Window Seat

 How many years must we put between us to prove we are no longer in love? How many summers and Octobers, distractions and chance meetings, remnants of our sad, hopeful love in another's look, an all too familiar gesture– how long do we go on dragging our aching bodies day after day through this yawning, yearning world, searching for a glimpse of what could have been? 

The family, where their only son turned twenty-eight and still devoid of that corporative work-pressure felt concerned. On the other hand, the son wanted to relax as much as he could before pulling a full-stop to it for the next thirty-two years. 

Banerjee, the surname which would lure in respect, dignity itself- adorned his name perfectly. 

Anweshan Banerjee, a character screaming intellectualism. A person who placed a high value on or pursued things of interest to the intellect or the more complex forms and fields of knowledge, as aesthetic or philosophical matters, especially on an abstract and general level. An extremely rational person; a person who relied on intellect rather than on emotions or feelings- that was the most poignant change he had witnessed in himself over the last three years, like bread turning into stone and water into wine. He never really searched or tried to unlock the casket of his memories to blame someone for his change for he knew it was required, for him and her. 

After working in the corporate world for three years, he needed some respite- rather he never felt like he did, but to tag along with his colleagues who were supposedly tired of the monotonous way of leading life , he was on his way to Darjeeling. Darjeeling mail- a train ride of ten hours and ten minutes. 

It was around 8:30 a.m. by Anweshan's watch, fast by two and a half minutes. The Sealdah Station was bustling with activity, people from different walks of life rushed past each other with no concern for the outer world, or the ones their shoulders brushed against. The frequent 'May l have your attention please' announcement made some sensible ones stop, listen and set about finding their platforms. However, some of them only fastened their steps, eager to reach the train before it left the station. The blaring horn from platform number 3 caught the attention of the people all over, and within a few seconds, fueled by excitement- they got summoned towards the edge. 

Getting pushed by his shoulder was enough to ruin Anweshan's mood for the day, he was never accustomed to be talked with a vinegar-temper, getting pushed was a faraway thought.  However, these things were ( still are ) quite common in railway stations, experiences usually ranged from getting pushed to getting the bags stolen, the first one was nothing compared to the latter. Settling his bags near the last berth, he leaned towards the window- within minutes the landscape had become saturated with an intense hue of green. As if God took out his shade card and presented the travellers with the most delightful shade He could find. The smell of the rain, the petrichor, treated Anweshan's olfactory senses with nostalgia, while the cold droplets gently caressed his outstretched hand. Eternal bliss. Who said happiness cannot be found in small things?

As he tried to get comfortable in his cozy window side seat, he got greeted by a distinct sound. ‘Wooooooo…’– a loud cheer, emanating from the seat, right across to his. The train had just passed over a small river, causing a little boy who was seated with his parents, to let out a loud “Woooooo..” sound in a seemingly pre-planned unison. 

The sudden outbursts of excitement had even compelled the big reader, Anweshan to lift his eyes from the already reached seventeenth page of his book. It was decided that he couldn't continue with his book, no matter how much he tried for the child's laughter knew no bounds whenever he came across a bridge, or a river. Anweshan cleared his throat, to finally initiate a conversation with the kid. 

" so , what's your name? "

" Anwechhan Chhen," the answer from the other side reached his then keen ears. 

 " Anweshan Sen, do you know the meaning of your name?" asked Anweshan as he got ready to reveal it's meaning to the little boy who had just learnt to pronounce his name. 

" Ascertainment." 

Anweshan's ears were welcomed with a familiar voice, it spoke to him in a modulated manner, and he had to trust everything it had to say because of it.

He was quick to lift his eyes, to encounter a woman in her mid - twenties, adorned with a perfectly draped saree, the colour of which complimented her milky complexion. Her long, flowing hair appeared to be woven of silk as she caressed the locks which found their way out of her messily tied bun. There she was, out of all the fairytales, daydreams, nightmares, folklores and evermores Anweshan had imagined her in. 

"You remember?" Anweshan proclaimed in a heavy voice, clouded with emotions of different shades. 

"Trust me, forgetting it would have been the bliss - but l like pains of all kinds," said she, again, with her convincing voice. 

Anweshan's heart skipped a beat as he locked eyes with her, feeling the weight of memories flood back with her presence. He couldn't help but be drawn to the familiar warmth in her gaze, despite the years that had passed since they last saw each other. With a mix of nostalgia and uncertainty, he replied, "Some pains linger, refusing to fade with time. Perhaps that's the price we pay for once knowing love so deeply."