Not the Last Goodbye

The Joker hated goodbyes. He had lasted a lifetime at the Great Indian Circus. And every time someone left he felt miserable. Few years back therefore he had promised himself that he would never again allow himself to be so close to someone that he could get hurt by them. The circus toured the world and he continued to make people laugh. He was good at it. And he made friends; he was good at that too.

One day as they were touring Russia, they came across a small town a few hours from St. Petersburg. He did not like it there much; cold, barren and seemingly desolate. He sat down with his bread and water and wondered if it would be a good idea to have a swig of vodka so early in the day. Suddenly there was a commotion a few yards to his left. Old and cynical, he studiedly ignored it. After all, what exciting could happen that he had not seen earlier? Suddenly one of the kids came running. “Joker, come fast”, he cried, “There’s a fairy amongst us.”

“Fairy? Now that’s interesting. What have these fools been up to?” He walked towards the commotion and saw the most astounding gymnast he had ever seen in his life. He scrutinised her thoroughly with his seasoned eyes. And gave up. She was perfect. Even he cold not find a fault. And then she looked at him and gave him the most dazzling smile.

Maroushka soon became a part of the family. Everyone called her “The Russian Princess”. She flew in the air while the joker stood below and made the world laugh and while she was flying she would always look at him and smile. They became acquaintances and before he knew, they were friends. It was completely her doing; she had this infectious quality in her which could make everyone feel special. She made them do bonfires sitting out in the freezing cold of Moscow, made them sing and they all laughed.

One day, just like she had come into their lives, she was gone. And no one knew where she was. The joker felt like a fool. He had again let someone come close to him. And he felt cheated. She had no reason to befriend him.

And then one day, he received an envelope. Inside it was a carefully pressed orchid, preserved from the cold winters of Russia. It was signed “Russian Princess” and the Joker felt like smiling. She had remembered.

And in that one letter she had taught him that there need not be any last goodbyes. That night, the joker’s laughs were not cynical. He actually was smiling.

Spear Sister

Spear Sister. Good bye. Who are we but mere pawns in the Great Game? Rand Al Thor, The Dragon Reborn is the One who knows all. We merely followed him. We believed he will be fair. But Spear Sister who would have known The Master might fail us.

I still remembered the first time I danced with you. Surrounded by wolves, wounded, spent, I lay on the ground. Proud, unbent but almost broken. Then out of nowhere you came, spears flying, moving through the pack of the beasts and stood by me. I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know where you had come from. But I was glad you came.

Spear Sister, do you remember the time we faced the yellow beast and were the first humans who wounded it? You moved all across, jabbing at it with your weapons, I just had to ensure I guard your back, stop you from rushing into danger and our bond just grew stronger everyday. But then you opposed The Dragon Reborn and no one survives his wrath.

Farewell, sister. We danced well while it lasted. The blood of the adversary is still warm on our blades. I still follow Rand-Al-Thor but my heart shall always sing for you.

May you find shade.

Goodbye at Worli Seaface

He stood at Worli sea face. All alone. He had always wanted to live in such a place and today he was. He could see the Bandra Worli Sea link from his window at night, and yet something kept him from being happy. They were leaving one by one. To Bangalore, to Calcutta, to different lives - with promises of staying in touch but the question was will they be able to?

Life turns after every now and then splitting people, separating lives, bringing in uncertainties but even if everything fades away, the goodbyes at Worli won’t.

Poorva Express

I hate Goodbyes and hence I never say them. I believe that we all are destined to meet again if the relationship we shared was special and even if we don’t, it just means that it was something not meant to be - The greater scheme of things as I often philosophically call stuff I do not understand. But this post is not about Farewells. They seem to make people sad and there’s enough sadness in this world without this blog pitching in. This post is about a train – The Poorva Express.

My Love Story with Poorva began exactly 6 years ago when I boarded it for the first time to reach Delhi and ultimately move to Pilani. Since then, every trip I have made to and fro Pilani, (all but two) have been in Poorva. It was the train which we all prayed would move through Gaya and not Patna as it was slightly safer. It was the train where Soumya fought with the RPF while I pulled him away saying, “Iska tabiyaat kharab hain.” It was the train where we used to fight in every single journey with the daily passengers who never respected the right of reservation of seats in Indian Railways. It was the train where Bugs and Abilinda were the only two people aged 5 years or more who wore shorts through the entire journey. It was the train where Soumya and I got up on the train to find three juniors happily occupying our seats having missed their own train. It was during that journey that I found the most brilliant Punjabi family who gave us one of their berths and gave me their bedding to sleep on the floor. It was the train where Bodhi would start quoting his Tagore with Troy, Minu and Payel pitching in, while his batch mate Uddip, the most brilliant treasurer I have met, showed me how to make profits for the association even during a train journey. It was the train in which Dibba would talk about microbes as we blinked and focused our attention to Psycho who would prove his baptism to be true in every sense. It was the train where finally someone appreciated my story telling abilities and I bored the two of them to death. It was the train where the most amazing make-a-story was played, a story that could beat any Hollywood pot-boiler. After the normal twists were introduced by pseudo-ju and science fiction could not be put to use any longer, the plot turned incestuous and highly controversial and as critics would term it, ‘bold’. A visibly disgusted elderly gentleman walked off cursing the effect of television on today’s youth, but it remains the best impromptu story I have seen made or heard about. It was the train where new relations were made and old ones re-forged or broken. It was the train when someone in the group would shift in her place restlessly as soon as the train neared a certain station. It was the train which brought Souramita, Soumya and me, the last set of the batch of 2001, back from campus. It was the train which used to bring the ‘Bongs’ to Pilani.

But there was something about Poorva that pained me a lot. I used to stand at the gate, seeing the worried face of my parents, (who tried to smile very hard) slowing fading away and somehow I would pull myself inside the train and in order to look brave and macho put up a fake smile on my face. Then there would be the usual cacophony in the train, we would disturb every single soul in the compartment and start for the home away from home.

6 years later, things have all changed. Today I think everyone travels by Rajdhani to reach Pilani. The group, starting from the 97 to the 2003 batch have scattered everywhere all around the world. (The batch of 2004 came in as we were graduating.) Yet, today as I had to go back to work at Patna from Cal, the only way I could think of travelling was by Poorva and heaven conspired to book me on this train. It’s rare that as professionals today, we do not get the tickets we want, be it on a flight or on a train. But the rare things do happen to add spice to life.

And this time as the train left the station, my parents were still standing out there, but I could return back to the train without the smile on the face. I was travelling alone for the first time in Poorva and I still hate Goodbyes.