The Wrong Choice

I was sitting in the railway waiting room on a cold winter night, wondering which sin of my last life had cursed my commonsense so I had to make a series of wrong choices , which had condemned me to spending the night in a deserted station 100 kilometres from the nearest town. . A tiny voice in my mind told me I was lucky too, if I hadn’t been I wouldn’t have gotten tickets to the next train in the morning, which would take me to the nearest outpost of civilization. And to think all this to meet a friend who worked in the forest service. Ah well!

Sipping my ultradiluted tea, I arranged my two piece luggage under the chair and decided it would be good to take a nap while waiting. It was hardly 7 in the evening, and the train was at 6 30 in the morning. I had serious doubts if my muscles would cooperate after a night in the chilly single tubelight dingy room. And then there were the security fears. On a normal day my 6’3 90kg frame could fend off the odd thug or two, and I had a licensed revolver if things came to that, but in my innermost soul I knew I’d be hard pressed to fend myself against a gang with my body as chilled as it was. Sighing, I closed my eyes, trying not to touch the dingy wall.

The shadows were the same when I woke up, the sun having set an hour before I entered the station and the dust on the tubelight ensuring the lighting was as dismal as could be. As I willed my body to move , I noticed that I had company. A woman. Dressed rather fashionably in a full length skirt with stockings showing underneath, and a sweater on the rather slim torso (from what I could make out). Her face was obscured by a novel, but overall she didn’t seem older than 30.

Just as I was trying to make out her features, she lowered the novel and looked straight at me. Pretty face, medium hair, minimum makeup. A reporter I presumed; which other specimen of the fairer race would land up in an abandoned station at this hour ? Or maybe some NGO worker visiting the villages. What was certain was that she, like me, hadn’t chosen this hour to be at this place, and if possible, was even more out of place than I was.

I met her gaze with a smile, exposing my white teeth in a disarming gesture. She rewarded me by standing up, proving to be a rather short figure. More importantly, her tits were expressed in better relief, and as she made her way towards me, I realized she must be alteast a B cup. She advanced till my entire vision was filled by the bulge on her chest, then suddenly lowered herself beside me, causing the chair to creak and making the guard outside peer in interestedly.

Having satisfied the guard’s curiosity, I turned to her, rather surprised at her rather bold decision. Returning the smile, she asked me if I too was going in the same direction as she was. I answered trains in the opposite direction weren’t due till late afternoon the next day. This, said in my friendlist manner, made her laugh; I congratulated myself for a conversation well begun. The guard again looked in, causing her to close her mouth and I again had to give a broad “All is well” smile to make him look away.

“So, um, if I may ask, what brought you to this deserted station ?”

I lobbed the question back at her, causing her to laugh again, more mutedly this time.

“As you may have guessed, I work with an NGO, which works with village women. A special case made me stay back and there were no trains available. So…..”

I nodded. I explained how a generous dose of whisky had left me playing cards a little too long at the forest guest house. Why didn’t I return and come back the next morning ? Well, I’d asked the driver who brought me here to go back, and didn’t want to impose further on my friend’s hospitality.

She found her own story to be quite similar, and we soon had a good conversation going, to the accompaniment of cold tea and equally cold samosas, which I purchased from the lone vendor on the platform. As the glasses emptied, she became more informal, talk shifting from her NGO and my newspaper company to our college days. I learnt that she’d been educated partly in the States, before shifting to India after her father retired and returned to India. She had been working for around six months and was quite new to the rural scene. In fact, she knew precious little about the area beyond what her NGO head had told her. Strangely though, her manners didn’t seem as out of place as she claimed

. I guessed that she was probably expecting me to escort her “home”, especially as her parents would not be too happy if they learnt their precious daughter had been stuck in a small station. And from what I could tell, she had begun to trust me , a trust she’d have done well not to extend to strangers so easily.

While I learnt all this, time went on as always, and soon we were informed that the sole food outlet on the station would close in fifteen minutes. Did we want anything ? I asked her to choose and offered to pay. She chose, and didn’t resist as I paid. The food, thankfully, was hot, and conversation died out as we gobbled down the plain fare. This took another half an hour, during which I could not help observe my companion as she shovelled down the food.

To be fair, she wasn’t very pretty at close quarters, and I’d have passed her as average on an average day. But this was no average day, and I soon found myself admiring the features of her face. This inevitably made her conscious of herself, and she gave me a broad smile. I had no option but to return to my food, but somehow the stillness of the night and the only presence near me (the guard had retired to the guard room) being female, it didn’t take me very long to start admiring her again.

I began from her forehead, which lacked any sign of marriage, which was an encouraging sign (was I planning to marry her ? my mind asked me sarcastically. Hell no! ) From there to the thin eyebrows, which framed two beautiful brown eyes, currently downcast, eyelashes fluttering everytime she blinked . Below them were two fair expanses of flawless skin, which rose and fell as she ate. And at their centre, two lovely red petals, which opened to fill her mouth with food. If only I could……

I didn’t notice her looking at me until it was too late. When I did, I saw a mixture of shock and uneasiness in her gaze, her hand hovering over her empty plate. As I met her gaze,she looked away, her hand trembling. The spoon in her hand fell. Before I could do anything, sh got up and walked off, muttering something about going to the toilet.

Suddenly I was all alone. She had left her plate and purse, but her presence was no longer there. Through my lecherous gaze, I had driven away one who could have been my companion for the night. A female companion for the night. My mind conjured up images of her lips again. It was cold, and I realized if I sat there, I’d either freeze or lose myself in thoughts of Reena. Cursing my hormones, I collected the plates, picked up her purse, and headed out.

The platform was empty, greeting me with a blast of cold air that almost reversed my direction. Shivering yet unable to wrap my arms around myself, I cut a sorry figure, a combination of waiter and lady’s servant as I headed towards the other end of the poorly lit platform, more concerned about where she had gone than in disposing the plates. Finding solution to neither problem by the time I reached the middle of the platform, I decided to dump the plates on the counter of the stall, and headed off with her purse towards the toilets, unsure of where to find her.

As I made my way towards the other end of the station, where the toilets were, the stillness of the night was shattered by the tune of a film song. The culprit turned out to be a cellphone in my ex-companion’s purse, and the source of disturbance a call from her mother. I wondered what to do. If I picked it up and explained where I was (rather where she was) and who I was, the worried woman would likely send a military helicopter to her daughter’s rescue. Leaving me, in the present state of affairs, to while away the hours of the night. If I didn’t pickup and she didn’t return for a while , chances were her parents would probably file a missing report to the police. Damn the girl, I thought, knowing I should be cursing myself.

As I stared alternatively at the empty station benches and to the phone in my hand, I decided not to pick it up. I’d find her before the next call came and she’d manage things. I didn’t want to be accused of anything, given the tendency of people to view a man and girl together alone at night. As my shadow crossed the small ticket counter, I picked up pace, defying the repeated blasts of cold air that came in from the pitch black exterior of the station. In another minute, I was rewarded with the view of two dingy doors, with faded signs informing the outsider that defecating was a gender segregated procedure.

For a moment I stood there, wondering if I should check the female toilet. Not much chance of being caught, but somehow the interior didn’t welcome me. Surely she’d have turned on the light (which was functioning as I verified0 if she’d gone in ? Unable to wait any longer, I peered in, and saw a row of cubicles with basins facing them. There didn’t seem to be any sign of activity. Before I could check each one separately though, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.

“Saheb, this is the ladies’ toilet. The gents is next to it. ” it was the old man from the food stall. Feeling embarassed, I walked out. This exposed the purse on my shoulder, and he realized.

“You’re looking for the memsaheb aren’t you ? This toilet has problems so I suggested she use the staff ones at the back. She should return by now. ” He hesitated for a moment then asked “Are you and her…..related ?”

I replied in the negative, to which he returned a raised eyebrow that completed a “I see’ look.