Stolen Days continues Krishna's college story through friendship, an unplanned birthday journey and a meeting he cannot stop replaying in his mind.
Chapter 6: The Midnight Surprise
It was a wonderful winter night. I had wrapped myself in blankets, shutting out the light and drifting into deep sleep. Rain whispered outside, and the room was dark and cool.
Then someone began hammering on the door.
Half asleep and thoroughly irritated, I got up to find out which monster had decided to visit at midnight. The moment I opened the door, four or five figures pushed their way inside, knocked me down and began hitting me.
I must have done something terrible to them in a previous life, I thought. Then a voice louder than a village-festival loudspeaker broke through the confusion.
“Krishnaaaaa! Happy birthday!”
It was Sarath. I could not decide whether to be happy about the surprise or furious with these crazy fellows.
Varun opened a cake box and set it on the table. Don Mahesh placed a candle on the chocolate cake, which read “Happy Birthday Krishna”. Sathish lifted his DSLR and photographed it from every possible angle, apparently convinced he was Santhosh Sivan.
Arjun told me to cut the cake. As I bent to blow out the candle, Varun pushed my face into it. Everyone sang, laughed and smeared me with whatever they could find. Don Mahesh added egg, tomato sauce and Coca-Cola to the mess. He must have been a monkey in his previous birth.
We did not sleep. Instead, we took the bikes out. Around 1.30 a.m., we stopped at a tea shop.
“Can we go to Ooty for some really good tea?” Sathish asked.
We stared at him.
“Why, da? Have I committed some terrible crime?”
“Machan, these cowards won't come. You and I will go,” Arjun said.
That was enough. Before long, an unplanned journey had become my birthday adventure.
Chapter 7: Tea in Ooty
We began the climb on our Royal Enfields. I was riding a 500 cc bike. The route took us through 15 hairpin bends, wild bushes and stretches of forest canopy. Bird calls, eucalyptus-scented air and a cold breeze surrounded us.
We rode one behind another. My teeth chattered and my whole body shivered, but I held the handlebars and enjoyed the climb. The engines sounded especially loud against the stillness of the forest, while our headlights cut through the dark.
Suddenly, Sathish raised his right hand and asked us to stop. Varun, riding pillion, looked puzzled. I switched to high beam and saw elephants on the road, perhaps 30 metres away.
We turned off the lights, worried about drawing their attention, and hesitated. Should we wait or try to pass? A truck arrived, and we slowly followed it past the animals. Only afterwards did we release the breaths we had been holding.
Another two hours of riding brought us to Ooty. Sathish found a tiny tea shop on the pavement, already busy despite the early hour. I removed my helmet as if I were an ace rider.
“Tea for everyone,” Sarath announced.
The shopkeeper welcomed us. My first sip carried the aroma of cardamom, perfect for that cold morning. It tasted heavenly.
Sarath took a selfie of us smiling with our tea, posted it to Facebook and immediately began looking for likes.
“Mad fellow,” I said.
Then Varun hugged me. “Happy birthday, Krishna.”
My friends had made the day unforgettable. Yet, as we rode back, another thought entered my mind: what would this journey have felt like if Meera had been beside me? The ride ended, but the imagining did not.
Chapter 8: A Meeting in the Rain
After the next semester, everyone went home for the holidays. I decided to remain in the hostel—a decision I soon regretted. Without my friends, the place felt empty.
One rainy day, the loneliness became too much. I put on my rainproof leather jacket, picked up my helmet and walked to the Royal Enfield. The engine answered with its familiar “tup, tup, tup”.
I set off at about 40 km/h, with no destination in mind. It felt better to travel than to arrive. Rain touched my face, and I kept following roads I did not know until I realised I was lost.
I had forgotten my phone.
Worse with a mobile, I thought. Much worse without it.
I stopped near someone trying to kick-start a scooter, intending to ask for directions. The person turned around. It was Meera.
Lightning flashed as our eyes met. Thunder followed, and my heartbeat seemed determined to compete with it.
She remained perfectly calm. “Hey, hi.”
“What happened, Meera?” I asked.
“I've tried so many times, but it won't start. I'm exhausted.”
“Let me help.”
I pulled the choke and kicked the starter. To my enormous relief, the scooter started.
“Oh, thank you! What's your name?”
“Krishna.”
“Thank you again, Krishna.”
Then she left. For a few moments I simply stood there, wondering whether I had imagined it all.
Somehow, I found my way back to the hostel. I replayed those few moments a million times. I cannot remember when I fell asleep that night, but I remember exactly when my heart began looking for her.
In my mind, it was settled: Meera for Krishna, in this lifetime.
Chapter 9: Becoming Seniors
After the long vacation, the next odd semester began. We were moving into the senior year.
We could not really control the college, of course. But we could enjoy a little more respect—and that feeling of gethu we had never quite possessed as first-year students.