Train to Memory Lane

His groggy vision sharpened up slowly as he reached for his spectacles, squinting against the rudely switched on, almost blinding fluorescent light by the latest intruder to his sleep and the occupant of berth number 34, onboard the train racketing towards the  doorways of his home-Udaipur. The figure in front of him de-blurred and said, “I am extremely sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up.”

Her voice had a silvery resonant quality and he quickly straightened up against the blue leather to see a girl, in her mid-twenties, with a pasty complexion set against the contrast of her jet black hair; dragging a suitcase with her pupils dilated apologetically. He didn't mean to stare, but her presence had dove inside his hippocampus and shaken up buried memories. He knew her, he had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, a phenomenon he thought occurred only in movies and over-the-top fictional novels. All he did has blink at her in bewilderment, trying in vain to place her face in his sea of memories.

She dragged her suitcase, conscious of his blatant gaze on her. Pushing her case beneath her seat, she met his eyes and caught him staring intently and then he embarrassedly looked away quickly. Not much could be said about his looks, he looked average at best, though his disheveled hair and now creased clothes didn't help him much in this potential romantic setup. The radii of his dark circles, tattled of nights spent burning the midnight oil, while his quivering hands revealed the inhabitancy of the butterflies in his stomach. It was going to be a long night, she thought, shuddering in the chilly night air, breezing in through the cold grills of the window.

 Was it her again, after all these years? Purab thought to himself. The same almond shaped eyes, the sharp nose, and the cleft chin. Surely, it was her, Akriti. Sweet, lovely, perfect Akriti.  His first love, when he was just fifteen, an awkward fumbling teenager. After so many years, in front of her, he didn’t feel any different, all his pubertal anxiety rushing back like an unwelcome guest. Did she notice him? Remember him? Apart from the orthodentistry meted out to his now pearly whites, he was pretty much the same. Her nose was buried deep into a book, oblivious to the pandemonium her entry into this small berth had created in his mind. He picked up the newspaper from his side and opened a page at random, discreetly glancing at her from time to time. Romantics these days! As if his sheer contemplation will turn time back in time and topple her in his arms!

 But how could she not recognize him? They had been wading that dangerous emotion called love; days had melted in each other's company. Their conversations ranged from everything under the sun to up above the clouds as they talked about their goals and ambitions. It had definitely been young love hadn't it?  One-sided love, Purab corrected himself grimly. To quote his friends, ‘he was the one playing tennis while she was the one playing squash’. It had turned out she was romancing the most popular guy in school. Of course he was heart-broken, almost to a point of depression, until the point he decided to devote his entire time and life to studying and fulfilling his father’s dreams of being a doctor. After admission to the elite AIIMS Medical College, accompanied with congratulatory compliments from relatives from every corner of the world and a picture in the newspaper holding up a V-Victory sign with a look of pride equivalent to solving World Peace etched across his face, he could say he was finally over her.

He switched his introspective gaze to look outside the window into pitch darkness with the cold air blowing his hair helping him play the part of the brooding, lost in love hero perfectly. He looked into the moving abyss outside, this was the reason he loved darkness, it was almost meditative in nature, clearing up the jammed thoughts in his head. The blackness reminded him of all the time that had passed and how much it had changed him, it straightened his perspective and an inkling of ego spouted in his veins.

Now things were different, why should I be afraid of her? He rhetorically questioned himself. She was the one who walked away and should be ashamed, not me. He would handle the situation in a sophisticated, gentlemanly manner though. The idea was to make her realize what a gem of a man she had missed out on. Maybe taunt her a little, enough to never let her play with tender emotions so callously. He gleamed delightfully at the opportunity. He would brag about his many awards, the burgeoning career that lay in front of him, that cute girl he was dating currently. He might even call her his girlfriend for theatrical effect. She would feel loss pain and regret; just like he had, years ago. Too little, too late. But he would ask her out once, lead her on, take her out for an uptown dance party. And then when she was right in the trap, vulnerable and with emotions exposed, he would look her right in the eye and turn her down. He yearned to see her eyes welled up with dejection, leaking into rivers for him. Yes, he rubbed his hands with excitement; that was the plan.

The sadistic streak in him gained momentum and he finally cleared his throat and said, ‘Hey. You seem familiar. Do I know you from somewhere? Sacred Heart School?’ he enquired with one eyebrow arched up.

 ‘I’m sorry, you must be mistaken’, she shook her head.

 ‘Aren’t you Akriti? Remember me? Purab? Class 9th?', raising his voice against the background announcement of arrival at the Udaipur Railway Station.

 ‘No.’ Derision creeping on her face, she closed her book and kept it aside waiting for the lunatic to go away.

 ‘But how can it possibly be..’, his voice trailed off, standing up and pulling out his trunk hurriedly, willing to disembark from the train and the uncomfortable situation at hand.

 As he was leaving he caught a blur of the book she was reading, it was titled ‘The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers’. 

He stepped out into the sticky Udaipur night air, more puzzled than ever. Suddenly, it hit him, like an upturned bucket of water, his eyes widened and a chill shrieked through his spine, rushing to the very tips of his now numb and curled toes.

He remembered last week’s Nephrectomy class, wherein they had dissected a human body.

Memory does play funny games at times.

A special thanks to Jessica, my dazzling 15 year old sister for coming up with haunting ideas in that wondrous little head of hers.