The monstrous train  missed me by a narrow inch.  Within a fraction of second,  I jumped up the platform  on the opposite side  and caught the slowly moving Barrackpore local at platform no 3.  It was moving to wards Barrackpore , my home.  A half a second delay, I would have missed it. It was the last train of the day.

My BP has not yet normalized.  I  stand  near the door. The cool night air  is soothing my nerve. I prefer this train for its  odd timings . Daily passengers usually take  the ten o clock train. , only few passengers   like  me travel at   this hour of the day. 

  Today, The   compartment   looks  bare. “ I  am   the Monarch of all   the compartment , my rights ---there is none to dispute ; at least for the next 45 minutes.” I  almost recite  to myself .

Moving  through the door I choose a comfortable seat and bring  out my assignment papers . Though it is a lovely night ,  I don’t have the luxury to enjoy it. Fate has  denied me the time. This July,  I will turn 30. The gates IAS   will  close  for me  for this life-time. So  before fate  engulfs me once again  and eats into  my  purushokar ( self-will),  I am making  one final effort. After the clerical job  of a private company,  I attend coaching classes at Bhabanipur  for IAS studies, and go back to my suburban home  by 11-30 p.m  train.  The night  lends me its  coolness and recovers my disturbed nerves.  Often, I use my travelling time   for solving the assignment problems. 

 Slowly I spread out the questionnaire  on my lap  and  bring  the note book out of the  file. And then I notice  her. At the Conner of the compartment , sitting alone  is  Latika; the nemesis of my life.

“ Is she Latika or Is she  a Ghost? A figment of  imagination? Am I losing my mind? Once again?”   I  am thoroughly confused.

 “ Hi there . Ms. ghost ? I yell.

 There is  no answer. But the form starts  moving. Next moment , I feel a touch..

 “ I am no Ghost. Please, please don’t get scared.”

 The assignment papers  starts  flying in the air. They  spread throughout the compartment. I don’t  have the stamina to recollect them.

 Holding my hand, Latika sits next to me. But neither of us is able to  utter a single word. The blast of night air passing through the compartment makes   my surface cold but my brain is boiling  in  turbulent passion.

Latika was the girl I loved. She was a year-mate,   since the days of   St. Xaviers. I was a slave to her beauty. She had aristocratic taste. My   Dad died when I was in school, My school teacher mother had taken great pain to run our middle-class  family . Yet, she sent  me  to the  prestigious college. But Latika was from a much higher class.  So  impress  her upper- class  friends,  and to treat her  in   aristocratic locations, I had to do tuitions. I had given costly trinkets for birthdays, taken her to  Nandan   almost every month, but she  had never  given me anything.; except once. Six years back , one fine morning, when  all  our group members were busy in preparing for  M. Sc final examination, she had given me an invitation card.  She had invited me to her marriage with an IAS officer!

 I had a nervous breakdown;Missed my final examination. Tried suicide and kept myself closed indoors for years. Medicines failed; but  two years back, the tears of my widowed mother  had brought me  back to senses.  A family friend had  got me a job  in his office as assistant  and Ma convinced me try for IAS ; this year is my last chance.. But I don’t live in Kolkata. To renew my vows to life, I need to see my mother. Every night , after work I go  back to my suburban home .  

After marriage  Latika had  gone to Cheenai Does  she know all of these?  I wonder.

 As if  she read my mind by some telepathic device, Lakita  opens  her mouth. “I am really sorry to have  caused you so much pain.”

 “What?”

 “See , what  I did was totally  insensitive. But it was unintentional. I never really MEANT  TO HURT YOU.”

I  keep silent.  

 “In our society , boys and girls  learn to get  over their first crushes in  early teens. I  never felt that  I meant so much to you.” She  continues  in apologetic tone.

“ It was my fate , you were just the instrument .“  I am puzzled to hear my own words.  But I could never bear see to  her at the   wrong side of a conversion , even when she was wrong .

“ Don’t defend me.  I just wanted to tell you that I too was not spared.  Karma  had  caught up  with  me.”

 Suddenly I notice  that the parting of her hair   has no red mark. There is no sign of sindoor.

 Is she divoreced? Or widowed? Is she  genuinely unhappy ? or just playing another cruel game-to distract me from my  path of normalcy. Will it be a crime if I push her out of this compartment !

A hoard of ideas are  flooding  my mind. My brain is paining   but   I don’t  dare to   perform a  single action. I  believe  in fate.  I just sit there motionless and wait   for fate to unfold its   design..

  (P.S Wriiten  as  a part of   assignment for DCE  IGNOU)