Mi Corazón

 Central Station, Chennai Alleppey Express, 8.50 pm

She hurried into the compartment five minutes before the whistle. As she dragged her baggage filled with unnecessary items, its wheels entangled on a protruding object. When the man behind her helped disentangle the wheels, Laila flashed him a friendly smile. He was head and shoulders above the others and quite strong as he carried her luggage along with his and steered his way through the noisy bunch of folks.

“Over here,” she said, indicating her compartment.

To Laila’s surprise and delight, he placed his bags on the upper berth of the stuffy economy-class compartment of S Coach. Then he smiled and asked if he could take the window seat. Laila nodded and tried not to smile too much as she gave him a discreet glance.

Well, well, it looked like the stars were shining upon her.

Tall, lean, and attractive in faded denim and cotton t-shirt was not an everyday happening in Chennai. Clean-shaven men were almost inexistent. He stretched his long-form on the berth, inserted his earphones, and shook his auburn head to the beat.

Laila pretended not to notice his preoccupation and clicked her fingers as Saroja Devi did in those 1960 films. His grey eyes (definitely coloured contacts) blinked open, thick brows rose in an arch, and the corner of his lips tipped upwards in an endearing smile.

“Laila,” she said. “And you are?”

“David.”

“What are you listening to? Heavy Metal?” she asked, trying to act knowledgeable about music. If truth is known, apart from Laila O Laila, she did not listen to music. Where was the time? With her family of six members to feed, there was no free moment to rest her soul.

She woke up at 4 am and prepared breakfast and lunch for all members with different food palettes. Her parents ate vegetarian, her brothers were thorough non-vegetarians, and her sister preferred seafood (forget if there was money on the table for normal food). As for Laila, she ate the leftovers.

She did not want to crib about her hard life but sometimes wished she would find a man with whom she could share the load. And that was why she was on Alleppey Express, heading to Chalakudy. They said miracles happened at Divine Retreat Centre, and her plight required a miracle.

Laila knew she was pretty, with a graceful figure and a sweet disposition. She found it easy to get work and never refused to go the extra mile. She took up whatever job came her way, from a waitress to a housekeeper to a babysitter and primary schoolteacher. No one could call her lazy. But this week, she wanted a break and announced her plan to her family at the last moment, so there would not be any objections. 

“Na, something nicer,” David said in a deep baritone voice. “Heard of Don Moen?”

Laila racked her brains and tried to recollect if any of her siblings spoke about that artist, but her mind drew a blank. “Is he the one who sings something about the heart?” 

Most of the pop songs were about the heart, and she was not taking much risk there. But the way David smiled made her doubt whether he guessed she was clueless.

 “You are lucky you are saved. I happen to be listening to Mi Corazon.”

Laila looked at him with a startled expression, and he burst out laughing. “Mi Corazon in Spanish is My Heart,” he explained.

“Oh, okay!” she said, somewhat relieved. At least the ice had broken. David was removing his earphones and leaning towards her. “Let me guess. You are heading to Chalakudy?”

“How did you know?”

“You have that look about you.”

What did he mean? Did she have the halo around her head? She did not want to come across as saintly, although the load she took after her dad’s accident and her mom’s stroke could try a saint. 

“I meant you look intense—as if the goal is set and you are attaining it.”

The man was perceptive, but he must never know her goal, or he might pull the chain, halt the train, or even leap out through the window.

“What about you? Where are you heading?” It felt good just talking to him, with his eyes holding hers. So romantic. There was something magical about travelling by train, the chugging sound as it left the station, the forlorn call of the whistle, and the brakes hissing and screeching as it slowed to a stop.

“Same place!”

Was her miracle happening right here on this train? Laila found herself smiling broadly. “Are you on a mission too?”

“You can say that.”

“Well, I hope whatever it is, you will succeed.” Me too! I will not spend the week praying, that is for sure. “Are you from Chennai?”

“Do I look like a Chennaite?”

No, you look like the man I would like to have in my life. “I think you are not from here.”

“You are right. I study in the USA.”

“Ah! That explains it. You do not dress or talk like the normal guys.”

“I assure you I am normal.”

“I did not doubt for a moment.”

They spoke all night, sharing childhood anecdotes and information about their cultures. The more she got to know him, the more she started to like him. But he did not relax entirely in her company and measured his words carefully. Laila was her natural self, telling him all about her family and how she coped. Although she ensured her tone was upbeat, he seemed to read between the lines and suggested somewhat offhandedly that she could delegate tasks to her siblings too.

He would make a great counsellor, Laila thought. He listened without interruption, was empathetic, and threw hints here and there on how she could tackle issues. One thing was certain; David was her cup of tea. She will use the week wisely. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

David did not appear to be in any hurry to sleep. He picked up a thick, worn book from his bag and read from its faded pages. Now and then, he made notes.

“Hey, Sleepy Head,” he called out as Laila opened her bleary eyes and took in the morning sunlight filtering through the open window of the train. She felt like she had known David forever and watched him tuck his folded sheet and deflated pillow into his bag and zip it.

Laila grabbed her toothbrush and soap and staggered to the washroom. There were several passengers before her, and it was ten minutes to seven when she reached the toilet. It was not easy doing her makeup, rocking and swaying, but she managed without incident. Dropping her stuff into her pouch, she drew a comb and untangled her hair. Then she hummed Laila O Laila and came out.

The train hissed like a raging dragon, and she thought about the two-minute halt at the DRC (Divine Retreat Centre) station and quickened her steps. Dragging her bag from under the lower berth, she rolled her bedding, shoved it inside, and zipped it. Why she needed to bring so much luggage for one week was beyond her, but now she was thrilled. There was David to impress.

She turned to see what her heartthrob was up to and saw him pulling on a white tunic over his head. Since he was already wearing his jeans and a t-shirt, she assumed he was using the tunic as a shield to change out of his clothes. She was about to turn away and allow him some privacy when she saw the broad red sash he tied around his waist between the navel and the breastbone. Frowning at his attire which dangerously resembled a cassock, she cleared her parched throat.

“David?”

He looked up, beautiful grey eyes alert.

Are you a seminarian? Oh please, God, not this sin on my soul.

“No.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. For a moment there, she almost died. “So what’s with the attire?” she asked with a smile. “Not that it does not suit you. You can pass off as a priest.”

“I am one!”

Laila’s pale skin was suffused with colour. What was he saying? It cannot be true! Which gorgeous man in his right mind would dedicate his life to God? Sorry, God, I did not mean to insult you.

There was regret in David’s eyes as if he were telling Laila that things could have been different if they had met before he had taken his vows.

The whistle sounded, and the engine hissed. David got off the train and stood by the window, calling her name. Laila shook her head, dropped back on the seat, and wiped her teary eyes.

“Goodbye, Mi Corazón,” she whispered as the train started to move, “my heart.”