Purba Nandi of class six shares a fictional tale on an unusual Monday evening, when a routine coaching class turns into a mysterious encounter for Kavirsh when he meets a stranger in a blue Salwar Kameez. This chance meeting with the enigmatic woman on a lonely road challenges his perceptions and leaves him with a lasting impression.
It was one of those Monday evenings when you don’t feel like doing much, but rather relax in your living room reading your favourite detective novel, or Sydney Sheldon’s ‘A Stranger in the Mirror’. That’s exactly what I wanted to do, but then Sheetal called me up, and instead, I went to our coaching classes. Honestly, I am not good at arguing with her, so I just went along without a word. But after classes, I decided to speak to her about this matter. So as she approached my bike after the classes were over, I asked her, starting my Pulser, “Sheetal, your dad is an engineer, right?”
“Yes, he is,” she replied, sitting on the bike. “Why?”
“No reason, just curious about how much he earns,” I said.
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you asking such rubbish questions?” She snapped, clearly annoyed.
“Just answer my questions” l insisted.
“Fine, around 45,000 to 60,000, I guess,” Sheetal replied, still unhappy with my questioning.
“Your mother was a nurse, right?” I asked again, ignoring her dislike for my questions.
“No, what nonsense; just drop me home, Kavirsh.” Sheetal shouted as if I had asked for her kidneys.
“So, why don’t you use your car or book a cab while returning home from your coaching classes instead of wasting my petrol?” I asked, my patience wearing thin.
“Because you come here for coaching as well, simple.” She mumbled.
“God, it is just a waste of time talking to you. We have reached now; just get lost.” I expressed my disappointment again.
“Thanks for the ride, my friend,” she winked and disappeared through the long iron gate of her home.
As I started for my home, I met with what I feared the most: my bike sputtered and stopped, right in the middle of nowhere. And even worse, there were no other vehicles; it was ten thirty at night, you see. Tholagarh, my home town, sleeps early, and roads are all empty as early as 8 in the evening. I felt exhausted, even thinking about the fact that I had to push the bike back home. I thought I would call a mechanic but then realised even he would have closed his shop by now.
I decided to call Sheetal’s father, honestly; I know not why, perhaps because of the fact that I was quite annoyed by my surroundings and the ambiance, and why am I here? It is all because of Sheetal who dragged me into this mess. And guess what? He disconnected as usual.
I remember I was just 7 years old when I met Sheetal. We have been good friends since then, but when I moved to Siachen for 2 years, Sheetal’s dad started avoiding me and refrained from talking to me much. I wonder why. Perhaps it was because I broke his laptop by mistake. But you see, I was a child, and accidents do occur, which is why they are called accidents.
Anyway, left with no other options, I started pushing my bike again. But the distance of seven kilometres to my home felt more like seventeen on the creepy, silent night.
After a while, I realized that my parents would be worried, so I called my father, but the ever-irritating message of the IVR informed me that he was speaking to someone else. ‘Why does it always happen to me?’ I grumbled, but then my luck seemed to work as I could reach my mother’s number. I informed her of my situation, but she was prompt enough to advise me to leave my bike on the road and return home.
But my bike is too precious for me to be left alone on a lonely road. I continued to walk. After a while, I found a petrol pump. I decided to rest for a while.
I found a place to sit and continued cursing my luck. I thought about my detective agency, which, in spite of having solved a murder case, finding the lost ring of my neighbour’s aunt, and finding Sheetal’s lost phone worth thirty thousand rupees, was not doing well enough to sustain itself.
But my chain of thoughts was broken when I saw a lady, a complete stranger, approach the petrol pump and take a seat just about 45 meters apart from me. The stranger was tall, dressed in a blue Salwar Kameez; her hair was tied in a pigtail, and she had put on a light makeup. Though her face was not prominent, I could make out that the the stranger had a round face.
After about ten minutes, she got up but did not leave. I had a feeling that she was lost and was in tears, or maybe she was a mother who lost her child in the crowd, such weird thoughts came to my mind. I wanted to ask if she needed help, but who knows, she might be offended, so I decided otherwise.
But then my curiosity got the better of me, and I went a bit closer, and with a voice as soft and polite as possible, I asked, “Excuse me, ma’am, do you need any kind of help?”
At this question, she looked up at me, came a bit closer, and whispered, “No, but I saw you sitting here. I felt that you are going through a tough time, so I thought to give you some company.”
I was a bit shocked, but her soft and tender voice was like a soft embalmer to my passing phase. I said, “Actually my bike had some issue; it stopped in the middle of the road, and so I came here to rest. Sorry if I have troubled you, l will leave now.”
“No worries at all, my home is nearby, come let me walk you through.” She said.
I was touched by her gentle attitude and readily agreed. As we walked through, we spoke about our likes and dislikes and other details. She enquired about my family, but I decided to avoid asking her about her family.
By this time we started walking quite close to each other, and I could see her mesmerising brown cat eyes; her elegant dress was like a newlywed bride; and she smelt like an angel- not that I know of any angel or have seen one, but with her beauty and her soft words, I was convinced that if there is an angel in the cosmos, she is the one. Her soothing words were so fascinating that I almost forgot the agony I was going through in pushing the bike.
I began to talk freely by now, as if I had known her for ages. I spoke about my life, my travels to Siachen, my detective agency, and even about Sheetal and her father. This way, time passed by, and I never realised that I had reached the lane to my house. I stopped my bike and said, “There you are; we have reached my house. This is the lane to my house.” I wanted to ask her about where she stayed but then I did not, fearing I might offend her. I just said, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
As she said, “Same for me, bye, I need to go,” she started to walk.
I turned towards my house, but then I realized I didn’t even ask her name. I turned to ask but stopped as I felt that it would be good if we remained friends as strangers, and I named her “The Stranger in Blue Salwaar Kameez” and watched her disappear in the dew…
