It was August, and it was drizzling
We boarded the same train
In Bangalore
Running towards Hyderabad
We sat facing each other
Sitting beside open windows
It was dark, misty, and drizzling outside
We smiled at each other
I greeted him and he greeted me back
Exchanged a few custom-built pleasantries
We were strangers surrounded by the ocean of anonymity
Of a two-tier reserved train compartment
After the obligatory niceties
He opened a book and lost himself in his world
He was in his early twenties
The contours on his face kept changing
Every word he read reflected on his face
I wished to know what he was reading
Is it civil to disturb a stranger in deep meditation?
I remained silent, and my mind kept talking to me.
“You said something?” he inquired
“No, I did not! Anyway, what are you reading, my friend?”
“I know you are curious! I can read your mind.”
“Yes, I am curious! ...must be going through an interesting scene?”
“Not exactly! Going through an exotic experience! I am sorry, I did not keep your company.”
“I too love books, mostly fiction—popular pulp fiction!”
“You are a little harsh. There is no pulp fiction, only fiction!” he gently rebuked me.
“Do you read poetry?”
“I am a librarian. I read all sorts of ...whatever book that catches my attention!” he placed the book he was reading in my hands. It is the controversial book of Nabokov!
“You seem to love this book?”
“Yes.” His face was radiant.
“I read that book. I could hardly understand the second part!”
“You need not have to understand. The prose is sheer poetry. I read this book several times!”
“Without understanding? Don’t you want to know what the author intends to tell you?”
It slowly dawned on me: He will never finish that book—his obsession!
“You need not have to understand. The prose is sheer poetry. I read this book several times!”
“Without understanding? Don’t you want to know what the author intends to tell you?”
It slowly dawned on me: He will never finish that book—his obsession!
“Very much! I am learning French and German for that purpose. I attend classes at Alliance Franchise and Max Mueller Bhavan! ”
“Strange! Did you notice that your book is broken, and several pages are missing?”
“Yes. I have to purchase a new copy!”
“No need, my friend! I have a second copy with me. Shall I mail it to your address as a gift?”
“It is very kind of you! Please send it to me, and I promise to return it to you after reading. It is a rare book to obtain these days!”
He scribbled his address on a slip and handed the slip to me.
The next morning I attended an interview in Hyderabad with the exotic feeling inhabiting me!
I was selected for the mundane activity
To be carried out with electronic circuits in the cockpit
Of a fighter aircraft manufactured in United Kingdom.
I joined him in the evening in the train heading towards Bangalore!
I kept my promise. I sent that book to him which he duly acknowledged.
We became good friends. He wrote several letters to me
Letters—real hand-written letters conspicuous by his violet coloured ink!
He sent me several books as gifts.
We changed places, and we changed our careers.
He sends emails to me now from a foreign land!
He continues to share his feelings with new books with me.
He did not return my book so far!
May be he is still reading the prose contained in that queer narrative!
Savouring every word, every phrase!
One at a time!
He may finish reading several other books—but not that book—his obsession!
He will read it again and again!
He is not a character from one of my fantasies.
He is real—His name is Satish, the librarian!
I haven’t heard of him of late!
I love to meet him again, perhaps, in a cosy restaurant.
In August, and when it is drizzling!
