On a Friday afternoon in a quiet neighbourhood in south Kolkata, a sudden speck of vibrant blue might catch the eye of any idle byepasser. Looking up, he would find himself looking at a blue towel hanging by the chair in a tiny balcony on the first floor of an ordinary apartment building. The flat belonged to Mr. Basu, an elderly man who lived alone after the recent demise of his wife. If you could step up close, you would find that the fragrance of Mr. Basu’s after shave still clung to it. He had just come back from work and freshened up; today, after all, he was looking fwd to meeting up with his long lost friend Amitesh.

Suddenly running into him in an overcrowded bus the other day, he had been delighted to see his bosom buddy from college days. Amitesh had been like a whirlwind in those days; anyone near him was bound to get caught up in the passion that engulfed him regarding everything; so had he – having befriended this guy who was so unlike the peaceful timid nature that Arun (our Mr. Basu) possessed, he was awed by everything Amitesh did – his views on politics, his confrontations with the union leaders, his ideas for the future; while Arun did not have a clue as to what he wanted to do in future, Amitesh had it all mapped out – he wanted to be a part of the movement that would bring about a change in the leadership of the country; a leadership which would bring this country out of the poverty and the third world and in the forefront of development in this world.  Amitesh, with his wild countenance, eyes burning with ideas, wearing flowing kurtas, they had spent long evenings sitting on the roof of their college, looking down into the busy streets of Central Kolkata, weaving dreams of their future. And then, just like that, those days disappeared – Arun took up a sales job selling insurance to support his mother, putting an end to his dreams of traveling abroad and Amitesh, with his wild dreams, was lost in the crowd.

And now, after so many years, meeting Amitesh again. It stirred up so many memories, a reminder of what life could have been – thought Mr. Basu, as he was now known to most people, his colleagues in office as well as the doorman, a respect he felt he had earned over the years. But respect from most people could not fill the void that a friend could; he craved to be “Arun” again with Amitesh.

His musings were interrupted by the doorbell; and there stood Amitesh; his wild countenance tempered now with age but the fire in his eyes still burnt bright. As he came in and settled comfortably on the couch, Amitesh looked at Arun directly, his lips curling into a smile as he said: “I think it’s time  you fulfilled your promise to me; I am leaving for South Africa to attend the conference on Human Rights; I need someone to help me with the paper I’m presenting. As my assistant, I cannot think of anyone better than you; it is pure fate the way we ran into each other that day. So you better start packing!”