The Last Smile - A Short Story

   Her hand rose and tucked the loosened locks of hair back to place revealing a pair of well-shaped eyebrows flanking her kohl eyes on either side of a round nose, where a nose pin sat beautifully in its place, visible occasionally when she turned towards the window.

   Her mother was busy conversing with others in the compartment. She smiled at intervals, listening to her mother’s talks, and her pinkish lips gave away a fine set of well-shaped incisors. Her face flushed when she smiled as a consequence of which a rosy tint filled her fair cheeks.

   She was dressed in black jeans and a yellow V-neck kurti, with sleeves running halfway down her forearm; she wore no jewelry besides her nose pin. Also, a stole wrapped around her neck, hung low above her bosom, as it should be, a barricade for unwelcome onlookers.

   She took a sip from the bottle; her cheeks bulged for a moment, and then flattened. A drop of water evaded her lips and trickled down her chin. It dangled there, swaying with the motion of the train.

   Vishal tried hard to maintain a plain expression but ended up with an embarrassed smile.

   Much to his disappointment, his source of alertness got wiped away by a swish of a hand; the droplet daubed her skin, barely noticeable. Without losing a moment, He turned his gaze toward the window, a tick before she looked his way. 

   He didn't want to be in her bad books already; not at the start of the journey, while a whole day lay ahead, when he could strike up a conversation and be approved of beholding her. For that reason, he confined himself to just stealing glances whenever she looked some other way.

   Outside, the afternoon sun showed no mercy on the yellowing fields sprinting past the speeding train. Mercury was really brewing up in Delhi as weather reports showed an all-time high. A mere week spent there had exhausted him. And now at the end of it, he had to travel in the unreserved class.

   He had always dreaded getting a seat in the unreserved section; had dreams about it, terrifying ones, where he stood in the aisle for the entire journey; at times failed to board the train due to immense crowd; getting claustrophobic in the jam-packed train, not enough space to shift even his limbs. And the worst one: sitting in the toilet – he had done so on one occasion.

   The experience was nauseating.

   Earlier today, when he arrived at the platform, he found himself leading the crowd rushing through the door of the bogie. He needn't put an effort. All he had to do was maintain his balance. The crowd did the rest.

   Luckily, he got the spare window seat of a compartment, the opposite one already occupied by a huge fellow; around his age, but huge. Vishal wasn't so keen to strike up a dialog. And from the looks of it, neither did the big guy.

   Gradually, people filled in the compartment. An old man, with long silver beard covering most of his face, and his teenage son sat adjacent to him. Opposite to him, beside the huge guy, lay two hankies. Of course, the Indian style of saving seats for someone.

   Before long, the engines revved in. The fans hung above spun without purpose. The heat had already drenched his vest with sweat, while several streams ran down his face. Looking outwards, he urged the train to move about.

   On the platform, Individuals were bidding goodbye to their family and friends; parents hurled instructions to their offspring. All around a buzzing prevailed.

   “Don’t chuck your hands outside the window,” an ageing woman told a pair of kids, who barely registered the woman, busy with poking each other. “And don’t eat anything given by strangers.”

   “Call us when you reach there. You didn't the last time,” a middle aged woman said to a boy in his twenties.

   “Hmm...” the boy grunted.

   “Don’t eat the train food. I've packed your favorites – parantha and aaloo.” she said, signaling towards the bag.

   “Okkay.” the boy said with a sigh. He was tired of all the cajoling.

   A jolt brought the train in motion. It soon gained speed. Smirking to himself, Vishal veered his gaze inside. That’s when he saw her, for the first time, sitting next to the big guy.

   There was no flash of lightning;

   No thunder;

   Not even a gust of wind;  

   Only that his heart had skipped a beat.

   The journey was not going to be so bad after all. Was it?

   Meanwhile, the compartment was full of chatter-patter. The old man was leading on a heated discussion, dominating everyone.

The usual issue of the grown-ups – mobiles, computers – not good….bad influence…blah…blah. Vishal didn't bother to participate, nor did she. The fellows, having nothing else to pass the time, beat around the bush; the conclusion remains ever the same – one coin…two faces…good, bad. The big guy, however, was relentlessly opposing the old man with all his might. The old man, sensing defeat, fell silent.

   Amid all this, a cockroach had found his way up Vishal’s denims. He flung it away, out of reflex. It landed right on the girl’s lap. A scream rang out; followed by an immediate apology.

   “Sorry, sorry” apologized Vishal, instinctively.

   The girl sent forth a dirty look, which vanished an instant later.

   “No problem,” she said, collecting herself. The lock of hair had come loose again. She tucked it back into place, revealing her crimson nail paint. Vishal sat there, mesmerized, scrutinizing her.

   The cockroach had exited to oblivion.

   Pearls of sweat appeared on her forehead, gleaming. Not that he was complaining, but Vishal felt that girls sweated so less as compared to boys. Where his face had become grimy with all the sweat, she looked fresh as ever. Also, his hairs had become disheveled by the wind, whereas hers remained in place, neatly combed and hanging in a ponytail.

   A jarring sound issued close by. A man had brought forth a china mobile, and a bhajan like song blared through it. She didn't like it either as Vishal found evident from the frown stretched across her face. She plugged in her earphones and closed her eyes, resting her head on the compartment wall.

   Twilight loomed as the sun went down the horizon. Vishal was tired. It had been a long day for him. He laid his hand on the window-shelf, creating a cushion, and positioned his head above it. In next to no time, he was lulled to slumber by the cool breeze.

   The girl zoomed in and out of his reveries. He remembered only flashes of it when he woke up around midnight.

   The train had halted at some station. His neck hurt and hands were numb, the familiar aftermath of sleeping in imperfect posture. He massaged his nape to get some relief. Opposite to him the big guy and the girl were gossiping. Surprisingly, Vishal felt a twinge of jealousy. He, however joined the conversation indirectly through the boy.

   Vishal was, in a way, a very peculiar boy. Unlike his cool friends, he was very shy. He had never approached a girl, directly, for once in his life. He had looked at them, had admired them, and even had had a few crushes. But he always kept his distance.

   The problem was: he ended up falling in love with every other girl he met – that’s what he believed he felt; no matter he knew them for hours or days or years. And he recalled every one of them just as well, by face at least.

   Deep down he knew he was being a jerk. His friends would mock him if they came to know of it. But he didn't care; he meant no harm to anyone. On the better side, he could love all the girls in the world, feeling guilty towards none of them, and with no fear of betrayal from any of them.

   Fair and square.

   The night thickened and the people dozed on; barring the three of them. There was not a single portion of seat devoid of folks’ asses resting on it. In addition to occupying the luggage racks, people were sprawled in the aisle, hindering the occasional passerby.

   Welcome to Indian Railways.

   “Mariam beta”, a sleepy voice called from the luggage racks above.

   

   “Ha abba”, she replied glancing upward, her voice so sweet and childlike.

   So that‘s her name, Vishal thought. He would never have had the nerve to ask her, himself.

   The boy beside Vishal, some teenager, had made quite a cozy pillow of his right shoulder. He nudged him away at regular intervals. She caught him doing that once; they beamed at each other. She withdrew first, blushing. Vishal remembered he had forgotten to breathe.

   The conversation went on for some time, a bit of this and a bit of that, after which the boy dozed off and she retired on her mother’s shoulder.

   At the break of dawn, when the train halted and she woke up, Vishal was still looking at her. He pretended to look some other way, though he knew he was caught in the act. His eyelids were heavy. But he didn't want to sleep. Not yet.

   He went to the toilet, freshened up and arranged his hairs in the best way possible. Let her have a look at what I really look like, he thought, exiting the toilet.

   The journey was coming to a close. Her father came down to take the vacant seat beside her mother. As the train entered the station, people emptied their seats and jammed the aisle. Vishal was in no hurry; he had just a bag, instead he was savoring those last moments, stealing glances at her. Their eyes met for few seconds; no smile this time.

   The train came to a final stop. He waited till everyone got down. He knew better than to tag along; he had to let go, sometime or the other.

   He waited and waited and then he sprinted, unsure of himself. The platform was packed with people. He looked all over the place, searching for her.

   He was overwhelmed with this sudden rush of emotion. He wanted to see her, just one last time. He wanted to say something. He knew not what.

   A yellow flicker at a distance caught his eye. Yeah! That was her, following her parents at a distance. He broke into a run. Just when he was a foot or two away, she came to an abrupt stop. So did Vishal, catching his breath. Her parents kept walking, unaware. She lingered there for a moment, and then turned around to face him.

   Those kohl eyes stared down at him. He just stood there, rooted to the spot. Her expressions remained blank.

   Multiple thoughts raced through his mind. What would she be thinking? That he was stalking her. No, he didn't want that, not after spending such a pleasant, however short, time with her. He didn't want to be in her bad books, not now, not ever. And at the same time he also wondered why he cared about what she would think and what not. He was never going to meet her again, anyway. Well that's Vishal.

   They stood there, looking at each other; eyes locked, waiting for something; they knew not what.

  

   And then it transpired.

   Her cheeks flushed and she smiled her broadest smile ever, followed by a goodbye wave, slow but hearty.

   It took a moment to sink in but before he could smile back, she had turned around.

   Gone.

   He didn't follow this time. It didn't matter now. The moment to let go had arrived.

   It was all about this moment.

   It was all about………...The Last Smile.