Crossroads

 

(1)

4.12.2024

The metallic sound of the alarm was probably the most annoying thing one could imagine. Darshan waked up, squinting at his phone screen with one eye closed. It was 7:30. With a sleepy sigh, he sat up slowly, his head feeling heavy from staying up too late the night before. He checked Sayan's room but found it empty, he’d already left for the gym.

October had arrived with the cold breeze hinting the coming winter. Darshan stepped out onto the balcony, toothbrush in his mouth, The sun had begun to pierce the morning fog, casting its rays onto the leaves of the creepers. Each droplet on the leaves caught the light, shining like tiny diamonds in the sun.

After freshening up, he went straight to the kitchen. The typical bachelor’s kitchen with limited utensils scattered here and there, seemed even smaller than usual. He cleaned the stove and washed the dishes left in the sink from last night’s dinner. It had become a habit for both of them to leave the overnight dishes unwashed.

He looked around for the coffee jar, but it was empty. He wasn’t a coffee addict, but he would sometimes have it with Sayan. Luckily, he kept some tea. He turned on the stove and set the water to boil, adding a pinch of black pepper, two bay leaves, and some sugar. As the water bubbled, he stirred in the tea leaves, letting the aroma fill the small kitchen—a recipe he’d learned from his mother. With the cup of tea and a slice of bread, he sat down at the study table. In only corner of the room that is tidy. Three-four civil service guidebooks rested there, alongside a bundle of notebooks filled with notes from the past year. A world map, glued to the front wall, added a splash of colour to the otherwise cluttered room. Next to it, a larger collection of novels far outnumbered the guidebooks.

He picked up one of the notebooks, trying to concentrate on what he had written the week before. Sipping his tea, he stared at the notes “Youth unemployment is a pressing issue, especially with the “educated unemployed” where graduates struggle to find suitable work…….”. He closed his notebook, leaving it exactly where he’d picked it up, unable to focus. Unemployed? Was that the root of his struggle? He’d chosen not to join any job immediately after graduating, opting instead to pursue his dream of civil service and follow his passion for writing. But guilt for not being able to support his family financially bothering him from the second attempt of civil service. His mother and brother had always encouraged him to follow his heart, not to worry about meeting others' expectations.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts raced. He had made the choice, two years ago, fresh out of college, he had deliberately turned down job offers. He wanted to chase something bigger, something more meaningful. The civil services had always seemed like the ultimate goal: a way to serve, to make an impact, to be more than just another cog in the machine.

But was it worth it?

The guilt gnawed at him relentlessly. It wasn’t just about the time he had invested it was about the sacrifices others had made for him. His mother, her quiet assurances that they were fine financially, even though he knew better. His younger brother, who had taken on extra work without ever complaining, all so that he could focus on studying.

He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the guilt.

"Follow your heart," his mother always said, her voice calm and unwavering. She meant well, but how could he ignore the weight of his choices? It was easier to pretend he didn’t notice the strain in her voice when she spoke about money or the weariness in his brother's eyes.With a sigh, he powered on his laptop, determined to shake off his doubts. The screen blinked to life, and he clicked on a playlist of current affairs videos. The familiar voices of anchors and experts filled the room, their discussions of policies and reforms a temporary escape from the storm in his mind.

He grabbed a notebook and pen, noting down key points as the videos played. The scratching of the pen against paper gave him a momentary sense of purpose. Yet, the question lingered, hovering over him like a dark cloud.

He started questioning himself. “I’ve invested two years preparing for the civil services. Was it worth it? Should I have chosen a different path? No, I can’t let my family down.”

The resolve in his voice surprised even him. He turned back to his notes, underlining a point with deliberate focus. The storm inside him hadn’t passed, but he wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the living room. It must be Sayan, returning from the gym. He looked hurried, "The team from Mumbai is coming for a meeting. I’ll skip breakfast and grab something outside," he said, heading directly to the bathroom without waiting for a response. Darshan didn’t get a chance to ask him anything. The life of an employee, forever chasing the clock and a full stomach.

Sayan had completed his MBA and joined a forex exchange company. The same intelligent young man praised by professors and admired by people he’d barely known was now part of this company, having started as an intern. His skills and hard work had caught the eye of senior managers from the head branch in Delhi and they decided to keep him on. Since then, he hadn’t looked back. His salary was enough to meet his daily needs and send a bit to his parents living alone in a small town in Dibrugarh.

After Sayan left, Darshan returned to the kitchen. He checked the pressure cooker, a bit of leftover rice from last night was still inside, just enough for one person. Touching it, he realized it had hardened slightly; he must’ve put too little water while cooking it. Deciding against reheating it, he opted to make oats instead.

They usually had rice, dal, and sabzi for breakfast, but on days when Sayan had meetings or urgent conferences, he’d skip breakfast and rush to the office. On such mornings, Darshan preferred something quick and easy, like oats or bread with butter, to avoid too much work in the kitchen.

With a bowl of oats in one hand, Darshan picked up his phone and noticed a missed call from his brother. He dialled back.

"Hello?"

"Hello.." It was the sweet voice of his seven-year-old niece on the other end.

"Mainu….! I’m having breakfast. What are you up to?" Darshan softened his voice, his tone warm with affection. It was impossible not to turn into a bit of a child when speaking with her.

"I'm playing with Mimi!  When are you coming home, ?" Her voice held a hint of demand. Mimi, their family cat, had arrived at their home a year ago and had since become an inseparable part of the family.

"December…It’s your birthday, isn’t it?" Darshan smiled. "This time, I’ll bring you a Beautiful school bag, okay?"

“D-e-cem-ber?!” Mainu stretched out the word in disappointment. “Why don’t you come before? You only visit on my birthday.” Her question sounded almost like an interrogation.

"Mainu, I have a lot of work here...but I’ll try, alright?" Darshan replied, still in a gentle tone, hoping to soothe her disappointment. "Where’s Papa? Can you give him the phone?"

“Papa!” Darshan could hear Mainu’s distant voice as she called for her father on the other end of the line.

“Hey what’s up? How’s everything?” Darshan’s brother’s voice came through the phone.

“I’m doing good. How are you?” Darshan replied.

“I’m great, my boy. How’s Sayan? Has he changed his company? Haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

“No, he’s been talking about it, but there’s no update yet. He left for the office a while ago; he has some urgent meetings today.”

“Well, how’s your preparation going?” his brother asked, shifting the topic.

“Not good. I’ve been thinking of giving up on the civil service exams idea. what if I join a job,” Darshan admitted, his tone heavy.

“What? Where’s this coming from? You want to throw away all the effort you’ve put in?” His brother’s tone sharpened in concern.

“It’s been two years, and nothing has changed,” Darshan said, his voice subdued.

“Listen, nothing worth having comes easy. And don’t worry about us, we’re fine. Just focus on yourself,” his brother replied, sounding more like a father than a brother. Not giving any weight to Darshan’s idea of dropping his civil service plans, he continued “And remember, last time you told me you were going to send a draft of your book. I’m not much of a reader, but if my brother’s writing, I’d love to see it.”

“Brother,” Darshan thought, feeling a wave of emotion. A bond that pushes you forward, no matter what. The familiar guilt resurfaced, the feeling of not giving enough in return for his brother’s sacrifices.

“I’ll send it once I finish,” Darshan said, his tone heavier than he intended.  Trying to shift the focus, he added, “Where’s Mom?”

“Oh, she’s on a call with someone,” his brother replied casually.

“Okay…” Darshan trailed off.

“Is everything alright? You don’t sound yourself. Do you need any money?” his brother asked, concern slipping into his voice.

“No, no, I’m fine… don’t worry. I’ll bother you when I actually need some,” Darshan replied, forcing a laugh to lighten the mood and conceal his emotions

“Listen, Mainu’s birthday is still two months away,” his brother continued. “If you can, come home for a visit before then. Ma would love to see you, even if just for a few days.”

“I’ll try. This time, I’ll bring an expensive whiskey,” Darshan said, laughing for a few seconds, letting his worries fade. 

“And that too, bought with my own money!” His brother joked, and they both burst into laughter. They shared a laugh, a familiar bond of brotherhood, finding comfort even in humour.

Even in tough times being with the people who understand and support you brings a ray of hope, a gentle push to start again.

The cold breeze could only be felt in the morning; by midday, the sun was already casting a gentle heat that made people reach for their fans. Darshan lay on his bed, one hand resting on his forehead as he thought through every possible outcome. No, this is too much thinking, he told himself, closing his eyes and trying to sleep before his visit to Prakash magazine, the publication where he frequently contributed articles. The Copy editor had invited him to meet last week, and he couldn’t help but wonder what this meeting might hold.

He lit a cigarette. Strange, he thought, how something so harmful to his health was still a constant companion. He’d picked up the habit from his university days. Memories flooded back- the small sharing room, nights spent scribbling whatever thoughts came to mind, surrounded by clouds of smoke. Some things never changed: writing aimless thoughts, only to revisit and edit them months, even years, later.

His phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen before answering.

“Hello?”

“Darshan? Hi, this is Shreya Baruah from Prakash,” a woman’s soft voice came through the line.

Darshan hesitated, shifting the cigarette to his other hand. “Oh, hi, ma’am. Good morning. How are you?” Darshan replied, trying to sound as polite as he could.

“I’m good, thank you. I just wanted to check if it’s okay to reschedule our meeting, I have conference to attend. Would it be alright if we met around 3 PM instead?”

“Of course, no problem. I’m free in the afternoon,” he replied.

“Perfect! Thank you for being flexible,” she said, sounding genuinely relieved. “I’ll see you at my office, then.

“Sure, ma’am. See you at three,” he replied, a faint smile playing on his lips as the line clicked off.

                                                                                       (2)

23.12.2024

He boards the city bus. The Prakash magazine office is 14 kilometres from his rented house. The bus is packed, filled with passengers being shuttled from one part of the city to another. Where do all these people come from? Darshan thinks as he stands near the back door, gripping the rail. The bus is overcrowded, a common sight, and the conductor doesn’t seem to mind as long as everyone fits. The warmth from so many bodies makes the air stifling, and even with the windows open, there isn’t enough breeze to cool things down. Sweat beads on his forehead. It takes him 30 minutes to cover a distance that would have been only 10 minutes on a bike. Finally, the bus came to a stop, and he got off, wiping the sweat from his face.

He walked along the roadside, taking a left turn at the large Hyundai dealership. The office was just a five-minute walk from the main road. As he approached a five-story building, he noticed the sign that read “BG Academy - Shaping Futures,” an institute offering guidance for civil service exams. The first floor was dedicated to the academy, and among several other signboards, he spotted the name “Prakash” on the third floor.

As he entered the building, a group of boys and girls exited a classroom, their laughter and chatter filling the air. They were on a path not so different from his own. He walked past them, feeling a weight in his chest, two years ago, he had joined an institute with hopes of distinguishing himself from others building his future as both civil servant and a writer. Yet here, in this city, he felt just like everyone else. The aspiration to stand out varies from place to place, he thought. Ultimately, it’s just a label, how one defines it is what truly matters.

The lift doors opened on the third floor, revealing a bright yellow sign that read “Prakash.” This was the office. Darshan walked slowly towards the door, counting the six areca palm pots that decorated the entrance. As he approached, the watchman greeted him with a warm smile and opened the door. Inside, Darshan inquired about his meeting with Shreya Baruah, and the watchman directed him to a corner of the reception area where a cozy sofa awaited him.

Settling onto the sofa, he glanced around the reception room. A young man, perhaps four or five years older than him, sat at the reception desk, opening his laptop. The box-shaped, brown table was a modern piece, reflecting the professionalism of the magazine office. On the desk, several files and copies of the magazine were neatly arranged, while a large logo of the magazine was engraved on the front. Darshan took in every detail of the office, as if inspecting and mentally copying the design for his own home. He glanced at the guy sitting at the reception desk, and they exchanged smiles as a polite formality.

He picked up one of the magazines from the small table between the sofas. The cover was eye-catching, adorned with headlines and images that showcased recent social issues and the achievements of various people. He flipped through the pages, his fingers paused as he found his own article. He read it carefully, as if it were his first time seeing it in print.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a woman around fifty walked in speaking on her phone in a low, focused tone. She was dressed in black trousers and a dark blue blazer over a white, patterned shirt, her attire radiating a vibe of authority. The outfit suited her, giving her a professional look. Without acknowledging anyone, she strode past and entered her office, her gaze fixed straight ahead.

Darshan’s eyes drifted to the nameplate outside her cabin: Copy Editor. It read Shreya Baruah. She had just returned from a conference, he remembered. His heart beat a little faster, as he thought about their upcoming meeting. He hadn’t spoken to anyone quite like her before, someone with such an imposing presence.

He waited, glancing around the room. After a few minutes, she stepped out and introduced herself.

"Sorry, Darshan, for being late and keeping you waiting. The flyover construction is causing a lot of traffic." Despite her bold presence, she had a kindness about her that made him feel as if he'd known her for years.

"No, it’s ok, ma’am... I just got here," Darshan replied, hesitating slightly, unsure of what to say next. He decided to start with a simple question. "How are you?"

"Ah, I’m good but little bit anxious for the workloads. How are you, young man?" Shreya greeted him warmly, as if talking to an old friend.

“I’m doing great, ma’am.” Darshan glanced at her appearance. He imagined his mother in the same dress, she would look elegant, though a Mekhela chador would suit her better, he thought. He noticed Shreya’s face, softened by a touch of makeup to blur her wrinkles, with a dark matte lipstick enhancing her smile.

"Actually, I’ve read several of your articles and edited them. I find them so innovative. The way you write is truly engaging. I wanted to meet you in person," Shreya said, her tone humble as she praised Darshan’s work.

“It’s nothing, ma’am. I just enjoy writing. To expand my knowledge, I read, and then I write whatever comes to mind,” he said, as if his passion for writing was just a passing interest rather than a deep part of him.

“Keep at it. You have the potential to turn your passion into a career,” she said with grace.

Career? Writing as a career? No, that wasn’t going to happen. How much would he even earn from it? Passion and career didn’t belong together, he thought.

“Actually, ma’am, I’m preparing for the civil service. Writing is just a way for me to spend my free time nothing more,” he lied.

“That’s fine. People are meant to multitask,” Shreya said encouragingly. “You’re young, enthusiastic, strong, and, most importantly, full of fresh ideas. You can balance both.”

Darshan felt a maternal warmth in her words as she praised his passion.

“I’ll keep writing, ma’am, but sometimes it’s hard to manage both.” He thought about mentioning the book he was working on but decided against it, as it was only their first meeting.

“We haven’t received anything new from you. Are you quitting writing?” Shreya asked. It had been three months since he’d submitted anything. 

“No, ma’am, I was just busy preparing for my exams, so I barely had time to write. I’ll get back to it after the exams.” He decided to keep the book to himself for now. 

"Prepare well. Do you know why I called you?" Shreya Baruah asked, her eyes fixed on her laptop screen.

Darshan leaned forward, curious. "No, not really. What’s up?"

“We’re starting a new series of articles," she said, her tone purposeful. "It’ll cover the city’s current issues and address problems that today’s youth face. We’re looking for someone to manage the column.”

“Interesting,” Darshan replied, thoughtful. "Addressing youth issues is a solid way to connect with people. It’s innovative, and it might reach new audiences.”

Shreya nodded, measuring his reaction. “How about joining our team after your exams?”

“Me?” Darshan’s eyes widened as he looked over at her, surprised. “I’m just an amateur writer, throwing random thoughts onto paper. How could I possibly handle a magazine column?”

“We were all amateurs once,” Shreya replied, her gaze steady. “The challenges you face help you grow. You have the potential to make a difference here. Take your time, think it over. Call me when you’re ready.”

Darshan sat in silence, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves. Joining a magazine team was nowhere on his radar; he’d always loved writing, but never considered it professionally.

Shreya stood, breaking the silence. "Would you like a coffee or something?”

“No, ma’am. I’m fine, thank you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Darshan replied, nodding.

He said goodbye and walked outside. That’s it? he thought, surprised. She just wanted to tell me something that could’ve been said over the phone. He took a deep breath as he stood outside the building, feeling the weight of the offer. The responsibility seemed enormous, and it wasn’t part of the path he had laid out for himself. This job could pull me into a comfortable routine, he realized, and stop me from chasing the things I’ve planned for myself and my family.

Lost in thought, Darshan checked his watch. It was 5:30 p.m. The sun had already set, and the city lights were beginning to glow along the main road. He started walking toward the bus stop, blending into the crowd, a mix of people drawn to this city, each with their own hopes and ambition.

                                                                                    (3)

16.01.2025

Two weeks had passed since the meeting, but he still couldn’t summon the courage to call Shreya Baruah with his decision. The fact that an experienced woman like her believed in his potential made him question his choices even more. He’d spent countless late nights this past week, torn between the stable path of civil service and the promise of a flourishing career in writing. Sometimes, when you feel like you’ve given up on your dreams, a simple word of encouragement can feel like a sign of something greater awaiting you.

Lately, he found himself more absorbed in his book than in his exam preparation, which was only four months away. It would be his third attempt, yet he felt his heart drifting from civil service, each day edging closer to the world of words.

“What have you decided?” Sayan asked as he got ready to meet his girlfriend for shopping.

“It’s confusing. Do you think I can balance both?” Darshan looked to him for advice.

“At first, it’ll be tough, but over time, you’ll get used to it.”

“Hmm…”

“Money’s important, sure. A magazine job won’t pay much, but the connections you’ll make in the industry, that’s the real profit.”

“Profit? How?” Darshan asked, curious, almost like a child.

“Whether you want to admit it or not, you have a future in this field” Sayan explained. “And now, a well-known magazine editor wants you on board. Think about the presence you could build over the years.”

“But you came here to be a civil servant. Don’t lose sight of that goal,” he continued. “Take the job, earn a little for your basic needs, and keep preparing. That’s how smart people plan, they build stability while chasing their dreams.

Darshan sat there, staring blankly at the wall. Smart people’s secret ingredient to success must be multitasking, he thought. He wondered if successful people ever focused on just one thing without considering other important factors in life.

“Get a girlfriend, man. You’re overthinking this,” Sayan joked. “You can join us for shopping if you want. Just saying, since I know you hate being the third wheel.”

“No thanks, I’ll pass,” Darshan laughed. “Besides, I can’t handle you guys discussing finance stuff.”

“Oh, you’ll have to tolerate it. She’s coming for dinner tonight anyway,” Sayan chuckled. “Just let me know what you want to have for dinner.”

“Why am I choosing? She’s coming; ask her!” Darshan laughed. “I’ll be good with a beer if you’re buying.”

“Alright, my man,” Sayan smirked

Sayan left. Sunday was his and his girlfriend Supriya’s only day off. They’d been together since university, almost three years now. Sometimes she joined them for dinner, an extroverted, easy-going girl who fit in with everyone. Darshan enjoyed those dinners; when she was there, he didn’t have to lift a finger in the kitchen. 

Late in the evening, Sayan and Supriya arrived, hands full of shopping bags. Darshan helped them carry everything up to their room on the third floor.

“Are you two planning to get married or something?” he asked, eyeing the bags overflowing with clothes and decor.

Supriya laughed. “Maybe! So, what’s your plan for surprising us on the big day?”

“Isn’t me showing up at the wedding crowd enough of a surprise?” Darshan shot back with a grin.

Sayan chuckled, hands on his hips. “Touché.”

Supriya playfully chased Darshan around the room with an empty water bottle in hand. Laughter filled the space as they dodged each other. The truth was, Darshan appearing at any social event was rare. Crowds had always been his weakness. From childhood, he’d avoided large gatherings, preferring quiet corners over mingling. For an introvert like him, even a birthday invitation felt like a challenge.

“Alright, boys, time to make dinner. I need an assistant chef since I already worked as your cleaner. Who’s up for it?”

Sayan laughed. “Not me. I’m just here to eat whatever you make, babe.”Supriya turned to Darshan.

“At your service, my queen,” Darshan said, bowing theatrically. Watching her clean up and still head to the kitchen to cook made him think about the energy women have. He thought of his mother and how she used to manage their big joint family of thirteen. She often spoke about those days, how they’d all looked out for one another despite the daily challenges.

Now, his uncles lived in different towns, having moved for work, but the bond remained strong. Every Bihu, they’d all come back to the village, filling the house with life and laughter. Darshan cherished those moments, surrounded by family, even if it was just for a few days each year.

After two hours of preparation, dinner was finally ready. Supriya had put together a feast. The aroma of chicken curry filled the room. Dal, mashed potatoes, herb chutney, crispy pakoras, fresh salad, and boiled taro, all the delicious side dishes she had lovingly prepared. She decorated each plate beautifully, laying out all the items with a careful touch. A photo was, of course, mandatory, and they all smiled for a selfie before digging in.

"Umhuu, that's my girl… chicken made by your hands after so long," Sayan said, savouring a piece of chicken. It was his usual compliment whenever they had dinner together.

As they ate, they talked about everything, from memories of their university days to sharing stories about old friends, careers, and whatever else crossed their minds. It was a meal filled with laughter and conversation, a moment of relaxation with people who understood each other's vibes, a perfect way to unwind after a busy weekend where everyone had been wrapped up in their own worlds.

They stepped onto the balcony, where the crisp October breeze greeted them, carrying a delicate hint of blooming jasmine from somewhere nearby. The air was cool, brushing against their faces and stirring the leaves of the potted plants arranged along the railing.

"You’re really amazing, Supriya. Dinner was incredible," Sayan complimented, his gratitude evident.

"Yes, and I was part of that too, wasn’t I, Supriya?" Darshan chimed in, demanding his share of appreciation.

"Yes, buddy, that’s because Darshan helped me in the kitchen," Supriya added, playfully backing him up.

"Alright, thank you, my lovely people," Sayan smiled, giving them a light-hearted bow.

As they settled into the peaceful night, Darshan noticed the shopping bags nearby. "By the way, what’s with all the shopping? Are you visiting home?" he asked, puzzled.

"Oh god… where’s your mind at?" Sayan replied, surprised at his friend’s question.

"What? Did I say something I shouldn’t have?" Darshan asked, genuinely taken aback.

"Did you completely forget about Diwali, or what?" Sayan raised an eyebrow at him.

The mention of Diwali hit Darshan suddenly. Of course, the festival was next week. How could he have forgotten? But as he thought about it, he realized he felt nothing about the approaching holiday. To him, it was just another day, one he’d spend like every other: sleeping, writing, preparing for exams. With all the tension, stress, and anxiety consuming him, he found it hard to muster the excitement others seemed to feel. The idea of celebration seemed almost foreign, an emotion he couldn’t afford in his current state.

“Oh, shit! I completely forgot about it,” Darshan said, scratching his head.

“So, here’s the plan," Supriya chimed in with a sparkle of excitement. "Next week, I’ll come over with one of my friends, and we’ll have a small Diwali celebration together. You guys can invite a few close friends too, just the closest ones. We’ll keep it low-key, no big crowds, no noise."

"I’ll invite Rahul, my colleague," Sayan added, already thinking ahead to the gathering.

It seemed everyone was on board with the idea of a Diwali get-together, but Darshan felt a pang of discomfort. The thought of staying for a party didn't sit well with him.

"Actually… I think I should head home," he murmured, trying to keep his tone light.

"Nonsense, buddy! We’re celebrating together, and you’re not allowed to bail on us. Right, babe?” Supriya said, settling herself on Sayan’s lap, her expression playfully defiant.

“Absolutely," Sayan agreed, grinning. "Darshan, you’re staying here. One day off from studying won’t hurt, it’s no big deal. Besides, a break might do you good. With all the stress you've been carrying, this is exactly what you need.”

Darshan managed a faint smile, but deep down, he wasn’t sure he’d feel as good as they imagined.

“Okay...” Darshan replied, partly convinced by their urging. Maybe a little distraction could cheer him up.

As he glanced over at Supriya and Sayan, he noticed how engrossed they were in their own conversation, laughing and supporting each other, their faces lit up with joy. They looked so comfortable together, so at ease in their happiness. Watching them, he felt a faint smile form, as if he could share in their warmth. But beneath that smile was a familiar ache an unspoken longing he carried alone. Darshan watched as they exchanged glances, laughter flowing effortlessly between them, the comfort in their companionship tangible. Their voices were filled with warmth, unspoken understanding, and the kind of connection he silently craved. In those moments, he felt a hollow space inside him, a loneliness he'd tried hard to ignore. He wished, deeply, for someone who could see him, who could sense that emptiness and know how to fill it.

To be continued................................