“The Indian Railway’s Second AC has lost its elitist air,” Harshal told himself irritably.
Elbowing his way into his assigned seat, he glared at the passengers already settled in. They wore that shifty eyed look of proprietary, typical of wait-listed Indians. He rolled his eyes at the pedestrian domesticity surrounding him, cursing the college alumni association for advancing the reunion dates. He could have travelled better!
Now that he was in, it made sense to settle down quickly. Ticket checked, dinner order confirmed, toilet visit out of the way and bedding in place, Harshal plugged into his music and reading material. The feverish anxiety of a station halt had lulled into the rhythmic calm of chugging wheels and his eyes began to droop.
Notes, the floating notes of jasmine and rose came swirling up his nose, as though from another lifetime. Spriha! Her Coty Sophia perfume, unmistakable! He sat up, heart in a roar.
There was a woman in yellow, seated beside the travelling ticket examiner. Harshal got up as though mesmerized, moving towards the two. “Spriha,” he uttered throatily, “What are you doing here?” He smiled at her sparkling laugh. “Are you attending the reunion?” he was sure that explained her presence on the same train as him.
“No, I am getting off at Allahabad. A meeting came up and I am trying to confirm a berth here,” Spriha turned to the TTE again. “Come and sit with me while he figures it out, might take a while,” Harshal made place on his seat. The two sat in silence; he felt levitated, a sensation of being in a hot air balloon with her, two souls on a joint flight wrapped in a thoughtful cloud of what might have been. There was catching up to do; Spriha’s brother Sukrit was Harshal’s batch mate and the two shared an entire web of friends and anecdotes that broke pace only when her destination rolled in. She got up, looking at him quietly, then leaned over to kiss his forehead as the train slowed to a stop, “Goodbye!” He caught the fragrance again.
Harshal sat still through the rest of the ride to Delhi, his heart heavy. Why had he not come clear with Spriha? What had stopped him from professing that he did indeed believe they were meant to be together? He suddenly lost all appetite for the reunion. Bracing himself for the overly enthusiastic reception at the station, he alighted.
There was no one, not one familiar face in that teeming rush. He was jostling through the exit gate when he caught sight of Vikram scrambling towards him. “Sorry Harshal, there has been a tragedy. The party is called off. We are going straight to Sukrit’s place.”
Harshal dropped his bag with a thud, the blood beginning to congeal, “What happened?” he croaked, not wanting to know.
“Spriha passed away in a road accident last night. She was on way to the railway station to catch a train to Allahabad. Some urgent meeting I believe!”
Harshal spun around sluggishly towards the train. It was pulling away. The woody spiciness of her Sophia began to ebb and to leave him. This time forever.
The author is a Resource Center-in-charge at the Junior Wing of Air Force Bal Bharati School. A teacher with a background and training in media, she has worked in advertising, public relations, documentary film making and feature journalism. Her interest lies in the role of motivation, an all-round exposure and multiculturalism in education. A regular contributor to the ‘Teacher Plus” magazine and a blogger with a keen interest in the evolving social dynamics and their influence on young people, she maintains a blog at http://confessionsofanambitiousmother.blogspot.in/