The one at the ticket counter : The heartbreak!!

Its in continuation of an ongoing fiction; so in case you missed the 1st and 2nd part, here you go :

http://unsocialgaurav.blogspot.in/2015/05/the-one-at-ticket-counter.html

http://unsocialgaurav.blogspot.in/2015/06/the-one-at-ticket-counter-2.html

or 

scroll below to find the posts. Thanks!

By this time, my sub conscious mind had started to multi task, prepared a network tree and analyzed all possible ways by I could confront/meet her yet again while portraying the incident as a mere co-incidence. I knew the shortest route to my destination was Raashi, Rahul’s wife. I immediately wrapped up my dinner, tossed the soiled plate in the dustbin and headed to the podium to greet the newly weds, as they posed with an artificial smile and tons of make up, just to look merrier and prettier in the wedding pictures.

I am not sure if it’s the bliss, boon or the other way round, but every newly married friend of yours makes a real effort to hook you up, or push you hard to settle in life(read get married). While they claim that it’s the marital bliss which every bachelor should experience, the same fades off once the reality dawns on to them a couple of years down the lane. Marriage was certainly off my charts until I met her, and even getting ‘hitched up’ by my friend who just returned from his ’6 nights 7 days’ honeymoon trip did not seem a bad idea either. 

It’s a guy thing, that the moment I spent more than 10 seconds over lunch talking about Reetika, once Rahul was back to office, that he patted my back and said, “Let me set things up you”. While this phrase would bring in a lot of ambiguity for others, both of us knew what he exactly meant. The pat on my back, a sly smile on his lips clearly told that “he would do something to get me in talking terms with her”. I was elated. I had an earnest desire to hug my brother, yeah this selfless act of his suddenly elevated his position in my life from a friend to my brother.

I week passed and nothing happened. I was getting restless and ruffled as the only source of seeing her over the past one week was her facebook page. I figured out the basic information about her, that she worked for Wipro, and her office was pretty far off from where I lived, brought up somewhere in Orissa, was a vegetarian and loved Bollywood playback singers way over Metallica or Pink Floyd. Never, I say never listen to your heart over your brain, it always lands you in trouble. My data analysis abilities clearly told me that it was an incompatible match, always destined to doom, while my heart brought in the theory of magnetism which I studied way back in higher secondary; unlike poles attract each other. I don’t know what made me believe it, as we were obviously not magnets. The only things which existed was a one sided attraction.

While Rahul was still working on his master plan, I as always being my impatient self, told about the entire attraction-which-i-thought-was-love episode to Raashi over a couple of drinks. As we were done with our office early, Rahul and I went to a closest pub. Raashi joined in a hour later. As Rahul went in for a leak, I dropped the bomb and told her how it was. “Wow”, she exclaimed with her mouth open. “That’s, that’s huge. I had no idea that you liked her and for so long”, she followed it up. I was clueless seeing her expressions. She did not jump with joy, but was not upset either. I was reminded of yet another feat which the male species had never achieved in his life, the ability to read a woman’s expression.

“He loves Reetika !!” exclaimed Raashi, the moment Rahul arrived back. Rahul gave me a what-the-fuck-you-couldn’t-wait look. The exchange of the bro code was enough for the secret to come out of the closet. “You knew about it, and never told me”, Raashi charged Rahul. I was guilt ridden for having created dents in their wall of trust. “I asked him not to tell you. I thought of handling things myself. But I need your help now.” I countered Rashi, to calm her down and take the blame on myself. She wasn’t amused. “Do you have any idea what you are getting into ?”. This statement and its ambiguity did nothing to make itself understandable, but yeah did bring a chill down my spine. A lot of thoughts started churning in my head; Is her dad a local goon or a MLA, Is she suffering from a rare disorder/disease, I confused myself further. “What do you mean ? Can you be a little elaborate, this entire suspense is not helping my anxiety”, I shot back at Rashi.
“She is in a happy relationship for the past 2 years, got officially engaged last week and is due to get married by the year end”, she spoke in bland tone and brought my world crashing down. I sat there expressionless. The lighted cigarette between my forefinger and the middle continued to be there. I looked down and I could feel the entire world around me standing still. I couldn’t feel anything and the numbness even made the loud music go silent. The alcohol finally seemed to have started to kick in. The news of Reetika being engaged amplified the effect of alcohol manifold times  and I wanted to throw up. I looked around for the signs of the nearest restroom and tissues in my table. That told me I was still in my senses but momentarily paralyzed.

“Gaurav, Gaurav, Gaurav; Are you OK”, I could hear this feeble voice and then a jolt on my shoulders. Rahul came along my side of the table and started blabbering something which I was not able to comprehend. All I could follow was “Its gonna be Ok”. I shook off my head vigorously, blinked my eyes a number of times to came back to my senses again. “The cigarette looks to be one adultered shit, gave me a sudden high”, I told Rashi who sat in a state of shock. She panicked seeing me go haywire as she broke the news to me. “Are you OK, look I didn’t mean to startle you” Rashi tried to reason herself. “No, its alright. You did what a good friend would do, bring the facts to table and I really appreciate it. At least it cleared off any air of unwanted expectations I might have had from a girl I hardly met twice?, yeah just twice”I said trying to be practical and reasonable. It wasn’t Rashi’s fault, in fact it wasn’t anybody’s fault. If anyone had to be blamed, it had to be my heart who fell in love with her hopefully without checking her relationship status. “Damn, my luck”, I said to Rahul as Rashi excused herself to the washroom.

“Lets get the heck out of here, I need some fresh air”, I told Rahul. We asked for the cheque. “Bhai, we can still make it work”, Rahul tried to comfort me. “Its over dude. I am neither Madhavan of RHTDM who could woo off an already engaged girl, nor she is Dia Mirza for whom I would take so much of troubles. Remember, what happens to Jack in Titanic when he tried to get an already engaged pretty girl. He dies. I don’t want to be that person”, it was alcohol which was speaking now, but made perfect sense. That night I decided to put a lid to this episode, once and for ever.

2 days later, clad in business formals, as I waited for the lift which would take me to my office floor, my phone rang. It was from an unknown number. As I took the call, the lift doors closed and I could not hear the person at the other end. I apologized and asked to call sometime later. 10 minutes later my phone rang again as I was trying to put my office desk in order. The same number. True caller did not work as I wasn’t connected to wifi. I took the call with a slight hesitation. “Hey Gaurav, its Reetika here, Reetika Sharma, We had met a couple of times before, Do you recognize me” said the voice at the other end. I knew exactly who she was, someone I was trying to get over from the past two days, but somehow God has a weird plans to bring back your memories haunting back to you time and again.

Ek short lived love story - I

A blip on my phone woke me up from my sleep. I sneek-peeked in my smart device from one eye. It was a facebook notification. I was momentarily excited , though wary of the fact that somebody could have dared to send me a Candy crush or Farmville request at this hour. I fumbled around to find my glasses and swiped on the screen to see the notification bar.

“X,X has accepted your friendship request, Write on X’s timeline”. OK, it was a girl who had accepted my friendship request, so that meant I would have sent her the request at some point of time. I tried hard to recollect if I knew her by name and “now visible” profile/cover pictures. No, there was no chance I could have known her. We had no mutual friends either. She did not even belong to my school/college and beyond everything, I did not know someone as pretty and photogenic, as she appeared to be in her profile pictures.

I pressed hard to recall when was the last time, I went on the spree of sending friendship request to any and every random girl I came across on facebook. It was a social thing, trying to connect to as many people as possible, the core idea how the social network came into existence (pun intended !). I nudged my friend to wake him up from his sleep, and asked him if he know anything about the damsel in question. My friend did not disappoint me. His impeccable memory impressed me to an extent that I gave him a hug. It was more than month back, when we were trying to look for my friend’s college crush, that we stumbled across her profile. High on couple of vodka shots, my ego went for a toss, and I sent her the friendship request. One more shot later, I sent it to almost every girl we found thereafter.

“You lucky dog”, my friend said, as we were still glued to her SLR shot photos which had a water mark reading “X,Y’s photography”. “Its bloody photo-shopped”, I re-iterated trying to make a point. “I believe in what I see and I trust God!”, my friend replied, still staring at the pictures and was certainly more fascinated than me. I gave a puzzled look to him and asked him to stop leching at the lady who chose me over probably many others and privileged me by accepting my request. I hopped on to my profile picture and thought “Do I really look like someone who could befriend such a hot chick ?”. I was assertive and perplexed at the same time.

I press-locked my touch phone trying to catch some sleep, which I had completely lost by this time. It really didn’t make sense. Why would a lady of this “genre” even look at my profile, something was asmiss, or worse the profile could be a fake one. Perturbed I got up, switched on my laptop to look at the larger picture, and de-mystify the issue.

The Sherlock Holmes within me came out in full force and we figured the link in a matter of 10 minutes. She happened to be my colleague’s friend’s friend’s friend. “Wow, you drilled down so many levels to find her and send her a friendship request. You would have been drunk like a pig, but hard work pays off you see”, my friend quoted trying to be profound and sarcastic at the same time. I gave him a smirk, pulled over my blanket and crashed off to sleep with a smile on my face.

(To be continued...)

The loveliest Stranger !!

As the train breezed through the rural indian setting, the usual city feel seemed to diminish. I gazed through the tinted window of my AC 3 tier compartment, and all I could see in mirror was me gazing though the window. Apart from my symmetrical image, I could see someone who sat at the side lower berth, hardly a meter away from where I sat. I could’nt help but stare at the starking similarity the lady possessed with someone I have known for in past. It seemed as if time has unbound itself, and I thought time was undoing what it had done. As the “Ankahee” song blared though my earphones, and in an attempt to kill the next few hours, I tried to recollect my 1st meeting with the “loveliest stranger” I had ever known.

It was more than 2 years that I have had a “more than decent” paying job and it was my usual planned trip to home. Unlike a few years back, I could afford the luxury of traveling in AC compartments now. Though all my journeys are over-hyped with most of my colleagues knowing about my travel plans, the anticipation goes for the toss in the actual travel. A train travel in India(even in AC coaches) mean a severe melodramatic experience. You get to face elder-lies/aged people who have an opinion in whatever crap happens in, around the journey, you get to hear family sagas, wailing children and free advices. What you get to see in movies/tele-serials, but that never happens in reality, is a good company(of-course I mean beautiful too). I often spoke in lighter vein that only Shahrukh Khan gets to meet beautiful women in train travel. My past experiences have taught me that train travels in India are mostly travails, and a travesty of what you anticipate or expect of.

I was in for a surprise that day. Perhaps it was the 1st instance, that I was just in time for boarding the train. It has never ever happened in past that I had boarded the train without scanning the Chart pasted next to the front door, looking mostly for F18 to F25s. As I settled in on my side upper berth, a voice startled me from my rear. I hated and still hate the side upper berth, they are short as compared to normal berths, doesn’t have a window or a charging point and worse puts you in lone corner with no one to talk to or look at. “Excuse me Black t-shirt, That’s my seat and I have a hell lot of luggage to keep in there”, the voice said from my rear. “Damn it.” I murmured. Another aunty cribbing for luggage space and who was it that called me Black t-shirt. It was not black, it was a dark grey. I was more offended with someone calling me by names than anything else. As I looked back, a young lady in her early 20s was trying hard to pull her gigantic trolley bag. What could be in there, I thought. “Wow” I said to myself and got on to side to let her get in the compartment. I was still in appreciation of her kohl lined eyes, glossy lips and her neatly tied hair when she snapped at me yet again. “Could you pull you bag out from here mister?”. One of the few instances when somebody called me a “Mister”. I completed her by saying “Uhmm…Its Mister Gaurav. In case you wanted to know!”. All I got was frowning smirk on her face which clearly and bluntly said “I am no interested”.

I quickly obliged her. I sat down closeby and watched from my corner of my eyes as she tried hard to fit in the trolley below the side lower berth. I could have helped her lest she asked for it. I never wanted to look desperate. She kicked her bag after another few attempts proved futile and looked at me in utter despair. “It doesn’t fit in” she said. Had it been a guy I would not have bothered to continue the conversation any further or worse would have replied “so, what should I do”. I smiled at her and offered a quick solution. “Why don’t you put your luggage on my seat, anyways the compartment is not much occupied, so I can sleep elsewhere”. Oh my God, this was the fastest I ever came with a plan, and I sounded like Buddha, forgive and sacrifice were what I was willing to do for the lady in despair. It was month after the incident, that I realised that she never thanked me for my masterplan. “Okay” was all that she said and lifted her luggage to place it on the upper berth.
“Damn, what did I get?” I thought, with my seat occupied by the “Lady is need’s extra heavy baggage” and I got to look for a seat to sleep on. I laid awake until midnight rolling over from one side to other cursing me for my benevolence I showed earlier. I was still trying to pursue myself justifying what I did earlier, having said that, I also felt disgust for the arrogant behaviour of the lady in question. Its funny how a perception of seeing or judging a person changes its sides in matter of few hours.


I was woken up very early in the morning by the TTE(train ticket examiner). His 1st question :”Do you have a reservation”. I was groggy, half asleep and this question made me go nuts. “Do I look like someone who would travel in AC without a reservation”. He was prompt to reply “Yes, youngsters like you try to do this all the time”. I explained him the situation earlier and he advised me to go to my berth as the occupant of that seat would be there shortly. “Who takes train so early in the morning?” I thought as I carried my affairs(read glasses, my phone and bottled water) to my original seat. I walked along the aisle as people snored and slept merrily. I swore to myself to throw that woman’s luggage off my seat and have a good nap. I didn’t want to look creepy when I reach my home. Now, the AC compartments have something which non AC coaches do not have, curtains. Apparently, they are meant to give its occupants privacy and keep others at bay. Am sure they never fulfil this purpose, but instead hide the seat numbers from someone looking for it. It would be a huge embarrassment if I would have pulled a curtain and found a different lady over there. More trouble if she thought I was a pervert and called out for help. I quickly made my calculations and figured where my seat was supposed to be. I took a deep breath, prepared myself to be straight onto matter and ask her to pull off her luggage and keep it elsewhere.

As I pulled the curtain, I saw her clung on to the sheets neatly with only her face popping out of it.”Wow, is she the snowhite I had read about in textbooks in Lower kinder gardens” . She was deep asleep and I guess even me checking her out went ignored. I didn’t knew how to wake her up. I felt stranded. Couldn’t wake her up, couldn’t sleep either. After hovering around the coach for 10 minutes, I lost my sleep, felt as if I had morning jog, and headed straight to the pantry coach to have my breakfast. I have always believed and felt that hunger is the cause of most distress in the world and a good food can resolve any problem, be it corruption or match fixing (depends entirely on the type of food one’s looking for). A sumptuous morning meal made me feel better, and I strolled back to my seat. “Oh, my God! Looks like she’s awake”, I said to myself on seeing the pulled apart curtains. Sun shone brightly off the tinted window panes and I saw her as she looked out in the east.

“Can I sit here. The place I slept is occupied now”, is how I literally pleaded to her interrupting her silent interaction with sun, just to sit on my legitimate seat. “Oh! Sure. Make yourself comfortable”. Comfortable? , did she ask me to make myself comfortable. I would be more comfortable lying down which would have certainly made her uncomfortable. I pulled up my legs and squatted looking out, though obviously gazing at her from the corner of my eyes. That’s the advantage of being myopic and wearing glasses. It’s difficult to make out where you exactly looking at. A women looks the most beautiful when she’s just out of the bed. The sun rays falling at her face, made her a photographer’s delight. Trying hard not to stare hard at her any further, I pulled out Ayn Rand’s “The Fountainhead” from my backpack. This is the book I carried in every train travel of mine, with a intention of finishing in a single read, but 2 years and umpteen journeys later, I still lagged somewhere in 300 –some pages. It was like Ekta Kapoor’s extra long tele soap. I had no idea what I had read 7 months back, but continued further just for the sake of finishing it. I tried hard to concentrate in the book, red a single paragraph thrice, but the words didn’t make any sense. I was about to close the book, when she initiated our first informal talk “Hows the book, looks quite intense”. That was one interesting question, to a person who was trying to figure out the same. College has been a stepping stone when it comes to getting in some real animated conversation, even if am not drunk. I always had an opinion, no matter I didn’t knew a thing about it. In the current case, I had read more than 300 pages which I might have forgotten, but they remained itched somewhere in my memory lanes. “Well, it a story of an intransigent young architect, his violent battle again conventional standards, and his explosive love affair with a beautiful women” , I said in a single go. This was the best I had ever spoken about anything and this came from a person who was critical of any living or non-living thing in the universe. “Hows the author, do you likes its style of writing?”, she probed further with a crafted smile on her face. “Amazing one” I said.” He wrote Atlas shrugged too, one of the best sellers of all times, you got to read it” I replied with extreme confidence. “Well, its not he, but she. Ayan rand is a lady”, she said and gave me one of the biggest shock of life. I laughed at my goof up and realized that this was the second time, I was fooled by these authors with western names. Way back in college, Sidney Sheldon who always had female protagonists, turned out to be a dude, and now this Ayan who write about a male turns to be a lady. What’s wrong with these people, I thought.
Taken aback with the disclosure of Ayan Rand’s gender, I preferred to cut my rant and silently drowned myself in the book back again. “Damn! You Fountain head. I swear I will not read anything other than Chetan Bhagat in train again”. “Its ok, even I thought she was a man until I read the Atlas shrugged”, she continued further. That was sweet welcoming gesture. I closed my book and said “So, what all do you apart from carrying heavy luggage and reading Ayan Rand’s classics”. She giggled and said “Yeah it is, but I always don’t have such heavy baggage’s”. I shot back saying “Don’t you have the bag stashed with cash and aren’t you a fugitive”, I tried being funny, but on seeing her reaction, I completed it “I am just kidding”. The literature’s best even invention, the word “Kidding”. You can literally escape of any dramatic, diplomatic and extreme situations, by telling you were just kidding. “I am a copyright intern at a law firm in Jubilee Hills. I just finished by masters and traveling back to my home with bags loaded with books” she said and smiled at me with a pride on her face. What the heck did a copyright intern did, but whatever it was it surely did damn pay well, i thought looking at her iphone, and Gucci bag near her. I nodded my head with no intention of telling what I did, as it was no way as smart as hers. However, she wanted me to blurt that out, though it was obvious just by looking at me. “Yeah, am an IT engineer, I work in Hitech city”, I mutely uttered looking down. I remember how my friends and relatives had asked me to do my masters after my graduation. I could figure out them laughing out loud pointing their fingers at me. She didn’t stop there, and said “What exactly you guys do on those computers, I never could figure that out”. Did I ask her what a copyright intern did. Damn! This woman’ curiosity!! Though I didn’t explain her with a keen interest, she tried following me whatever I spoke about code development and programming. “Wow, that sounds so very cool. You guys certainly are a productive bunch”. I felt as if somebody patted my back for my wonderful narration and I replied back with glint in my eyes “Isn’t it!. That is what we love about my job”. We laughed at it and for the next 4 hours we talked about almost everything, books, movies, actors, Indian railways, food servers in trains, IRCTC tatkal bookings, my and her friends, our college life, love life, future life and many more. What I still didn’t knew about her was her name, though she did tell me her mom called her “Nikky”, which I figured out was not her real name. She looked out for the 1st time in middle of our conversation and moved out of her seat. “Did you get so bored of talking to me that you are getting down”, I said. “No, nooo” she said. “I think my station is coming. I need to call my dad and freshen up before I get down. “Oh!” I said and there was sudden lull on my face as she left to “freshen” herself. She left her phone on the seat, and I had an unrelenting desire of looking though her phone. But the good vibes she left at me with her amazing talks, stopped me from pursuing my desires. The train slowed as the station closed in. She came just in time and I helped her with her luggage. I stood still as she started leaving. “I am Sneha. Look for Sneha Mittal on facebook and send me a friendship request. It was real good talking to you”. She said and shook hands with me for the 1st and last time. I stood like a jerk looking at her, without saying a word. I sat down preferring not to go out and confront her dad. I looked out of the tinted panes gazing her for probably the last time. Though I had hopes of finding her on facebook , but virtual friends never get real and I knew that for sure. As the train chugged, she looked at the window and batted her eye lids, bidding adieu. I sat there silently remembering the last 4-5 hrs I spent with her.

I don’t know if she lied or if I heard her name incorrectly, but I still search for her name every time I login to Facebook, yet hoping to find her. I certainly did not fall in love with her, but the time I spent with her, her talks, views made me fall in love with myself. She made me feel good and it was sheer selfishness of mine that I craved and still crave to find her.