The Memory of Wild Flowers

I lay in the hospital dying a slow death. I have been diagnosed with lung cancer and the last 3 months have seen my other wise placid life go tropsy turvy. In these last few hours, people come to visit me, say things about me at my bedside but I am in a daze and don’t exactly follow them. Maybe, my brain is too old now. Maybe, the drugs are too strong. I feel as if I am in a wire mesh…can't see properly, can't talk properly, can’t hear properly but all this while just one thing manages to be crystal clear…the smell of wild flowers. I had wanted to spend every living moment surrounded by the flowers of a memory that have long back wilted but had followed me in my last few hours as well….

I still remember the very first time I noticed her. It has been 30 odd years now but the memory is as fresh as if it happened just a few minutes back. Its strange how the mind (or is it the heart?) can hold on to the smallest detail, like the dress pattern, like the way her hair was falling on the forehead and forget that there is a class full of eager enthusiastic students who awaited me, everyday-maybe forced by the timetable if not by free will, till 12 weeks ago.

It was way back in 2000. The second last semester of Engineering had just got over. I had done quite well and the profs were impressed. Life seemed a bed of roses- extending into a high flying job with a big corporate house. All the hard work that I had taken over the past 3 years was paying back. I had no inkling that my life was going to be rocked out within the next few hours.

A couple of friends from hostel who also lived in the same city were taking the journey back home with me. It was 3:00 PM when we boarded the train and were supposed to be home by the dinner time. The weather in Gawhati was amazing as usual and some how I felt bad at leaving the awesome mausam and going back to the heat of the plains. Initially chirpy, all of us settled back with our own thoughts/books/ writings/discussions as the train gathered speed. I guess it happens with most of us…I call it “train-magic” – the ability of the train to lead people into a state of semi hypnosis where they see some random events of their lives race by-instead of the scenery. Since I got the window seat, I was the victim of one such hypnosis. Even though I had intended to read “The Thorn Birds” on way back home but the beautiful scenery in conspiracy with the train sound over the iron tracks enticed me into a web of thoughts- while the book lay unattended, deciphering my facial expressions from my lap.

I was shaken out of the reverie when the train made a stop at one of the small stations. Belagaon. Chai-wallahs, jhaalmori-wallahs, beggars, vegetable vendors, fruit stall wallahs were competing against one another at the loudest to attract customers, while the passengers rushed behind the collies carrying their luggage or guiding the children who wanted to have a free run on the station. A typical Indian station. I looked around and saw that my friends were dozing off – no one to give me company for checking out the station. I shook Puru and asked him if he would like to come…he refused. “Ok, then keep an eye on my stuff”, saying this I walked outside to get something to eat.

I refilled my water bottle and got 2 samosas plus a salted cucumber. Puru had woken up and was signaling to me to get him some guavas. I bought the guavas and since I did not have a one rupee change I went back to the train window to get the same. It was when I was coming back to the fruit vendor that I noticed her. She was no more than 15 years and sat just beside the fruit vendor stall selling wild flowers. She stared out into the crowded station looking into nothingness as the flowers lay in her lap. She shadowed them from the setting sun – with a possessiveness as if they were her own blood. Maybe they were- for she looked like an oasis of calm in the sweating shouting desert of the crowds milling around her. I stood watching her and then walked to her as a probable customer to her wares…Something about her faraway look wanted me to know her more…maybe her spirit was much older than the body…maybe being under the constant "train magic" had given her this pose and expression. She was there but she wasn't there.

There was no change in her blank expression as she saw me bending…but then as I enquired about the price of the flowers, she smiled. A smile that pulled me into the labyrinth of her eyes, closing the door to the world, to the sounds, to the waiting train and to everything else. She had the strangest kind of eyes I had ever seen. As a part of the compulsory social work during the first year in the college I had volunteered for an organization called Drishti. I had come across abused women, helpless adults, unwanted children, terminally sick mankind not to mention the varied assortments of people from asylums, the brain dead and the healthy whose brain were dying out a slow death. But then I hadn’t ever come across such a vacant expression…an expression that changed to immense beauty lighting up the whole universe the moment she smiled. She was not particularly attractive...it was the smile that made all the difference.But then the smile lasted for the smallest second and then she was again lost in some other universe. Without removing the eye contact or losing the vacant expression she raised her hand and put out a finger. Re1/- each Since she had only 5 plates of flowers I bought it all to look generous even though I had absolutely no clue as to what I was going to do with those flowers. She seemed surprised at my gesture but didn’t say a thing…I still wanted to hear her so I asked her where did she get those flowers from. Again she raised her finger and pointed behind her..the exit of the station. No answers about where in town or village or beyond. It could have been anywhere...even another corner of the world. Before I could even think what my next question the train hooted and it was time to go….Our eyes continued to be locked till I boarded the train.

Back on my window seat…as the train chugged out of the station she was still looking at me and so was I. My friends queried about what I was doing with flowers and the girl…and I replied something utterly foolish. They started making fun of me but I didn’t mind….my mind was elsewhere…with the flower I had just met…

I carefully hid the flowers (didn’t want my family to question me on my sudden interest in 5 plates of wild flowers). Once in the privacy of my room, I smelt them again. They were nice…exotic…and their smell different from any that I had ever felt before. My mind drifted back to the girl with the vacant eyes....with her image in my eyes and the smell of the wildflowers around me I slept off.

Holidays went as usual but each day found me thinking about her…Contrary to previous occasions I was happy to go back to the college this time because it would give me 10 minutes to talk to the flower girl. Meanwhile one part of my mind was wondering if I would find her there. What if? And even if I could find her what would I talk to the teenager? Tell her that I had been thinking of her every day? That sounded even weird to me, even though I knew my interests in her were absolutely platonic…

I was at the train’s door even before it had chugged into Belagaon. My eyes scanned the crowds and located her…she had the same vacant expression, the same posture of sitting, the same clothes…it almost seemed that that time had not moved since I last saw her. As soon as the train slowed I jumped out and….now what? The questions came back to me…I stood watching her for a while as people jostled around her. Suddenly a push from behind and I was carried right in front of her. And then she saw me.Her eyes lit up…so she recognized me…it pleased me to no extent to think that she had been waiting all this while for me…I moved closer and bent again in front of her. She offered me the flowers and I bought all of them yet again. I asked her what her name was. No reply. Where did she live? No reply. Where did she get the flowers from? No reply…just the same old gesture that she had given the last time…outside the station. Where outside the station? No reply. I worded a few praises about the flower but the only response was a flash of brilliant smile and then she would get back in the closet with that vacant expression. As the train hooted it was time to go again….precious 10 minutes wasted without a single question answered. Like the last time her eyes followed me back to my seat and still followed as the train moved again….

Back to my thoughts, I wondered about her. Was she dumb? Or too shy? I was not sure. I hadn’t heard her speak even once. But her eyes…those eyes were like the wildest forests..inaccessible, yet inviting. I knew they would bring me back there soon and this time it had to earlier than then the end of the term. Since the decrepit Belagaon was only an hour away from Guwahati I decided to visit it over the following weekend early morning and maybe spend the whole day there. I could catch the evening 3:00PM train back. My thoughts took a steely resolve as I smelt the wildflowers.

Next weekend I told no one (my friends would have called me crazy) and took the 6 AM train to Belagaon. As the familiar station came into view I found that she was not there. OMG. I hadn’t planned this turn of events. Suppose if she didn’t come the whole day? What would I do? I got off the train planning what to do. Then decided to take a walk outside the station to where her fingers had pointed. Maybe she lived nearby or maybe I could find her collecting flowers somewhere….

Outside the station the early winter morning wore a bare look. The sun was trying to break through through the clouds and the air smelt of fresh puris and chai. I ate a couple had a kulhad of chai- a rarity now and was all charged for the exploration. Within half an hour I knew all the roads by heart. It was really a small town, rather a modern village that had developed being on the outskirts of Guwahati. According to my rough estimate not more than 200 families lived there. Most of them were the natives from the hills and they survived on agriculture.

My problem now was how to find my wildflower. I again came back to the station looking for her. Still not there. Again outside the station Iheaded to the woods that were close to the station…maybe if I could find her there.

The woods were beautiful. Simple village folk looked at me with a surprised expression. What was a young city guy doing there alone? I smiled at them but it did not occur to me that I could ask one of them about the flower girl who sat at the station. Or maybe I wanted to keep that as the last option. Soon I was out of the stretch of habitation and the woods merged into a real forest. It was quiet and felt cold even thought the sun was out. Soon I came across a thicket of wild flowers….the same smell…so I had found the flowers but not the one flower I was looking for….

My mind questioned me about the next action. I decided not to go deeper into the woods...didn't want to get lost.Should I wait for a while there or should I head back to the station? The second seemed more reasonable since she could be getting the flowers from elsewhere and not necessarily from the particular part of the forest. But before leaving, I took a bunch of flowers….her flowers. Somehow the smell made me think that she was close by….

Back to the station, I breathed an air of relief…she was finally there. I walked up to her and she seemed surprised seeing me coming from behind.Her expression fluctuated from the vacant looks to surprise and then to pleasure as she looked at the flowers in my hands. I thought she would finally speak out of the happiness of seeing me but she didn’t. I again asked her, her name. No reply. I told her my name. No change of expressions. I asked her if she would take me to the place where she got the flowers from.She pointed to the flowers in my hand with the expression; “but you already know where to find them”. All my questions were in vain…she kept looking at the flowers. So I offered her those. She patted them and then held them to her heart. Was I supposed to make anything out of the gesture of the young girl?

Suddenly, as the station clock sounded 1:00 PM her expression changed to worry. She tried to push me away. I couldn’t understand but then moved away to a nearby bench. She regained her former position…the same vacant expression, then same style of sitting with the flowers in her her lap. As if she was paid to sit like that. Soon I had the answer to my question. A girl came along with some food and then the 2 of them got together to eat. Oh…so she didn’t want to be seen with me. Over the food once in a while she kept glancing back at me. I watched her all this while and realised that she was talking...so she was'nt really dumb - I was the only prisoner to her-silences and eyes. I couldn’t make out what the 2 girls were talking about but then once the other girl turned to look at me. Maybe wildflower was telling the other girl about me…..

Lunch over, the other girl went away and wildflower regained her original position. After a while when I thought that no one would come back to disturb I again went back to her. This time I asked her why didn’t she talk to me? No reply. Would she like to go out with me to the town? She just shook her head. No. I told her I studied in Guwahati. No expression. Would she like to go to Guwahati? No reply. All my questions had the same 2 answer….either no reply or a shake of the head to indicate no.

After a while I got tired and frustrated of this game and went back to the bench. Who was this girl? For the whole day I hadn’t seen anyone buy a single flower from her. Why was I there at all? I was angry with my self for wasting the whole day about a stupid whim. I cursed myself as the girl continued to sit and stare vacantly into nothingness, holding the bunch I had given her in her hands- while the rest of the flowers lay in her lap.

My train arrived. I was so angry that I didn’t even say a bye to her. I boarded the train and again her eyes followed me. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get away. As the train started my eyes wanted to look at at her one last time. I turned towards the window and saw that she was still watching me intently.Or was she looking through me? I could'nt be sure... My anger surged and I looked away…..

Back to the college I decided to put all the thoughts about the flower girl out of my mind. But once in a while the vacant expression came back to me and so did the smell of the wild flowers. End of term arrived and it was time to go home for the final time. Amidst all the excitement of embarking on a new life of a professional, leaving college and goodbyes, I found myself getting excited about the flower girl as the hour of departure came closer. Despite my previous failed attempts. Despite my anger. Despite everything.

As Belagaon came into view my eyes scanned for her. I found her sitting at the same place. By sheer luck my compartment stopped right in front of her. But she wasn’t looking. I had a huge amount of luggage and was alone so couldn’t risk getting off the train. So I waved at her. She didn’t see me, even though those eyes were looking right through me. So I shouted out…”Phool wali….oh phool wali”. My fellow passengers gave me a weird look as to why would I want to buy flowers on the train. None of their business. If the flower sellers are there at the station, so were the buyers….

My shouts bore fruit and she looked at me, recognized me. But didn’t move. I kept calling her but of no avail. All she did was to look at me vacantly. I was angry again. Angry over her, angry with myself and angry for even thinking of her. I got back to the book I was reading and was cursing myself for the stupidity. The train coughed and then it was time to move. Maybe the last time at this station. As I raised my eyes to bid a final good bye I saw her standing at the window. Why so late? Why at all? I had a thousand questions…but didn’t know where to start. The next moment she was jogging with the train and I told her that I wouldn’t be coming back. I asked her, her name but she didn’t say a word. I asked her a thousand other things in those few seconds but she didn’t respond. I told her a few hundred things…my name, my city my address but she didn’t say a thing. She just ran with that robot like vacant expression of hers, one hand holding on to my window bar and the other clutching the precious flowers . I was debating with myself about pulling the chain….my fellow passengers must have been thinking me as mad. But I didn’t care. As the train was about to move out of the station; gathering speed my wildflower, dropped her bunch of flowers in my lap through the window and stopped running. I pressed my face at the window but could'nt see her so went to the door and stood waving at her. She saw me, smiled but never waved back. No goodbyes, no words. Just a bunch of white wild flowers when I came back to my seat. The flowers, like the rest of their predecessors found a place in the pages of the books I cherished.

That was the end of the story. In all those years I crossed the station several times but never saw her again. I never lost hope though. When the death statement was pronounced I prepared my “to-do list” and one of the items was to visit Belagaon- my last attempt to find the girl who had held me captive for so long. The place looked basically the same with a few new additions. The fruit stall was still there and so were the chai wallahs, the puri walla, the beggars and the jhaalmori wallahs.Even the bench where I had sat on my last visit.The only thing missing was her. I stared into the empty spot wondering for the nth time as to why was I here.

My journey outside the station to where her fingers had pointed long long ago, again yielded no results except that the flowers that were given to me by her found their resting place – under the same thicket where I had found flowers for her 30 years ago. I embarked on my return journey, marking a cross against this particular item in the “to do list”, bidding a final farewell to the place that had given me strange memories and emotions. As the train moved out of the station my eyes blurred with tears but then something caught my attention.

A single pristine white wild flower lay next to the fruit vendor’s stall exactly at the place where she used to sit. An oasis of calm in the sweating shouting desert of the crowds all around.....

Author's Note: The location is as fictious as the story itself.