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.
