It was the second week of 2016 and Delhi’s winter was not so piercing,

as it was usually known for. However, CM Kejriwal had just started a

new Odd-even experiment to overcome the pollution.

A leap New Year had just begun and unfortunately it was welcomed

with restriction on the roads of this city. You couldn’t go for drive on

an odd day if you have an even last digit engraved on number-plate.

The basic numerals could now spoil your appointments, dates and

ceremonies if you were reluctant to travel in metro or cab.

Luckily, the even week of the year had started with an odd day. I

was only unfazed that my dad’s Audi A3 had an odd last digit on its

number-plate.

After completing graduation from DTU, I had to remain in the

same city as got placed in a software company in NCR region.

“Yeah, yeah, sure baby! We are going to meet this weekend.” I told

to Rajat, my fiancé who was on line from last 15 minutes.

“I’m leaving now. See you then…” I said, opening the door of

driving seat by one hand and holding the phone and handbag by

another.

“Bye, take care.” I slammed the door.

Meanwhile, I was going to office in Noida. I tuned into my favorite

FM radio and steered the car.

Unlike rest of the days, traffic was influenced by odd-even

experiment. I had to drive for thirty minutes daily. However, the red

light on signals had used to extend the journey up to an hour. After

crossing the Noida City Centre, the vehicles were getting dense. A

checkpoint was initiated by Delhi traffic police. An even number car

was being challaned but that day was mine and I drove off without

any frisk.

I reached at Sector 71, as long as the signal was green. And it

changed from green to red in a few seconds as if it was waiting for

me. The road hawkers, selling car sun shade, fur slipper and balloons  were circumambulating with stoppage of vehicles. Often, I used to think how matters these few minutes of wait which irritate us, for the hawkers. I was thinking all these about when someone knocked at the

glass of the side door.

“Can I get lift please?”

“Only up to sector 72.” He pleaded.

A guy with two-day beard of fair complexion, in white short-sleeved

polo T-shirt, was peeking from outside into my car.

I looked at him for next few seconds, and slid the glass of the door.

I didn’t know even what ran in my mind, I opened the door for him.

“Actually, my car got challaned on previous checkpoint. And no

auto-rickshaw is ready to go for a short distance.” He explained

without asking anything.

“Nothing else.” I said, thinking that giving lift to a stranger in city

like Delhi wasn’t worthy when scandals rated skies.

“Thanks, and sorry, I’m Ayush Kashyap.” He jumbled the words.

“Hello, I’m Tanisha.” I said in formal manner.

He opened his bag pack and drew two spiral journals of different

width. Few notes and paper cuts scattered randomly with the journals.

I was looking at him in regular interval of seconds. God knows what

type of guy he was.

“Actually, I love to write, wherever I go.” he said, showing his

journals.

“Great job.” I respond to him.

I guessed, he wasn’t sounding like Delhitts, as his accent was a

little bit different from authenticity of Delhi’s accent.

“What do you do?” He asked.

“I’m a software developer.” I paused myself. You should be as

conservative to stranger as much as you’re attentive about your

safety.

Although, he had informed me the trivial details about himself,

still I was considering him as stranger. All I wanted to drop him at

his destination as soon as possible. I looked at him once again, he

was busy in writing something on yellow chit. Few minutes later, He

started submitting his paper and clips.

“Stop near that gate, here you can drop me.” He said, pointing

towards a building.

I stopped the car beside the gate. He took his bag and descended

down the car. 

“Thank you so much for the drive.”

“It’s fine and keep writing.”

“Wherever you go.” I added his own sentence ridiculously.

“Yep. Good luck.” He smiled back sarcastically and stepped

briskly.

“Excuse me. Hello…” I screamed.

“You forgot your journals.” I said.

He turned back. “Yes, No I didn’t forget, my memory is good

enough.” He said confidently and went off as if he didn’t care about.

Complicated guy wasn’t? I mourned.

I picked up the journal. ‘The way she loved’ was entitled on the

first page. I gestured for an instant and turned to office, putting his

journal on back seat.

After the busy day, I was at my apartment finally. At ten o’clock,

when I had finished my supper, I called Rajat and narrated the whole

story of the day. Often, I used to do the same.

It was almost 11:00 pm when Rajat hanged up the call after

negotiating all the things. I lay down on bed and started thinking

about occurred thing of the day. Suddenly, the journal stroked in my

mind.

‘Why didn’t he come back to take his journal?’ I asked to myself. I

got up and unzipped the office bag to see that journal. The title was

sufficient to light anyone’s interest.

‘Would it be fair to read someone’s journal?’ I thought for once and

started to read, knowing that it doesn’t matter.