March 18th 2016, I was at the railway station. Tugging my 20kg backpack on my shoulders, I get down from the bus, making my way to the entrance. I was famished after the exhaustive 3hr ride from one end of the city to another, cursing the traffic and hissing at the heat and pollution. I call my coordinator to check on the status of others.
“We are nearby, gorging on some breakfast, before we make it to the platform. Why don’t you check the status of the train at the counter and find out the platform number for us” says he.
Glad that I wasn’t late and probably the first one from the group to board the train, I brush off my frustration and walk towards the counter to enquire the platform number. The lady clad in the sari urges me to walk to platform 4, where Duronto is already waiting to pick up her passengers. I waltz around the station, turning left and then right followed by a strenuous uphill climb and then walking down the flight of stairs, still lugging my backpack. Tired I walk to a nearby food stall, buy myself a bottle of soda to quench my thirst and a bag of chips to keep my hunger at bay. I make a couple of calls to my mom and sister informing them that I have reached the station safely and I am making it to the train right now and that I will keep them posted of my adventures every day. Satisfied with my latest procurement and feeling refreshed and relaxed I place my next call to my coordinator to inform him on my location and the platform number like he requested. He passes on the coach details along with the seat number’s and informs me that they are already seated inside the train. Amazed at how they made it to the train before me, I stride quickly towards the coach, hardly able to contain my excitement. I run past the other coaches towards S11 and as I pass S10, I slow down, trying to hold my excitement to minimum, composing myself to be a lady with grace and taking small steps towards S11. I ones again call my coordinator to double check the seat numbers, and as soon as he realized I am near the coach, I see a head popping out of the emergency window.
Brown eyes, unshaven face, rugged look, spiky hair, smiling face wearing a yellow t-shirt, waving his hand right at me. Bewildered by the friendly gesture from a total stranger, it took me a couple of minutes to shake off the muddled look and compose myself. I look at him again and this time with confidence, I asked him if he was waving at me. He looks at me with complete amazement, his eyes twinkling with wittiness, reacting to my totally ridiculous inertness. He nods at me with a piquant smile and I smile back. I break the eye contact and paced towards the door. I get greeted by the coordinator; he introduced me to the rest of the team, one being the yellow head (that’s what I call him) that waved at me. We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries and when we found ourselves comfortable we made fun of each other’s reaction. The next few days with him were a total bliss. The next few months with his were a total bliss.
Today, 11 months later, the man that I met on the platform, the yellow head, is my would-be, my love, my life. And the strange part, we both swiped each other right on tinder, but sadly never got a chance to meet in person. Is it true? Sadly NO! But we did swipe each other right in life!