Laura

‘Who said I married him for love?’ said Laura, looking outside of the moving train, as the world whizzed past.

We sat quietly for the rest of the journey. The compartment was almost empty as it was a weekend.

About to reach our destination, we got ready to disembark, as the train came to a halt and the doors were about to open, Laura ran back to the seat where we were seated, acting as if she had forgotten something. Finding nothing she strolled back to the door but by that time the doors closed, and I looked at her standing at the platform and she at me from inside of the train. The train moved onwards.

She had not forgotten anything but wanted me to move on. She wanted to forget!

I had met Laura at the office of the ‘The International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies’ in Amsterdam. She was as distraught as I was. And we came to know each other over the cups of free coffee offered in the waiting room of the office. Neither of us could afford the hot beverage in the cold weather, we felt privileged.

Though we came from different cultures, countries and background, we found something common in both of us and as I would say, there was only one thing shared in that room of hundreds of people, we were all victims of circumstances either made by others or by ourselves!

The victims became friends and a friend in a foreign land is like finding an angel in a desert who would provide you all the water you need to quench the thirst until the end of the journey.

Only after we had arrived in this city, part of a first world country, we recognized the value of life. Appreciating the beauty of a place when you doubt its very validity when you only see or hear about millions of miles away. #

As the train left the platform, I tried calling her from that very moment, always hearing the message ‘the dialled number is out of reach or is switched off’. I stood there not understanding what had just happened.

That was the last time I saw her. That may also be the last time she saw me!

I do not know when we became friends or something more. We became so close that it was difficult to pull us apart. Her Chechen accented English and my Pakistani style was no match to understand each other but I suppose we did.

I still remember the day when she told me she was getting married. She said she had found someone who could look after her and would take care of her. She saw a beautiful life ahead.

I flinched for a second but then sense and calm prevailed. We spoke without any words. She was right in making the decision. I did not have a regular job. Impermanence was the only reality. She was lucky to find a permanent job and a place to sleep. While I slept either in the basement of the restaurant I worked in or in the restaurant itself.

I knew the cell number existed for a few days more, but then I heard the message ‘the number you are dialling is incorrect, please dial the correct number’ and then I realised her phone number does not exist anymore. Or is it her, no more?

It became a habit every evening upon reaching my small apartment, to dial her cell number and hear the message ‘the number you are dialling is incorrect, please dial the correct number’.

As time evolved, I did to and finally had a proper job which could make me afford proper four walls and a roof.

Winter was upon us, and the days were shorter and cold. I remained indoors after returning from work. There was no reason to go out and to meet with anyone. All reasons had vanished. My companions every evening were a bottle of whiskey and the passers-by whom I could see from the window. It was a privilege as there was a time when I could not even afford a cup of coffee.

Sometimes I just kept looking outside from my apartment window, seeing anything or nothing. At other times I would see imaginary figures. Childhood friends who were long lost, acquaintances who became part my journey at one point and then I became a one in another person’s voyage. Shadows walking before the people or behind. Ghosts and humans on the street, all looking up at my apartment window and at me, waving at me, smiling at me, showing expressions or none, asking for my attention or was I asking for theirs!

Life could not be more mechanical as if oxygen were sucked out of a living creature. I woke up in the morning, had coffee, walked to the train station, debarked at the relevant station, went to work, where like a robot I performed my tasks as required (programmed), I got off work, bought something to eat on the way, chomped down the food while on the train returning home. Finally inside the confinement of my four walls, after I had dialled Laura’s cell with the return message as usual, I settled down beside the only outlet to the world, drinking until I slept and woke up the next day doing the same thing.

I wonder why it was this way or what had happened to me. She was a friend like others. Friends – is every other person you know is a friend? or you just know him/her? I did not look for any answers.

One evening while I was silently looking outside, I saw a couple walking on the pavement opposite the building I lived in, hand in hand, and there she was. Laura looked up at my apartment and me. I could never forget her smile, but the man was not the husband she introduced me to. He was someone else. But one thing was certain, she was happy. Maybe she did find the love she was looking for.

The following day, I got up, had coffee, I typed my resignation and mailed it to my manager with immediate effect and gave up one months’ notice pay. I cleansed my apartment and myself, I went to pick up the daily from a nearby hawker and immediately found an advert for a meaningful job which could help me pay my bills, I called the number and heard ‘Good morning, School for Special Children, Laura speaking, how may I help you’. I hung up, deleted the phone number I had on my phone of her.

I was happy to imagine she was also! The sun was shining bright that day and I had no hangover.

Copyright: Kirtan Varasia (2020)