STRANGE ENCOUNTER

It was a new day at a new place. Belgaum was the place and I was a stranger to the place. On a new posting I had come down and enrolled myself into one of the lodges close to my workplace late in the evening. After a quiet solitary dinner, I had hit the sack with a promise to be on the dot to the workplace the next morning. The biological clock did wonders and I was up in the morning. The new place did not in any way hinder the drowsiness associated with the waking hours. Drowsily, I was brushing my teeth when I heard my name being called. Turning around I beheld a bespectacled character of about the same age grinning at me. He disarmingly said "You have not changed much". The succour of the drowsiness melted into the misty morning as I gazed at the stranger. My mouth was frothing with the hand gently brushing my teeth. The youth went on " Well, finish your chore, remember my name?" I made up my mind that this character must have merely glanced through the register maintained and was pulling a fast one. Nonchalantly, I went through the motions of the morning, passed on a fleeting smile with a "Meet you in the evening". The day was filled with introductions, a wonderful lunch hosted by a gracious boss followed by some colleagues giving me helpful tips. One of them went ahead to present me my probable leave periods which would benefit me. Another, took me to the Extension Counter and opened a bank account for me. The terrorising picture of a world which would not have the protective arms of your parents waned. At the end of the day, I joyously made my way to the nearest post office to purchase some postal stationery. After a quick snack, I settled in my room to pen my experience to my parents. After finishing with this exciting chore, I rushed to mail the same. No sooner did I drop the mail into the mail box, I started looking forward for a reply. Forget about mobiles, email etc , even telephones were a luxury and the PCO culture was yet to really gather momentum. Fixing an appointment in the mess for dinner, I strolled back to the lodge only to be greeted by the bespectacled youth. Without any invitation, he walked into my room and started querying me about my history on the planet Earth. Courtesy prevented me from snapping at him. He understood my dilemma and traced our common roots to a single year association at school when we were six year olds. My jaws dropped. Could someone who met me when we were six year olds recognise me when I was in my twenties? The alleged buddy then started reeling out names of the other classmates who went on to study with me through the rest of my school days. The names of our teachers were also etched in his mind. Apparently, this was not entered in any register for him to con me. Disbelief was writ all over my face. After a night of disturbed sleep, the next morn, I shot of another letter to my mother with the name of this blighter, Puran. A week of admonishing from him continued. My roommate, a lecturer, gave me the much needed succour. The reply from home came and there it was clearly written that this fellow was indeed my classmate and the photograph of those days were there. Blurred to the hilt, I resigned to the fate of conceding defeat to this super human whose memory still bogs me whenever I fail to find a pen in its place or hunt for a document.