The Ticket

This will not be like the other pen and paper rendezvous where the whole 700 words had nothing to do with the title. It is good to have an abstract title, makes a writer look sophisticated. However, in this case when this post calls itself ‘The ticket’, it will be about a ticket; a normal yellow colored Mumbai local train ticket from Santacruz to Goregaon dated 17th December 2007.

What do you look in your love? Compatibility? Chemistry? She was the first best friend he ever made. In school they were great chums; both good debaters, speakers and insanely verbose conversation dominators. They could spend hours talking with each other and he claimed to his college pals that ‘her 8th standard bench partner’ was the reason why he talked so much. He was known for his sense of humor and she was one of the few surviving members of female species who knew how to crack situational jokes, a type quickly getting extinct. When they grew up they both realized that they had interests in marketing, movies and in frequent hours of online and on-phone brainstorming in which they discussed practically nothing and almost everything.

There was particularly nothing special in the ticket. It was old, had its dye fading and had all chances of being lost as a piece of junk. It had blunt edges, nothing like a new shining train ticket. Moreover it had got crumpled with time and a close look made it appear like a country’s map with rivers and state boundaries. Yet he preserved it and the ticket had a permanent place in his wallet.

What do you look in your love? Signs? Magic? Serendipity? When in 8th standard the teacher decided to make each guy sit with a girl and started picking random pairs, he wished ‘what if I was made to sit with that girl’. The next thing, he got her as a bench partner. Years later, long after they parted their ways; he started studying in Delhi and she was doing her bachelor’s in Calcutta; one day he recalled her childhood friend and wished to contact her. The next day he saw her sister’s contact on one of his friend’s Orkut profile. Some years later for no reason he secretly wished to see her in Delhi. In a week he came to know she would be visiting the city to meet her friends.

Technically speaking it is rather sick to preserve a ticket. After all, who preserves a ticket? Yes, people do have weird hobbies of collecting tickets, but then they ‘collect’ them and that too ‘many’ of different kinds. Yet, this was a single piece of paper and the subject had shown no previous signs of instability, freakiness and wierdism.

What do you look in your love? Looks? Attraction? To him she looked the most beautiful woman when he saw her at the Andheri station stairs. They had met after seven years. She had grown up into a fine woman and appeared exactly like the birthday pictures she had sent her a few days back but only better. The same was the case when they met again a year later. Nothing had changed. He could still remember her face as she bid him farewell at the Mumbai Santacruz station. The train starts moving; she takes two or three quick steps to make pace with the train. Then she stops. The train gathers speed and he loses her sight. This was the last time he had seen her.


The story makers do make good stories but perhaps the best stories of life are made by life itself.

What do you look in your love?