Does that ever happen to you that you see the same person again and again in different places and on different occasions?
Do you see similar faces, whom you don't know directly, but you see them here and there? You see those different faces here and there, near your office or in your college. But you ignore them until those faces become names and those names become relations.
This story is about one of those faces.
I was still in school when someone pushed me from my school bus. I was quite habitual by then to get bullied at various circumstances, where they find me vulnerable enough to perform their mischievous activities. Being locked in the restrooms or being slapped from behind was quite regular. And yes, being pushed from the school bus when I was about to de-board was something new.
I couldn't see the face of the kid who pushed me, but he must be very strong as I fell at quite a distance from that age-old, yellow coloured monstrous bus. When I understood what actually happened to me, I saw a white colour Omni van skidding towards me, trying hard to save my life. My limbs, I couldn't move them. They felt heavy. I was numb and everything went into darkness after that.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a group of people around me. They were chattering indistinctively. Someone was asking about my well-being. Some were offering me water. Some were asking me about my residence. But there was this one guy who was staring at me from a couple of shoulders behind. That was the first time I was consciously seeing that face. Hair, neatly combed. Wearing an off-white bush shirt. His eyes were quite sunken in its sockets. But that was not the first time I was actually seeing. I had seen him before. Where? I actually don't know.
His eyes met mine for a couple of seconds. He was seeing my face without any noticeable expression. And, in a blink of an eye, I had lost him. I couldn't see him anywhere.
He literally disappeared - not like some djinn or some hill station ghost. One can easily disappear in the crowd, especially in a place like Delhi.
Where have I seen that face before? Was I imagining or I really saw that face?
I ward off the dust from my school bag from my palms, hung my water bottle back around my neck, and went straight away to my home.
When I reached home, my Dada Ji (Grandfather) was preparing lunch. My father had a transferable job and my Mother used to accompany him from one city to the other. Dada Ji was my family as well as closest acquaintance.
My Dada Ji always encourages me to read more and more books. He was a retired librarian from Delhi University. He had this huge collection of books and magazines, of course, to read and to make sure he didn't miss his job even after retirement. So I was presented with various books to read and mould up my thought process from time to time.
Unlike other voracious readers, I never expressed myself through writing. Instead of that, I started sketching at a very young age.
I went to my little room to change my school uniform. But before that, I took out my sketchbook and drew that face in it. It was not that accurate, but yes, it was giving me more of an idea of his facial features. Though, whenever I was closing my eyes, I could see his face quite accurately.
I didn't say anything to my Dada Ji - Not about that little accident and not about that face with sunken eyes.
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Years passed and I enrolled myself in a fine arts course while pursuing my graduation in history. It was a hazy morning and I got up around eight. I got ready at a lightning speed as I was running late for my morning class. I didn't wipe my motorbike clean and rode at a speed which we can easily categorise under 'fast'. I just reached the other side of the road when I realised that I had left my paintbrush set on my desk. I cursed myself and took a 'U' turn when a black colour SUV car hit the rear mudguard of my bike. Though the car was not at a very high speed it was enough to make my motorbike imbalanced. I was again numb and everything went black.
I realised out of the blue that my numbness is nothing but a kind of surrender. It's a position when a person accepts his fate without retaliating much.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a little ray of light. It took me some time to realize that I was under that car and the rear wheel of that giant vehicle is at a good eight inches distance from my neck. I moved a bit and slowly came out. I saw two people were holding the collar of the car's driver. They were asking whether I was fine or not. I asked them to leave that guy. The driver came to me and asked that whether I wish to go to the hospital. I denied it and told him to go. Some blood was oozing from my right elbow and forehead. My right ankle was paining and I was facing difficulty in walking. A few people were staring at me with that usual sorry feeling. And then, I saw him again.
Hair was neatly combed. He was wearing a semi-printed, olive green bush-shirt. His height was a little shorter than mine. Lean frame. Eyes Sunken. I started walking towards him but my ankle was not allowing me to do that. He was staring at me directly. Expressionless again.
He disappeared again in no time. I tried to look for him but he was nowhere.
This time, I was more afraid than curious. Somehow I reached home without changing much of my Bike's gear. I tried to walk normally but Dada Ji noticed my limping. He didn't ask many questions until he saw my kerchief all red with blood. I explained everything as we both walked towards my room, without telling him about that mysterious person. Though I wanted to tell him about that face with sunken eyes, something stopped me. His face with crisscrossed wrinkles was looking worried for me when he was cleaning the wound from my forehead.
When he went outside, I took out my sketchbook from my bag and started drawing that face. This time I took care of all the details I could remember. I made those sunken eyes. I made that clean-shaven face with bushy brows and neatly combed hair. I used different colour graphic pens to exaggerate its features and tried to make it as accurate as I could.
I closed the sketchbook as well as my eyes. I took few deep breaths. And something got stuck in my mind. I opened my eyes and started walking towards my old cupboard with some pain in my ankle. I opened it and took out some loose sheets as well as my old sketchbooks. I found the sketch I had made around nine years back in a dismantled file, whose cover was missing. I walked to my bed and compared those two sketches.
I skipped a beat when I realised that the face hasn't aged even a single day. He was in his early twenties when I saw him for the first time. He still looks the same. And that was humanly impossible. I had that creepy feeling which is hard to express.
'Am I imagining this guy or he actually exists?'
'Is he a ghost?'
'Is he trying to kill me or trying to harm me?'
'Is he an alien?'
'Do I have a past life connection with him?'
After applying all permutations and combinations my mind became extremely tired. I slept for a while. When I woke up, my body was burning with a high fever.
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I didn't see him for a while. I secured a job in a news agency as a core designer. The designation was great to show off, but all I had to do was creating basic cartoon sketches for various political leaders and famous personalities, which are further converted into animated videos, using VFX and other stuff. The job was tedious yet challenging. And most importantly, the salary was good enough.
One night, while coming home from the office, I got a bit late. Electricity cuts were not very common in those days in the cities. But a sudden spark on an electricity pole made that happen.
It was completely dark in our residential complex. I switched on the flashlight of my cellular phone to reach safely at home. I really don't know that from where that partially covered, dry sewer came into my way and my left leg got stuck into it. Now, my left leg was into the sewer up to the knee and my right leg was still steady on the ground. My phone was still in my right hand. I placed the hand near that sewer and tried to enlarge the opening of the sewer with my bare hands.
It took me a minute or two to come out of that unattended sewer. I was quite fine and unhurt. I tried to cover the sewer as much as I could with my hands. I was shaking the flashlight to see the maximum area. I was not in a mood to stuck again in any sewer or potholes.
While quickly placing the flashlight up and down, I again see that face.
I couldn't notice his clothes or his neatly combed hair this time. Still, I'm quite sure that he was looking not even a day older since I last saw him. I was literally shivering now. When I again placed my flashlight in that direction, he was nowhere to be seen. All I could see was mist and early winter fog.
I sprinted towards my home without thinking much about uncovered sewers or potholes. I saw Dada Ji at the main gate. He noticed my shortness of breath and asked me about what happened. I took the emergency light from his hand and asked him to come with me.
We both went into my room. He comfortably sat on the chair and I was busy making the sketch in my file. It took me around fifteen minutes to complete the sketch with a well-sharpened pencil. I took out the other two sketches from my old cupboard and placed all three in front of my Grandfather.
For the next five minutes, I narrated the whole story. I described the whole incident when I got pushed from the bus and how I saw him that day. I describe that motorbike accident to him. And then, I told him about that incident. I told him that he still looks the same every time I see him. I also told him that I have a strong belief that he wants to kill me or harm me.
When I said this, Dada Ji picked up the sketch which I made after the bike crash, watched it closely, and pressed it against his chest. I was not able to grasp what was happening. The next moment I heard his wrinkled face all wet with the continuous flowing of tears. His shoulders were moving up and down in a rhythm when he was crying.
"What happened Dada Ji?" I asked him, keeping my hand on his back.
He said nothing for a while. He was just looking at the sketch and crying silently. I could smell something eerie. I offered him a glass of water. He was drinking it very slowly, keeping his sight fixed on the sketch.
"He is my elder brother." He said in the softest voice possible. "He died from the cholera epidemic before partition when we were still in Lahore.".
I was shocked. My lips were trembling. I felt a kind of weakness in my knees. I sat near Dada Ji's chair. I held his leg and kept my head on his lap. The silence was soothing.
Dada Ji started caressing my head when he said " And Bhai Sahab (My Brother) was not trying to harm you, on the contrary, he was trying to protect you from those accidents. He was protecting the whole family when he was alive. He is still doing the same. He is not some ageless ghost, he is your guardian angel, my child. He protects you from the present as well as future dangers.
'Guardian Angel' these words still ring in my mind.
Does that ever happen to you that you see the same person again and again in different places and on different occasions?
Don't Ignore that face - He or she can be your Guardian Angel.
