I was
obsessed with faces those days, faces that look similar yet different, faces
that stood out in a crowd. In fact I would see faces everywhere, in abstract
things like shadows behind the door, clouds in a clear blue sky or water
spreading on the floor. I would end up
quite often following a person with an interesting face; it was not sexual but
just plain curiosity. I was to some extent influenced by a film, in which the
protagonist tails people around in London, but he has a purpose, he wanted to
know more about them, write about them. I, on the other hand, had no purpose,
but pure impulse. I would aimlessly follow people around the city if I liked
their face or their expression. That didn't imply the face would have to be
pretty; ugly faces were as fascinating to me, or someone with a distinctive
scowl of disdain.... I liked faces that looked particularly unhappy their own
selves or with life in general, I found them to be funny! I was struck by this
idea that some faces could be completely identical even if the people belonging
to those faces were not related...this idea was put to test once when a friend
of mine suggested she could tell identical twins of our class in college apart
and I was completely floored, I mean I could never discern them and she said
initially it was difficulty but afterwards she could do so by simple features (one
of them was supposedly a bit on the plump side compared to the other and had a
longer face, very subtle but apparent difference according to my wise old
friend!). I would often find myself wandering about in the streets, tired, hot
and a little confused. My wild goose chase ended on a terribly hot day in May,
and ended quite abruptly.
There used
to be a roadside tea-stall, just by a used book store. I would often frequent
both the places, spending some time in the bookstore, browsing through the
selves and then enjoy a steaming cup of sickly sweet tea from the tea stall. Of
course, I knew the owner of both the joints very well and they in turn could
gauge my mood, and would either ignore me or engage me in some trite
conversation sharing some insight about humanity in general and gossips involving
specific people. The kettle was blackened with years of soot and dirt, even the
walls of the little stall were stained with soot, but I felt safe there
surrounded by familiarity and routine. On that day surrounded by this mundane
familiarity, I saw him, standing across the road, smoke rising from the
cigarette dangling from the thin mouth. I wouldn't have given this ordinary man, shabbily clad in well-worn clothes , wrapped in smoke another glance but there was something about his face...and it struck me, he had a singular resemblance to
my face! I nearly dropped my tea, my hands trembling as I rubbed my lips. The
traffic light beamed green; a rush of cars, buses and bikes rushed passed me as
I stood staring. When the traffic had slowed down, he was still standing;
he took his time with the cigarette and finally stubbed the light out with his
left foot. I was sure now, it wasn't a superficial resemblance, he simply
looked exactly like me. I would often wonder if people actually knew how they
really looked like, I mean we would go by other people's perception about our
own looks and a mirror reversed version was the only reference we had of our
own face, would one know how they actually looked like, objectively? I knew now
then in that moment and was terrified, the way he tilted his face while
dragging on the smoke, his eyes squinting, his fingers long and gnarly, oh how
I knew!....my face, my posture, every nuance of my body language on a
stranger...it was the most mind numbing sensation I had ever felt as long as I
can remember. He started to cross the road and walk towards me, I had to act now;
I willed my limbs out of atrophy and turned my back to him. I could still see
him walking nimbly towards me from his dim reflection on the glass door of the bookshop.
He walked right into the bookstore, our shoulders brushed as he walked past me. I waited for a few seconds and followed him inside. He was looking casually
over the bookshelves, his eyes casually passing over the books. Did I look so
gaunt and serious? The lines in my face were stark, when did I get so old? My
hands wandered over my face running over my features, making sure they were still
in place. It seemed he had enough of the
place and was deciding on leaving. It was strange that the shopkeeper couldn't
see the resemblance or maybe for him in spite of all the insipid yet intimate
conversations we shared I was just another face in the crowd. I observed him carefully as he walked to the door. I knew
that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch. I took a
deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. "Ten, nine,
eight, seven..." and then I followed him into the street, in the crowd...
“What happened
then? Did find him? Did you speak to him?” Anita asked eagerly. I gulped down
the whiskey in one quick motion and shook my head slowly. “I lost him that day
in the crowd, but the incident still haunts me...what did it mean? Was it just
a figment of my imagination?” I laughed, glad that my idiosyncrasies didn't
turn her off, this pretty lady seemed genuinely interested in me. It was
strange that I remembered this story from my youth that too after more than a
decade of it, I smiled wistfully. Maybe the wounds of my broken marriage followed
by the ugly divorce were finally healing, with time I lost a great deal of my
strangeness and my fancies...struggling to fit in with the world, playing the
role of a corporate slave and a disgruntled family man, I had quite forgotten
my strange ways, the old days.... The rest of the evening passed in a blur,
nothing memorable occurred and I conveniently forgot to take her number, Anita
(the wild big haired Anita with scarlet lips!) my fix-up, courtesy of my
well-meaning friends of course...
The next was a
Sunday; I slept late and had an usually large breakfast. I had nothing to look
forward to, no expectations and no worries to let any one down. I thought of
going to the bookstore especially after yesterday, the old used bookstore that
had held its own through the test of time. Ten years is not such a long time
yet so many things have changed. I walked briskly down the street, the flow of
traffic had increased in the city with time, everyone owned a car and everyone
was in a hurry to go somewhere or to get away from something. I was almost
there, the tea-stall was no longer there but the soot stained walls remained
and so did the bookshop a little worn for wear but still there, I smiled
feeling at peace. The light was still green and the flow of traffic didn't show
any signs of slowing, I thought of finishing my cigarette first before
crossing, I wrapped myself in smoke and oblivion. A chill ran round down my
spine, feeling someone's eyes on me I looked across the street, there was no
one I knew. A sudden movement caught my eye; a young man quickly swiveled
around turning his back to me. I paid no heed to the strange thin man and
crossed the street to walk inside the store.
The shop had quietly aged and I didn't know the owner any more, I smiled
remembering the bland conversations we had for the sake of having something to
talk to. I glanced around the bookshelves; my habit of reading had been
forsaken for the sake of running about in the rat race my life had become
lately. I still felt someone watching me; I looked around hoping to catch a
familiar face. I almost did see someone peering at me through the gaps of the
books in the last row. I felt uneasy and uncomfortable, deciding on leaving. As
I walked outside, losing myself in the crowd I had this eerie feeling of déjà vu, I turned
to look again...and some how in a blink and miss moment, in the sea of strange
faces, I saw a face that looked familiar, a young confused face with thin lips,
his eyes searching for something...it looked like my own face.
