By Eagam KhalingÂ
I lost my wallet in the Hug Market in Kolkata. Thank God, I was blessed to reach Siliguri with the help of a friend of mine.
When I reached there, it was almost midnight. I was dying for puffs because I had no other alternative to quench my thirst. I silently screamed to myself: “Damn God! Why are you killing me this way?” But after a while, I heard a voice from within: “Never give up, man!” And with that self-motivation, I started looking around. Soon I found a young girl in strange attires.
“Hello! Are you waiting for someone? Could you kindly lend me your match-box? I lost mine on the way. Okay, you do not smoke! Sorry, I am sorry for the unintentional disturbance!”
I spoke and apologized. Still, she was in most of her silence and continuously staring at the other side. She had nothing with her except for a comfortably warm shawl, large enough to cover her body. She was sitting just cushioning her posterior on the dirty and rough sidewall of the pavement.
I had a heavy bag with me, which I had lodged at a safety corner. I was helpless. I again, asked, “Hello, do you have some change?”
After a pause of a few seconds, she slowly looked at me and chuckled. I could not understand that. But I got a spark of hope, and as I was telling my excuses, she started carrying out all the business of crying.
I forcefully tried to escape from her embrace. I swear, at that particular moment, I hated myself. I screamed in anguish, “O lady, cool down! Please, leave me! What the hell are you doing to me? Are you crazy?” But she was still shouting unconsciously, “Tell me yes or no! Just tell me!”
Now, I had no option but to change my mind and give her a bold push to save myself from such an unexpected situation. All the scenes of that unrehearsed drama were being enjoyed by a ticketless gathering from a distance. I found myself a little nervous.
I could not make myself clear what was happening! I hurriedly carried my bag and started walking away from there, but the girl was still crying at the place, pushed completely down.
When I had walked a few steps forwards, I turned back to look at her from the side. She jumped in front of a running lorry and was run over. As I exclaimed in fear, somebody hit me on the back side of my head with a hockey stick.
Next morning, I found myself in the Siliguri Police Station. I had no idea how I was there. My heart melted, and I wanted to cry like a baby, asking God, “My Lord! Do you have a cigarette?”
[Khaling is a storywriter based in Darjeeling India. He can be reached at eagamkhaling7@gmail.com.]