A Leaf From the Book of Life

It was during my early days in the college, during NCC (women guard training), when I spotted her the first time. Apparently, she looked as ordinary as I was, as everyone else was clad in the khakis (shalwar, kameez), sash, belt, green cap and badges. But still there was something about her that I would always end up observing her. May be it was her rare and beautiful name that appealed to me or the fact that she would converse in perfect English with confidence or perhaps I was simply bored since I had still not made new friends in the college.

Many a times we would be standing next to each other in a queue during parade but I never tried to talk with her. I was one of those social retards who find it a Herculean task to kick off a conversation with just anyone around. Now when I look back I feel as if I was in awe of her like she was a deity descended form the heavens above who could only be seen and revered and observed but not spoken to. The NCC ended after 20 days. Soon after our classes began; she was a science student, I was in arts. She would come to college so early like me. I would feel as if my father doesn’t drop me he actually throws me into college. So early when even the classes would be locked and we had to wait outside on the veranda. We would be standing two feet apart but we never talked. What possibly I could have talked with her? She was never my class fellow. She was not my friend… she was not even my acquaintance. A year passed by and in the second year the NCC training started again.

Before the end of our training, we went to a shooting range for firing and marksmanship. Our trainers were supposed to teach us the use of rifle beforehand which they never did. Anyway, when the girl would go into the trench for firing another would stand behind her to hold the pouch close to the rifle and to prevent the empties from flying off. It was a co-incidence that I was behind her in the queue so I had to hold that pouch for her. We both walked into the trench. The instructor told us briefly as what to do. Standing almost behind her, I held that filthy looking pouch carefully; she adjusted the rifle to her shoulder and pulled the trigger. The sound was so deafening that she began to tremble and refused to fire more. I put my (own shivering) hand on her shoulder and told her, “Just go through it!” “After all, it is a matter of 20 precious marks”, I thought. She continued firing bullets into the ground. With each bullet being wasted like that a thick cloud of dust would rise. Frenzied and to finish firing as quickly as possible, she swayed the rifle left and right making it difficult for me to steadily hold the pouch. It was during that fateful moment when one of the empty flew up and landed on my wrist. That sizzling empty burned my skin and made a pinkish scar. By the time she was done I was almost disoriented by the sound of firing, dust and that burning sensation in my skin. I bet it was since that day I began to loathe guns and rifles.

The lunch break was announced after that. We were already late and this break sort of infuriated me. She boarded the bus with her group and left for college. I looked around in despair, most of our female teachers, who were there to chaperon us had gone too and only two were sitting on the chairs under the tent. The boredom was dripping from their faces. I went to my friends, they were sitting a little far in the woods having sandwiches. I am strange as I always see things that I am not supposed to see and I always observe things that I shouldn’t. I looked around and almost shouted (remember I was half deaf with the firing). “Guys you have been sitting and eating near shit.”

Everyone stopped chewing, spontaneously looked between their legs and harmoniously said, “Where?” As if I said you have been "shitting" and eating.

“Look at the back… close to this brick you are sitting on… and there and there.” I pointed my finger in three different directions.

“Is this potty?” One of them asked squeezing her eyes.

“Yes, but it seems different.” The other one added and it nauseated me beyond words.

“Get up, I said, of all the places you had to find this shit pot to sit and have lunch.”

They rose reluctantly as if I asked them to abdicate the throne. Of course, I liked adventures but not with so much shit around.

I was in a sour mood. My wound was burning and although it was November but the dust ridden khakis seemed to be stinging me. Soon I was called for the firing. I made sure to hold the rifle steady yet I too fired all the bullets into the ground. We left around 3:00 afternoon. On our way back, I reviewed my performance and felt guilty on wasting the precious military asset like that. In fact, certain Major, upon seeing the target board mocked, “Next time when you fire make sure to learn how to hold a rifle.” Later on this whole NCC training was dubbed as the waste of time and assets hence it was canceled.

Years went by, we went ahead in our respective directions in life, she settled down in United States. But it’s a small world so small that you keep bumping into known people periodically throughout life as if we all are moving round and round in the same circle. She’s changed so much, just as I had. “Should I go ahead and have hello, hi with her?” I thought. But I couldn’t for I was sure let alone knowing me she wouldn’t even remember my face. I often think that she is oblivious to the fact that someone who years ago stood behind her with a pouch in her hand remembers so much – thanks to good memory and a meticulous observation – or maybe it is just that some scars though not too deep can’t be easily forgotten.