A lesson in serendipity.

 The town I grew up in, was the kind of place where nothing ever happened.  Nothing at all. "How can that be? " you ask. I used to wonder too. And, to be honest I couldn't wait to get out of that place.  The positive to such a place is that the smallest of the unusual things make it look remarkable.  

My house sat on a narrow lane, one of the many lanes that ran parallel to each other, holding a row of houses cradled between them. The houses were smaller compact boxes made with little to no imagination. Each house, an exact copy of the other. Maybe this was the only thoughtful thing about the design plan-  lest the working class grow jealous of the neighbor with a better floor plan. All the people of the colony were in one form or another working for the government. Even in those days, the boundaries were well defined. 

Down the lane, was the national highway, which separated our colony from the village on the other Side. To the other end of the lane, ran a railway line , again doing the same job. Another village lay on the other side of the railway line. You get the picture - some 150 houses sandwiched between a national highway and a railway line. The few trains , mostly goods carriers, that did run by , added to the monotony by always being on time. All that one could see was a flicker of the dirty brown of the Southern railways as it slowly chugged along. And now, that did not stop us little children from dashing out to say bye to the passing train. I vividly remember it was intended for the driver and if the engine had already passed, then the guard.  It was only years later, when I was on a train and it passed by my lane, I understood or rather really thought about the futility of that innocent attempt years ago. 

Now, on to the national highway. The highway itself was nothing interesting. But what I loved about looking in that direction, far far away,  were these mountains. Lining right on to my dusty lane, were two mountain peaks with one dotted by a lone tree right at the top. Now, read all this with a free rein of imagination, as this is how I remember it from years ago. As a child, like all children, my head was filled with  purposeless details and impractical thoughts. So, my thoughts as I looked at these mountains every day was always about who lived on those mountains. And in my head, I made a promise to myself that one day, I would grow up, get out of this boring town and  get on the mountain and find out for myself. Looking back, I really thought I would do it someday. 

Between all this, one day my dad comes home and tells my mom, we might have guests the day after.  My dad, back then, worked at the district collector's office. It so happened that the collectors who were from North India, struggled with the language when posted down South. My Dad with his command over the English language was a good interpreter and was always happy to help when the officers needed anything. Now, one of the collector's daughter was in town with a friend and my dad had to help them with whatever they needed for the period of stay. So, the girls were invited to come home for dinner. The dinner itself was uneventful, I do not really remember much of it. I do recall seeing a camera that belonged to one of the girls. My first taste of a love that will later rule my life. Anyway, I was not the chatty kind with strangers so I don't think I spoke much. Now, that does not mean I was not curious. 

With a bit of the customary questioning and following my Dad from room to room, I got to know more information about these guests. The girls were Archeology students from Delhi, and were here for some research. I cannot put into words what I felt when I heard the next bit of information. These girls were going to hike /climb my ( MY!!!)  mountain, spend time with the people living there and do some digging. It was exhilarating. I was disappointed that I got this piece of information after the girls left. My poor dad patiently answered whatever details he knew and when he could no longer take it, told me that they will be in the mountains for a week or two. He said he will get them home again when they are back and that I could ask them whatever I wanted to know. I could hardly wait. 

After a few weeks, I heard from my Dad they are back and are leaving for Delhi the day after. It did not look like they had time for another dinner before leaving. Boy, was I disappointed? I don't remember how I reacted to that bit of news, but I am sure I would have made my displeasure known to my dad.  

The next day, I was at school and I got a note from the Principal that someone is here to see me. I don't remember anything else as much as I do the scene that played out next. As I hesitantly walked out of my class, I saw these two girls walking in towards me - blue jeans, hair tied up hastily in a knot, Sunglasses comfortably sitting on the head, a camera carelessly tossed around,  an old white t-shirt and a backpack towering over their torso. For the 10 year old me, those two girls were the coolest girls I have ever seen. I was star stuck but I don't think I said much when we said our goodbyes. I walked around with that picture of those girls in my head for years. They were my heroes and all that I aspired to be some day.  

30 years later, while narrating this incident to my 11 year olds, I could not help but wonder how life itself works. How perfect strangers add a bit of color to an otherwise bland routine. I wonder if the girls had any idea how a little act of them coming over to say their goodbyes awakened a different kind of world in a 10 year old. I am thankful as ever for that kind gesture , for that brief but impressive interlude and for being my first ever real life heroes.