I took a covert glance at my luggage bag over my head and a faint figure of a man with a crown and heavy mustache appeared. The figure had a smirk at me and I twigged that something bad is going to happen with me. On the very next moment a gentleman asked me “is this seat number 27”.
At the very first glance on the man I figured him out as an engineer … especially computer engineer. He was tall, having extremely fair complexion wearing frameless specs. His skinny face was formed of several incidental planes. A straight reply came directly from my heart saying, “It should not be but it is”, but somehow I managed to say “yes it is”.
The man sat beside me. I was going to home from Gwalior in a chair car coach. Seat no. 26 was mine, which was a window seat. Seat no. 27 and 28 were beside me … three in a row. I love travelling by chair car as you get an electricity plug very near to you and also I love the personal food tray facility. It’s the most comfortable place to place your laptop on. I never talk to a male stranger in trains, boys, men and especially the oldies. They are just like volcanoes ready to erupt out all the lava; they collected in their whole life, on you. Pathetic.
Shit, now I got why god was smirking at me. No, it wasn’t too bad for me … after all he is not an oldie I consoled myself. My fate never allowed me to sit beside a pretty girl whether it is a train, a restaurant, bus, or any other place where normally people finds someone special. Well that’s perfectly alright with me, I have learned to live with it. So the journey started as the train moved the man started asking me about my laptop. When did u purchase it? How many grand? I was just replying him in plain and was waiting for a pause of questions from him and as soon as I got one I fished my earphones from my pocket and started listening to the music and writing my diary on the laptop.
The way passed and came the station I was waiting for, the Agra station. I love the station because of two reasons. First I love the tea over there and second and most importantly I love the foreigner girls who came to visit Agra. So I stepped down from the train and enjoyed myself the 10 mins stay of train. I came back to my seat having a smirk on my face which was the result of “hi” I got in reply from a hot and gorgeous foreigner girl. Actually girls are not conservative but they got to act conservative in India I believe. Anyways I was getting back to the seat and I saw a real beautiful girl sitting in my compartment. I wished if a cold breeze can went through my hairs the way it happens to SRK but nothing like that happened. The girl was wearing a white top and blue jeans, brown hairs, fleshy cheeks, small nose and small brown eyes. I don’t consider big eyes beautiful and I doubt the people who consider big eyes beautiful because otherwise I would have heard a song like “aakein teri gaai (cow) si, hirni si teri chal ” … so overall she was looking beautiful (mall - slang). I was getting nearer to her but she didn’t notice me.
“My god. What’s that … is she sitting on my row of seat ? gosh! Yes … she is at 28 ”, I said to myself and my heart missed a beat.
“excuse me”, I said. Without any reply and without looking at me she moved her legs to give me a way.
I settled down on the seat politely like the most decent guy on the earth.
“So what interests you”? said the boy near to me. I quickly moved my eyes to his face as I thought he was talking to me and I was about to say, “This world”. But no, the question wasn’t asked to me, it was for the girl. “harami saala”, I murmured.
“Paintings”, gaily replied the girl.
“ohh .. paintings”, the boy replied like he, his father, his grandfather and all other family members are into this business form centuries, M. F. hussain was his student and it was him who purchased the most expensive and famous painting ever sold.
“what kind of painting?”, he again asked.
“all kind of paintings but especially the Oil paintings and glass paintings” she replied sincerely.
Why I am so dumb in paintings I cursed myself. I had never colored a painting with wax colors even when the sketch has been drawn by someone other.
“Really? That’s cool”, he said.
I smiled like a winner. “beta, u don’t know a thing about paintings I know”, I spoke in my mind.
“And how about you, what interests you?” , she asked to him.
“Paintings”, he replied.
My heart stopped beating as if I heard that our train was going to collide with Shatabdi express which is coming on the same track and we are going to die today.
The girl moved and faced the boy with her eyes into his eyes and said “are you serious? ”.
Before the boy replied my chaha chaudhary kind of mind replied “I don’t know if he is serious or not but I am going to be seriously ill … call the ambulance”
“I don’t make jokes about my profession”, he said.
“Are you a professional painter”, she asked with all the excitement of the world, like she is going to have a trip of Disney land.
“No, I am an artist and I paint … don’t call it a painter”, he said with the expression which said “yes I am tom cruise”.
I turned my face towards the glass window. It was dark that time and the glass pane was reflecting that man like a mirror. I tried to find the reflection of the girl by moving my angle of incidence here and there but it was of no use. She was behind that man. I tried to look outside but it was dark. I tried to take a closer look towards the glass pane and I came to see my eyes full of anger, pity, and sorrow. Poor me I said.
“So what you have painted till now, Mr. Artist ”.
“Not much, but yes I put my 5 of my paintings to an exhibition last month and I sold 4 of them at good price I guess”.
“why not the fifth one?”
“it’s close to my heart, not for sale”.
It must be his girl friend’s or may be wife’s painting. Oh yes … he can be a married man I thought. It was a relief for me to think that way. But how come I can know that. Men must wear Mangalsutrs after marriage and should put some bindi vindi type things on their head I thought. No, I immediately said to myself … after all hopefully I am also going to be married after few years.
“ohh …”, the girl said.
“so, which one is your favorite painting? ” she asked.
“The massacre of the innocents by Peter Paul Rubens ”, he said generously.
“Never heard of that”, she replied.
“What ? you never heard about that famous painting of Sir Rubens”, he said in a tone which was going to be too embarrassing for the girl.
Now I was with girl. I have never heard of any painting other than Monalisa, by Vinci.
“No”, she replied surprisingly in a shameless tone.
I know these girls are never so zealous in their efforts and they think they know the tits and tats of the trade just by mugging up the small information. I have always believed this and it got an affirmation today.
“ok … it is a painting painted by sir Rubens in 1611-12 and it depicts an episode of the biblical Massacre of the Innocents. The latest auction price was 45 million euro.”
45 million euro … India will be a rich nation, I thought, if such amount is distributed among the needy people and I consider myself one of the needy ... 45 million euro distributed among 1.12 billion ... my mind tried hard to calculate the per head amount in rupees just before I heard the next statement.
“I would like to see your work someday if the time permits”, she said.
And one more girl has fallen for someone other than me, I thought. I was about to punch the window. Ohhh shit … this is why I saw god smirking at me. Jaipur was still 2 hrs from there and I was just restless to jump off the train right now.
After listening to few more details of their talks I came to the conclusion that both of them were from Agra.
“I can send you the digital pictures of my painting if I can have your email id ”, he said.
I was resting putting my head against the window and watching effortlessly the little sparks of light outside the window and after hearing the last words said by the man my mind shuddered my ears to hear the reply.
“its aastha_crazy2005@ ….. ”, she said.
“crazy ? yes she must be crazy … who make their username like that”, I thought. My mind replied “girls”.
After that the paintings topic just went away and they started talking about their sounding boring but uttered like extremely adventurous college and school lives. I found resting more comfortable and I again put my head against the window pane.
After an hour and when I was counting minutes left to reach Jaipur I heard most heartbreaking news.
“It must be your wife’s portrait”, she has said.
“Oh yes .. the fifth one .. the one which will always remain unsold .. yes its mine love’s portrait ”, the man replied with a gay smile on his face, and I believe Neil Armstrong must has smiled the same way when he putted his first step on moon.
He was a married man. I guess i missed that detail while i was saying "hi" to the foreigner. But this time I wasn’t happy .. instead It was a news that brought astonishment with grief. I said “yaar is type ki ladkia bhi shaadi shuda log pata lenge toh humara kya hoga???”
i don't know whether listening to that conversation would have been more painful for me or not if i knew from the start that the man was married.
