“How are you doing sir?” The reporter asked. He was confused, “me?” He asked. “Umm… Yes sir.” He smiled, but didn’t say anything for a long time. The reporter was confused too, by then. What the reporter didn’t know was that by asking that simple question, she had tried to knock the door of the room that he had forgotten it existed. Nobody had asked him ‘how he was doing?’ Since his parents died; he missed his parents. “You had few questions for me about the incident?” Alas, he spoke. “Yes sir, so you were there in the Mumbai local that was running from Bombay Central to Virar, in the third compartment from where Ganesh committed suicide?” she asked. He just nodded a yes, and again got lost in his thoughts.
After noting down in the diary, reporter was ready with the next question, but waited till he became available. She could see a lot of things in the eyes of this young man. However, she couldn’t decode. Years of experience of being a reporter had taught her to read people’s mind and body language, yet here was the man sitting in front of her, whom she couldn’t read. That drove her crazy, she wanted to get into his head, wanted to know his story.
“So what exactly happened, sir?” She asked. “I saw him… Ganesh…. When he boarded the train. He sat beside me. He asked me the time. I told him. It was 11:30 pm. He asked me when the train would reach Andheri; I told him in next 25 minutes, and smiled at him. He didn’t return the smile. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the compartment wall, behind him. After 5 minutes he asked me if I was happy; ‘no, but I am not unhappy’ is what I said. Then he asked me if life was fair to me. To which I said, ‘no, it is not supposed to be.’ He shrugged, to which I concluded that he didn’t agree. Then he asked me if I had ever felt pain that was unbearable. To which I said, ‘Yes, I feel it every day.’ After that he didn’t say anything. Tired, even I rested my head on the wall and closed my eyes, and in 5 minutes I heard screams, I opened my eyes, and before anyone could stop, he jumped off the train.” After some time, he said. “That’s all. I don’t know anything more.”
The reporter was astounded by his statement. She had many questions, questions not about Ganesh, but about this guy in front him. “I hope you got all your questions answered. I got to be back at work.” He said. She didn’t know what to ask or how to ask so she started with, “ where do you work?” “I work as an accountant in a small company. Here is my card.” He said and stood up to leave. “Are you lonely? Are you going to be okay?” She asked anxiously. Confounded, he smiled at her and said, “I am not going to commit suicide.” And he left. She had many more questions, but all she was left with was his business card. “Hey…” She realized she had forgotten to ask his name. Hastily she studied the card and was dumbfounded when she read his name, ‘GANESH’.
He was a different Ganesh. ‘It was just a coincidence, or was it?’ Ganesh thought, while glancing at a photo frame of his parents. Ganesh was an aspiring cricketer. He had represented India in various international tournament in the under 19 squad, until that unfateful night where he met with a car accident. His parents were with him, and they expired on the spot. That day he also lost his lower left limb, and his dream of becoming a cricketer; all he was left with was excruciating pain that he felt every time he walked with the help of the prosthetic leg. ‘Happiness… Pain… Loneliness…. Is it fair?’ Ganesh thought. “Woof-woof” Ganesh’s Doberman pounced on him in excitement, and they both fell on the ground. “Sorry man I forgot about you, I got to cross out the ‘loneliness’ one.” He said, and hugged his dog. “Life is never fair, and that’s how it is supposed to be.” He concluded.