Young love

'Idiots you two are' I bellowed at them.

The boy and the girl looked at the ground, not daring to look at me.

'The time is 11.45 now. What time does your train leave?' I directed my tirade at the boy.

'12.10' the boy mumbled.

'Get onto my scooter' I ordered him.

The railway station was 25 kms from home. And the only thing that could get us there at that time of the night was my old but trusted Kinetic Honda.

The boy lived in Bangalore and the girl lived in my house as a paying guest. And they were in a relationship for a few months. The signs of young love were very much evident in how they still remained at my place when the boy should have been on his way to catch his train.

'Spectacles, testicles, wallet, watch' I muttered mimicking Anthony Hopkins in The World's Fastest Indian.

I, an old man aged 55, then rode like a mad man and dropped the boy at the railway station with minutes to spare.

The girl was waiting for me, sitting on the steps that leads to the door.

'It's okay now, he was able to catch his train on time' I grunted.

The girl quietly left to her room, but I thought I heard a faint sniff as she walked away.

It softened me a bit, but I continued to maintain an icy exterior and retired to my room.

I sat on my rocking chair, lit my pipe and inhaled slowly.

The face of my deceased wife smiled at me from her photograph, as if reminding me of something.

Something that happened 35 years ago when her father rushed me to a railway station in Bombay so that I could catch a train to Pune with a few minutes to spare.