The bumper to bumper traffic and the two wheelers cutting across her car made Tarika fume with anger.  Monday morning and the long queue at the Toll Naka added to the chaos and delay. She gave the person at the counter the money and waited for him to give her the receipt.  She was lost in her thoughts of her Monday morning meetings when something distracted her attention, but only for a few seconds.

The day at work was routine and filled with deadlines.  On the way back the streetlights had already come on. She was listening to her favorite radio station. The traffic was the same as in the morning. Though she liked driving, it no longer gave her the thrill it used to when she started her life in Mumbai.

Tarika was originally from the city of Joy, a woman of great confidence and intelligence.  The perfect example of the independent woman of modern India. In and out of a few relationships, she had never ‘fallen in love’.

Her days were almost identical with not much happening. She had wanted to write that special story but nothing seemed to be coming her way. What was it that was distracting her today?  While sipping her cup of tea she suddenly remembered. It was the person at the Toll naka window. He looked like a super star, what was he doing in a mundane job like the Toll naka attendant. What was his story, she was keen to know.

The next morning she went prepared. With the money she slipped a chit which read, “Want to speak to you, what is your phone number?” The rush at the Toll naka did not give her more than a few seconds at the window, but she managed to pass the chit to him.  The next day, hopeful of getting a response, she eagerly looked at him. But he just looked through her and handed over the ticket. She felt dejected and went about her day.

For the next few days she went to the window with hope, but nothing happened. On her return journeys she tried to look for him but always in vain. Not to be dissuaded and convinced in her mind that this person had an extraordinary story to tell her, she decided to slip in her phone number to him with the money today.  She kept looking at her mobile phone to see if he called. But the day went without any response. The next day, eager to see his expressions she looked at the window with anticipation and saw that there was a new person at the window. Where was he? What happened? Why did he not respond? She had no answers.

Time is a good healer and Tarika began to forget him. After a few days when she did not see him at the counter, she thought he must have found a better job. She was preparing to leave from work when there was a call on her mobile from an unknown number. Not sure if she should respond, she waited for a few moments and then picked up the phone. “Hi Madam, I am …” There was a pause. ”I mean I am Vineet…from the Vashi Toll naka. You wanted to speak to me.” His voice was trembling. She missed a heartbeat.  “Oh yes, of course, when and where can I meet you?”

“What is the occasion today? Why are you all dressed up?” her friend Hema enquired. “I have to be well-dressed today; after all I am going to meet the guy whose story may change my life! The masterpiece I am waiting to write!” Something in her heart told her he had an extraordinary story.

The evening sea breeze and the setting sun made a perfect atmosphere for an interview of a lifetime. After the introductions, Tarika asked him the question, “What is a handsome and intelligent person like you doing at the Toll naka? You could easily have become a movie star!” He smiled and slowly began to open up. What are you writing in that note book? He asked her. I am a journalist and your story would probably be my masterpiece. Before she could finish her sentence, he had pulled the note book and torn the pages. His face was flushed with anger and he shouted, “You bloody journalists, you only know how to suck blood and enjoy on other’s carcasses. You dare not write anything about me or I will kill you….” And he walked away without looking back.

In a state of shock, Tarika returned home.  His hatred for journalists had to do something with his story, but she thought it was all in vain and he would probably never meet her again.  He had mentioned that he was from a village in the state of Jharkhand.  She decided to ask her manager for leave and visit the village.

The weather was sultry and hot. She was sweating and yearning for a glass of water.  The tongawalla kept on asking her questions, but his accent was difficult to understand.  Finally she reached her destination.  She read the board. It said,  “Prof. SK Singh”.

“But why did he not try to proclaim to the society that he was innocent?  This was sheer injustice!”

“Didi, ours is a conservative society.  No one would even give him a chance to speak. I was happy when he left. I knew he could never be the same here,” Vineet’s sister Radha was explaining to Tarika.

Tarika was clear now and empathized with Vineet on his outburst in their first meeting.  Radha had fallen in love with the son of a rich and influential politician.  When she was not accepted by his family, Ram Kumar, her husband, left his home and they started to live in a small hut. One day Ram Kumar’s body was found near the river of his house and the politician had framed Vineet as the culprit. Vineet’s father was a retired Professor in a college in the adjoining town and his family was respected in the community. The stigma attached to his daughter’s marriage and then her husband’s murder was too much to bear.  When the incident happened, a journalist had visited their home and interviewed Vineet and had published something totally opposite after having being paid off by the politician’s family. The story published in the newspaper had changed his life. He could no longer stand the taunts and suspicious eyes of the neighbors and he decided to run away to Mumbai.

Now the pieces of the puzzle fell together and she felt sympathy and great regard for Vineet. When she returned to Mumbai she decided to meet him one last time to tell him that not all journalists are bad.

“I don’t think I could ever be taking this step, had it not been for you. I owe you a lot.” He shook her hand and she felt a little sad.  The flight had been announced and Vineet had to go. Tarika stretched her arms and they hugged. She had tears in her eyes, tears of joy for he was going for higher studies to the USA.  The meeting after her visit to his village was not the last but the first of a long journey.  She encouraged him the complete his studies, apply for a scholarship to the US and he did just that. “Keep in touch”, she looked into his eyes and he smiled, she yearned to say the three magical words, but the flight attendant ushered him away.

The thundering applause in the auditorium and the standing ovation Tarika got for winning the “story of the year” award should have put her in seventh heaven. This was her masterpiece and what she had waited for so eagerly. But there was some anxiety.

How could she tell the audience that while writing her masterpiece she had fallen in love with the hero of her story?