to catch the same coach though gaspingly. 

"What’s this?" she asked angrily.

"Dinner from Comesum. . . ." 

"Oh my God! Are you mad? Comesum's outlet is on platform no.1. . . ."

"Yeah, I know. . . that's why it took time to come back."

 "You mad! What does matter if we won't get our dinner for one day? I had Comesum's contact number with me, he'd have delivered if you really wanted from there."  "Now get in . . . the train's getting late because of us," she requested annoyingly. 

 Both of them came inside and kept the food packets on the table. Meanwhile, they saw two railway officers standing in front of their coach . . . but, they did their work and disappeared after a while. They both felt soothing and the train started moving again . . . but she was continuously staring at him in irritably.

      "I gulped your dinner as well, isn’t it?"

 "Well, food is meant to be eaten only . . . and by the way, I don't eat the same food twice, so I bought a fresh one."

  Whatever he said but somehow she knew that he brought it for her only. . . .

       "I'd pay you for this," she asked.

 "Yes, you can. But . . . let me know what else you had to eat for the dinner?" while saying he checked her carry bag in eagerness.

 "Just chips and biscuits. . .," he took the packet and offered her, "take it."     

"No thanks!" she denied but he tore off the packet and started eating the chips.

    "What if I would not pull the chain," she asked mischievously.

   "Ask the same question to you first," he too replied prankishly.

 She kept on looking at him. He was a forty-year-old man. Tall, wheatish color, in jeans and a white T-shirt he appeared cute and innocent.

"In the journey called life we meet so many people whom we cannot forget even if we try our level best, isn’t it B.K.K.," she asked emotionally  then realizing the aftermath of it soon, she turned the subject of conversation. . . .

"Listen, I would like to share with you an incident happened the last month in my bank, May I?" she asked hesitatingly.

"Oh please. . ." he sat tight on his berth . . . too eager to listen to her narration.

 "It's around a year back, during a very busy day, a man entered in the bank and inquired about the branch manager."

     "Yes. Tell me what the matter is," I requested him to take a seat in front of me.

   "Nooo. . . I only want to meet the manager," he behaved harshly.

  I signalled my colleague Iqbal to take the man to the manager. Since it was the fresh first day of the week, that is Monday, everyone was occupied with their respective loads. As soon as the manager raised his eyes and saw him, he was well aware it would be a waste of time to entertain this nuisance. Instead, he asked politely to sit and tell off how the bank can help him.

    "I want to open an account in this bank," he replied quickly.

 "Iqbal will help you in the complete process. Your photo and address proof will be required. . .  Iqbal . . .please take the gentlemen with you and brief him on everything," the manager persuaded him.

  "What will happen after I'll bring all my money to the bank?" queried the man.

 "Sir, all your money will be deposited in the bank, you will be issued a passbook that will mention your money, even the money you withdraw. Didn’t you have any bank account before this?" asked Iqbal amusingly. 

         "No. I always feel perplexed about where should I keep my money safely?" 

       "You will also get some interest on your deposited amount . . .," Iqbal briefed him.

         "No...No. I don't need any interest. I just want the security for my money."

  "But the bank guarantees the interest. You can trust me," tried to persuade Iqbal.

 The next day he bought all his money filled in a sack. Small and big notes along with coins . . . whatever he had with him. All the employees got stunned and everyone looked at the man with suspicious smile. He only looked for Iqbal as he entered the bank. Iqbal called four of the employees to count all the money. The moment Iqbal told him about the total count of his money, there was a smile of satisfaction on his face. It seemed that Deenanaath, the man had already counted the money before bringing it to the bank and he was happy to trust the bank especially Iqbal.

     "You are right, deposit it," he allowed to Iqbal.

 Iqbal did all the formalities for him, deposited his money, issued him a passbook and showed him the entry. Thus, greeted him with a goodbye.

 Around the eighth day, Deenanath was back with another sack of some thousand rupees and asked for Iqbal straightforwardly. Iqbal rushed towards him and helped him as always. Back to back, it continued to happen for a year . . . sometimes he would come to deposit and to withdraw on the other day. His only trustable bank fellow was Iqbal and only Iqbal, who would do any help for him.

 Supposing something thrilling in the story ahead, B.K.K. was cautiously listening to her till now.

 There was a day when Iqbal was not in the bank, he was transferred to another branch for three months. When Deenanath came, he asked for Iqbal only. I informed him about Iqbal’s transfer and assured him that I will do the same procedure for him. But, he got still and silent for a moment and appealed to me, "I want to close my account."  "Why," I too asked surprisingly.

   "Since Iqbal is not here, I want to close my account," he repeated.

 I jumped to call the manager and he came out hurriedly. Everyone consoled him for around an hour, but all of us failed to win his trust. He was regurgitating only one statement, "Since Iqbal is not here, I want to close my account". When we tried hard to make him believe that Iqbal will come back soon . . . but he was inconsolable saying, "I'll see accordingly when Iqbal will be back. As of now, please close my account and give all my money back right now." 

 And he finally closed his account and withdrew all his money then and there. How strange! For him, faith on one person was precious than on whole system.

 He felt the joy and swiftness of her voice . . . a lyricism in slow flow in her narration. He wanted to walk along with her swaying words to and fro. Lightly speaking, how some moments in this boisterous life sprinkles in such a way that we never wish to give any space for reason or logic. 

 She was quiet for some time and then continued, "Mr. you can frankly ask why am I telling you all this?  To pass our time? Maybe! Don't we all often search for reasons to pass our assigned time on this planet? It is not necessary to answer every question so let it be unanswered. Let them echo within, and wait until they wane away. 

 That child was still crying. She felt uneasy to listen the panic cry and raised the curtain to peeped in the neighbouring berth.

 "Excuse me, I think the child is suffering from stomach ache, it often happens," she said to the co-passenger. 

 Regarding Samiksha's advice, the worried mother stuck her eyes on her for few moments and nodded her in ignorance. She was feeling downcast with fine lines of worries. "What should I do to calm down the child in a running train amidst the dark night?" the lady seemed to think. Meanwhile, Samiksha gestures to embrace the child. The lay handed over the child unhesitatingly. A healthy child of around six months was turned red due to crying in pain. Samiksha slightly pressed his stomach to get the idea of his stomach pain and the child's cry got doubled. 

 "Please hold the child for a minute," she said and handed the child back to the mother and got back to her berth to find something.

      "What are you looking for," asked B.K.K.

 "She found out a small bottle of mint herb and encouraged the mother to mix a drop of it in your milk and feed him."

  Thankfully looking at her, the lady bring out a spoon to feed the child from. For the moment, Samiksha laid down the child on her knees, started patting his back, and exercised his legs. The lady gave him milk in a spoon, she fed him with all a mother's love and affection. In about ten minutes, the baby calmed down fell asleep on her shoulder and she handed over to the mother. 

 "Turning off the AC, let the child sleep comfortably as his feet is pretty cold," said Samiksha.

 Her husband instantly closed the AC duct. There were four to six people from the same family, they thanked her, and she came back to her seat. 

    "You’ve great nursing experience," B.K.K commented sarcastically. 

   "Yeah, I don’t have any . . . so I know everything about nursing a child," she revealed.

 B.K.K wanted to ask the reason but couldn't ask in hesitation. He just didn't want any such topic that could bring sadness in their picturesque journey. For now, he wish to live every moment of her company bestowed by fate. After all, being a mere human, who knows what is going to come the next in life? 

   "Now let's have dinner. It's already nine o'clock," B.K.K reminded.

          "Yeah, sure! I munched all your lunch that your wife must have packed for the dinner." 

 "If I had inkling that I would have this rendezvous with you, I would have bind along so many things." She felt something bizarre in his voice that touched her heart but she kept this to her and kept both packets on the tabletop.

 While having dinner Samiksha shared, "Only we both live in our house. Though we dine together but his television love doesn't make me feel that I' am with someone. You know some people be so far even if they are sitting next to you. It feels whether they are listening or just pretending to listen to you. On the contrary, however far they live, some people always feel with you irrespective of the distances."

 "Yeah, I am sure you will be a having a countable friends yet two thousand virtually," B.K.K teased.

 "Samiksha, you narrated me about an incident of Deenanath happened in your bank. Let's finish the dinner, then I'd like to share with you an interesting incident happened with one of my friends if you wish to listen," asked B.K.K. 

   "Sure! Why not? Now nobody is here to disturb us," she said playfully.

"So let me begin. I have a colleague named Firoz in our newspaper. He told me about his aunt who lives in a village. One day she fell sick and there were no signs of recovery. So, as a usual practice and belief in superstitions, their relatives suggested that she is under the spell of some evil spirit, and we need to get someone skilled who can treat it. They got to know that there is one skilled saviour who lived about twenty miles away from the village but he hardly be at someone's place. Yet if he is requested to come, he might get agree to treat the aunt.

      "Samiksha was listening to him attentively."

 "Taking as a responsibility, Firoz’s father went to convince that indigenous healer to come and treat his brother's wife. He agreed to visit them on Sunday at twelve o'clock. When he arrived on the same day, as a custom of the purdah custom in Muslim community, the ailing aunt was carried to the big dining hall from behind the heavy curtains. Hakim Saab (the indigenous healer) heard her voice and said, "I will only check her nerves."

 At the other end of the curtain were sounds of murmuring, and tingling of bangles. Thereafter, a fair, and sensitive hand appeared for the nerve testing. All the men in the house stood surrounding the indigenous healer. Placing her hands on the wrist of the woman, the Hakim closed his eyes. After a minute, he detached his hands. The hand was taken back inside. Scratching his beard, The Hakim raised his eyes at Firoz’s father and inquired, "Mr., you told me that she is your brother's wife, but . . . she is a virgin yet.

          A scream broke out from behind the curtain and an utter deep silence multiplied all around.

   Both of them, Samiksha and B.K.K. kept on staring at one another.

 "Life is so unpredictable, isn’t it? All sorts of incidents and accidents take place here only." B.K.K self talked in a subdued tone.

  "But why do all accidents happen with women only?" Samiksha pined.

 "With whom the accident or incident takes place, it hardly matters, Samiksha. But. . . it is only the woman who has to suffer through her mind to soul. She is the one who finds the scars in gift."

          Whatever deep was there in his voice, Samiksha felt it within and got afraid. Suddenly she wished close the doors of her inner conscience. 

    "It's half past ten. We should sleep now," she turned the subject.

     "Are you prone to sleep so early?" he asked.

 "Yes, because we do not work for a newspaper," she satires. Arranging her bedding, placed a bottle near her pillow, she lay down with a book in hand. She felt off for reading so soon she switched off the lights and pulled the bedsheet on to her face. Her inner self was now loaded with lots of disturbance so she desires solitude at this moment. 

       It was in the middle of the night, the conversation between two people broke her sleep.

During their conversation, she could get a strong stink of liquor. She got up, sat down and saw that two men occupied the empty berths.  They were drunk. In the act of adjusting their luggage under the seats, they purposely brought their face close to her. She got petrified and pushed herself back. With crooked smiles on their faces, they both were pulling their eyebrows and making clumsy remarks at her. Out of fear, she called out, "B.K. . ."   As he was in sound sleep, he didn’t pay heed and so she shook him, "B.K. . ."

         "What happened?" he woke up jerkily and sat down. It's one o’clock midnight.

 "Nothing, actually I am out of sleep," she replied and hinted with eyes towards those drunkards.

 He woke up and sat down and shifted to Samiksha's berth to chit-chat without a topic. The newly boarded passengers understood the gesture and got settled to their upper berths. They were in sound sleep now and snoring. 

 The night seems running outside the window amidst the invisible aura. Everything was blurry. When you envelop one world around you under the night cover, many other worlds wait for certain new experiences.

 "Thanks for your support B.K. . ., now you go and sleep." Samisha requested him though unwillingly.

  "I am awakened, you please have a sleep," he reshuffled on to his berth. 

 "Sundry words gathered on the edge of her conscious and were waiting to burst out, but . . . she preferred to throttle them. Pulling up her bed sheet and switching off the light

B.K.K couldn’t notice her tears dripping from the corners. . . . She turned the side and went off to sleep feeling that someone is sitting beside her throughout . . . a dreamless catnap.

      "Wake up madam. The morning greets you. Your hot cup of tea turned cold twice.

The words opened her sleepy eyes. He was sitting in front.

     "Good morning B.K. . . .You really didn’t sleep?"

    "How could I as I was on duty for someone," he stated.

She rounded her eyes to the top berths, those drunkards were left.

      "Thanks, B.K. . . . The train is on time?" she asked while arranging her hair.

  "Yeah, it's on time and will reach nine past thirty at Nizamuddin station."

     "But you had to get down at Agra," she surprised. 

 "Yeah," he laughed. But now I Just came this far with you and so I'll have to make return journey.

 "Speechlessly she . . . fixed her glance at him for a while and turned her eyes soon. What can I say to you now? Nothing ‘B.K. . .  Let's leave it.

 "It's needless to say anything, Madam. . .Tell me your destination?" he asked hurriedly.

       "Mayur Vihar," she clarified.

    "Oh! It's quite far from the station, may I drop you off?"

     "You would drop me now? And what about you?"

      "I'll catch any bus to Agra then. . . ." 

 After passing certain junctures of life, one understands the need to leave a person free as per their wish. Whenever one tries to obstruct natural phenomenon and its innate flow, it loses its simplicity. It's better to live like a tree between trees; to flow like air amidst the air, feel emotions with true emotional ones. In this way, by the time others know about it, you’ve already lived up a life with them. 

 The train slowed down at the destination. B.K.K jumped down and stood before her. Samiksha handed down him the luggage and got down too unloaded. Now, B.K.K. had to bear all the other loads . . . be it whatever. . . .

 When they reached Mayur Vihar, B.K.K took down the luggage and stood in front of the taxi and dramatically joined his hands asked, “Now I should leave. . . ."

 "Now it's the final time I can't ask you to stay, else . . . you know, I thought I would never find anyone in this whole world who is like me. But now I see the world embraces all kinds of people and we are sometimes unfortunate enough to find them or we do not wish whole heartedly to find them, I should put it, "she lovingly hit his folded hands and unveiled her heart.

          "Thanks for everything B.K. You'll have a special space in my memories forever," she got emotionally drenched.

   "I suppose you going back on Friday by Rajdhani Express! And today is Monday. . .

       She kept on looking at him.

        "I'm not sure B.K. . .I may leave early if I get an instant reservation ticket."

 "Alright, I have given you my number. Call me if you wish, I would accompany you back if I would be able to finish my work earlier.

       She was all calm and still.

    "Don't worry. . . I would not bother you at all," he elucidated.

  "Do you know what the full form of B.K.K is?" she toned mischievously.

       "What?" he asked perplexedly.

   "It means Bewkuf Kahin Ka (A Foolish Fellow)," She laughed loudly. 

 B.K.K raised his hands to tap her for joking but she stopped his hands on her palm. Breaking the silence of the abyss of Mayur Vihar, their laughter oscillated all around and unfurled into the carefree open wind.

---

Setu, September 2025