थे लिंगेरिंग taste

Phew! What a day! Don’t get the tone wrong. I meant to convey that it has been a super-duper fulfilling day. I have had a fabulous final round of interviews in a top class firm. Everything indicates that I had done my homework exceedingly well. The smile on the faces of all bore testimony to the fantastic impression I had made. Then I met two of my college seniors over lunch. They are both working in this company. We had a hilarious time recalling our college days and our crushes and pet peeves. They gave me a ringside view of the working conditions in their (soon our) company and said they could not wait for me to join them. We would rock like in our college days. Now I am at the railway station, waiting for the goddam train to chug in. Why train you many wonder. Indeed I could have cleared every interview on the phone itself. I just felt like hanging loose for a day. Just getting out of the Metro and chilling in a different city. Already my mind is working out the finer details of the life I will be leading in this city.
It is 6 pm. I loiter near the book shop. Not that books interest me. The books mostly found in railway bookshops are thrillers or those feel-good types. You know ‘how to become rich’ ‘how to live in peace’ ‘the path to nirvana’ etc. These books are for the naïve. I dislike thrillers; they are simply hot air and hocus-pocus. Then there are books on spirituality, the other great reigning raining fraud. I don’t mind cookery books. They are at least in the realm of the real. Baking in fact fascinates me. I always loved those melting-in-mouth cakes my mom baked at home. Maybe one day when I settle down in this city, I will get a ‘Bachelor cook-book’ and prove my prowess in this area too.
The platform is just coming alive. Fat people dragging their suitcases noisily, hawkers running about as if it is Do or Die. Suddenly there is a cacophony in a thousand different pitches. The AC coach is not far from where I am. With my light back-pack and my smart Nike shoes, it is just a hop for my tall, athletic frame into the compartment. I brace myself for an evening in the company of a family of yelping kids and adults on a non-stop eating binge. But strangely there is no one anywhere near my berth. I have the whole place to myself. My thoughts expand like the free space around me.
A bit about myself then. I am Ajay, 27, engineer by profession. From my school days, I have known only success, more often roaring than just ordinary. I have always been a topper and the family’s blue-eyed boy. The medals and trophies on display in the front room of my parents’ home catch everyone’s attention. I got into the college I wanted, into the science branch in which I wanted to qualify and later specialized without any hitch. A stint in an IIT gave me the final sheen needed to make heads turn in my direction in the professional world.
Even in my school days, when our grammar teacher taught us the affirmative, comparative and superlative forms, I respected only the last. The first two are for the mediocre. And all this talk about ‘simple living and high thinking’…what deceitful words! To me it is simple. Simple living is for simpletons. High thinking on the other hand reflects in a person’s style and bearing. Clothes do make half a man and the other half – or just below that – is made of the accessories that go with the clothes. A plush wallet, a sexy smartphone, a telling perfume, for example. Telling indeed what the man before you is totally worth. If you have it, flaunt it, is the great adage by which I go. I am of course not advocating hollow posturing. Flaunt the genuine without embarrassment is my mantra.
Where do I hope to reach with my road map laid out? The Mount Everest of the professional world is of course my goal. There is no dearth of role models. Right from those guys favored inexplicably by Lady Luck, to those chance innovators. Not that I overlook the Russian Roulette of Nobel Prizes. If President Obama can win the Nobel Prize for peace within a year of doing absolutely nothing peaceful, it is a hopeful sign for lesser mortals! Not that I believe in the comparative form, mind you. Let us say the Noble Prize is open to all. What about the other aspects of my life you may want to know. Though I dislike Nosey Parkers, I know a smart, successful young man kindles curiosity. I am single, by intent and by luck ha ha! I see my friends messing up their lives in the name of that ghostly, ghastly emotion called Love. They even begin to look and behave like poor flies trapped in spiders’ webs. Of course I am not averse to the tingle of feminine attention and adulation of which I have received plenty. I have wisely slithered away when girls have as much as uttered the ‘c’ of committed relationships. There are some girls who are as practical as guys like me and then our wavelengths truly match. So does our sense of fun. But then, a gold medal winner earning a five digit salary is not eligible to remain single and peaceful for long in our society. Those moth-like aunties are already hovering around me with earfuls of proposals. I simply win them over with an enticing smile!

I look at my watch. Just two minutes for the train to start and the compartment is quiet like a graveyard. The comparison is a bit unnerving so I think of opening my laptop, then change my mind and take out my smartphone. Whom can call to enliven things up a bit? As I scroll down the address book I stop at Rahul. A great friend if ever there was one. He would surely like to hear all about my day.
I hear footsteps. Not the heavy, trundling ones of a two ton middle aged couple but dainty, light ones. As I look up I see a slender young girl with arresting looks. Her high cheek bones and well formed lips sit prettily on a silky smooth dusky complexion. I am not used to describing looks eloquently but it is as if words are coming on their own. She checks her ticket number and puts her compact strolley beneath the seat opposite mine. She adjusts her jeans and top and sits down near the window. We do not look at each other.
Rahul answers my call. ‘how did it go buddy’? he asks. I begin at the beginning and tell him everything. The city, the fabulous building of the company, the great experience with the board, the questions I was asked, the hopes I have, the promises they have almost made, I do not leave out a single detail and of course about the lunch with the girls. Rahul is one great listener. All this while my eyes are shut reliving the day.
When I come out of my call, I casually look at her. She has a phone in her hand too and she is fiddling with it. It looks like she is sending someone text messages. It is already dark. There is nothing to see from the window except my own Greek profile. I wish I had some music. I get up, stretch myself, walk two steps, peep into the next coupe. A couple and a kid is all. I come back to my place and sit down, one leg on the other. Meanwhile the girl has opened her bag. She has taken out some sort of a notepad and is scribbling something in it. Then she takes her phone and makes a call. She tells her friend that she is nervous. Nervous? My ears perk up. It seems she is going to attend an interview and she has butterflies in her stomach. This is her first experience it seems. Her friend encourages her, or so it seems, from the blissful smile. Her lips are lovelier than ever. She puts the phone back and reopens the notepad, bites a pen and looks a little lost.
I am not given to talking to strangers, especially while traveling – you never know what maleware they may be harbouring. Just this once, my curiosity is aroused. A fetching girl, with bewitching lips, who is going to attend her first interview and me with all my roaring successes and confidence…I take the first step. ‘where are you going for the interview?’ I ask her. She appears surprised at my voice, blushes just a mild shade of peach and replies me. Her voice matches her looks, is my first reaction. We get talking. Slowly at first, then with greater ease, we open out to each other.
I give her vital clues for the interview. She is totally absorbed in my words. It is fun, tantalizingly so, to see her stare at me with so much admiration and awe. I play out various scenarios for her and induce her to more logical thinking. It is like we are playing an invisible game of chess.
It is dinner time. The railway caterer gets me my dinner. She says her mother has packed her some home food. I tell her I will go the washroom and be back.
Over dinner we talk some more. She talks about her family, her friends. She has never left her native city. Her father wanted to accompany her on this maiden voyage of hers but she said she would manage. Isn’t she glad she got an inspiring travelmate! I tell her about myself, my successes, my aspirations. The railway food is not worth sharing and I apologise to her for that. She is graceful in her gratitude and instead offers me some of her food. The chocolate cake is particularly sexy. It seems to have a melting middle which simply runs down your throat yummmm…It is a special recipe of her mother’s. With a pang I realize I have eaten a good three fourths of the cake and probably left her yearning. She puts the remainder in the box and tells me she will keep it for the return journey tomorrow. She gives me the most wonderful smile, a combination of naivete, nervousness, gratitude and who knows…maybe a desire to keep in touch. We will exchange mobile numbers and mail ids in the morning. Maybe I can drop her some place near her interview centre. With more reassuring words for the morrow I bid her good night and spread out my bedsheet. Strangely I feel protective towards her. I should get up in the night and check out if she is ok. I go to see if the doors are well secured.
The blue night light is on. The warmth of the blanket, the rhythmic movement of the train, the great experience of the day and the good vibes from the girl and above all the lingering taste of the cake in my mouth not only rock me but literally drive me to sleep in no time. I vanish into a dreamless world for what seems the stone, bronze, ice and stone ages combined.
‘Wake up, we have to clean the compartment’ goes a gruff voice. I feel someone tugging hard at my shirt sleeve. I am too drowsy to respond. Then someone throws some water on my face. When I wake up there is a crowd near me. ‘another case’ someone is saying. Case of what? ‘Did someone give you a biscuit?’ As I stagger up, with a strange headache, I look beneath the seat. There is no sign of my belongings, neither the laptop nor my backpack. When I feel my pockets, it is ditto. The smartphone is gone, so is the wallet, the watch and my ring. In fact all my superlatives are gone in one blow. As the crowd noisily works out the modus operandi of the biscuit bandit, I slowly walk out of the train with the still lingering taste of the cake in my mouth.