Editor’s note: Ajit, a solitary retiree on a cruise to Japan, unexpectedly reconnects with Sarika, an enigmatic fellow traveler whose life story mirrors his own lost, unspoken love. Through layered conversations, they gradually uncover that they were once bound by a silent, unreciprocated love from their distant youth — a realization neither fully voices, yet both deeply feel. Surinder Deol’s The First Love is a beautiful story of love, memory, and missed connections that unfold across decades and continents.
***
Ajit was not elated about his cruise choice. Traveling in the company of friends has been his favorite pastime since his retirement in 2014, but where do you go after you have been to some of the most sought-after cruising destinations? He checked with his friends; they were either busy or not overly excited about spending fifteen days exploring Japanese cities, shrines, and gardens. However, Ajit had long dreamed of visiting Japan, and the itinerary was something unique that no other cruise line offered. He was content to be alone for a change, so he had filled his bag with books, seeking the company of dead authors instead.
One late spring morning, he had reached Hong Kong, the starting port for the cruise, and was practically insentient after nearly twenty hours of flying time from Houston, with two connections on the way. So he closed himself in his veranda suite for the next two days, waking up only for the meal service. On the third day, he looked outside and found the East China Sea unusually quiet as the ship sailed to the port of Taipei in Taiwan, the first major destination for shore excursions.
Once inside the café on deck seven, Ajit searched for Indian faces. Based on his previous voyages, he was confident of finding several Indian passengers. The ship was packed to nearly its capacity of one thousand passengers. Still, not a single Indian family he could locate, except perhaps a South Indian couple that sat away from everyone else in a remote corner facing the window. Listening to their talk while passing by, he couldn't determine whether they spoke Tamil or Telugu. He lamented that he knew so little of South India, the places he had wanted to visit, but lacked an excuse or the will to do so.
On the fourth day, while visiting the Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial in Taipei City, he was surprised to find a woman with a quintessential Indian presence, so that she could not be confused with any other ethnic group. She was wearing a floral-tiered ruffle sundress, with a bindi on her forehead, and covering her head with a straw Panama hat. About her Indianness, Ajit had no doubt. There were so many people within a narrow space that it was impossible to get close to someone for a casual introduction.
Ajit had turned eighty-two a few months before; the woman might be his age or a year younger, but she walked with an age-defying attitude, not faltering or shaking. Ajit was generally in good health, although he had difficulty walking downstairs without the aid of a railing. He had a few falls during the past year without serious injury, and his physician had advised him to always walk with a stick.
“I would rather fall and die than walk with a stick in hand like an old man. Where did you see me doddering?”
“But you are an old man, Ajit,” the doctor had responded.
“No, I’m not. I’m young in heart and spirit, and nothing is old.” The argument had gone nowhere.
Ajit returned tired from the day’s excursion, ordered his dinner in his suite, and picked up a book to read while sipping his favorite Napa Valley Cabernet. But his mind was far from its usual state of calmness, a frame of mind that he had learned to achieve during his years of daily meditation. Why was he thinking of that woman? The body gets old, but the ageless surge of masculinity always seeks the company of a younger woman. So, why was a woman in her late seventies or early eighties the object of his attraction? Ajit was puzzled.
On the fifth day of the cruise, Ajit decided to go to the Italian specialty restaurant for dinner while the ship was on its way to Nagasaki. The line outside the restaurant was long, but it was moving quickly. The woman in front of him was wearing a black embellished chiffon evening gown with a waterfall-like drop-down of grey hair covering the better part of her back.
“Why does this line take so much time to move?” Ajit was surprised that he had uttered these words, which were ludicrous because he had been in the line for less than a minute.
The woman turned back and looked at him without giving any hint about her reaction to his statement. Ajit was amazed, as it was the same woman he had been so impatient to get to know in Taipei.
“You must be famished.” She said with a half-smile.
“Yes, and the smell of the Italian makes it worse.”
“I take only one full meal a day, and this is the time of the evening when any wait for the plate filled with items of my choice becomes agonizing.”
“I’m sorry, I should introduce myself. My name is Ajit, and I live in Houston.”
“Well, I’m glad to find an Indian guy on this ship. I’m Sarika. And I live in Kansas City.”
Meanwhile, the hostess said, “I can take you to your table. Please follow me.”
Ajit was about to tell her they were not a couple and were looking for two separate table seats, but he kept quiet. The woman could have objected, but she didn’t.
“My apologies for the misunderstanding,” Ajit said as they were about to take their seats. “If you would like to sit alone, that would be fine with me.”
Sarika gestured with her hands, “Please have a seat. It is fine with me. I wasn’t looking for company, but we can sit together since I know your name.” Still slightly blushed at the unexpected outcome, Ajit took the seat facing her.
The meal took a long time. From selecting the main course to choosing wine, both shared their knowledge and experiences of Italian dining. While they discussed many things, they did not disclose any further information about their personal lives, except for their first names and the cities where they lived. Ultimately, a positive outcome was that they agreed to visit Peace Park together when the ship docked in Nagasaki the following day.
Ajit spent a restless night thinking about his conversation with Sarika. He had a strong intuition that he had some connection with her, either in this life or in a previous incarnation. But what was the precise nature of that bond? He could not figure it out.
They spent several hours exploring Peace Park, and when they were tired, they sat on a stone bench in the corner, shielded from the sun's bright rays by Sarika's unsuccessful attempt to cover her face with her hat. She had not spoken much, but Ajit was keen to learn about her background, including when she came to America, why she was traveling alone, and whether she was divorced or widowed. But how can such a dialogue be initiated without making the other person uncomfortable? After all, their contact was so short that it could be counted in hours rather than days or years. Ajit decided to move, hoping it would pave the way for sharing personal information.
“There are a few astonishing things that life offers you on a platter, but these are not among the choices on your to-do list.” He said these words as if facing a large audience and lecturing about Life 101.
“Coming to America was one such event for me. I earned a bachelor’s degree on a scholarship because my parents were unable to support my college education financially. My father worked as a calligrapher for an Urdu newspaper, but his hands had grown weak with age. He could not write legibly. So, he lost his job. My mother had to take up a job in a restaurant washing dishes. But what she earned was not enough. A small portion of my scholarship money helped keep the family afloat. It was essential for me to secure a job after obtaining my college degree. One of my professors was of help in this regard. I had to relocate to another town and secured a job in a family-owned business with a sole distributorship for branded products, including toothpaste, soap, hair conditioner, and beauty products. The company, however, was not making much money because the salespeople were stealing stocks of goods and selling them on the black market. I had no business experience, but I had good values. I asked the owner to replace the entire sales team. As a result, the company became profitable, and I was promoted to a general manager position, accompanied by a significant salary increase. But internally, I was a severely wounded man. The lightning that struck me as I left the town where I grew up left such deep marks that there was no hope of recovery ever …”
“You mean you were the victim of a lightning strike?”
Sarika’s question was understandable, given what he had stated, but Ajit was happy to find that she had listened to him.
“I used lightning as a metaphor. I had fallen in love with a girl who was socially and economically so far above my reach that I could have fallen in love with the moon. It was a one-sided affair — a madness I had no control over. I behaved like a normal person during my working hours, but I spent most evenings crying about my doomed love affair … Anyway, I was talking about how I came to America. Let me complete that part of the story. I had worked for the company for nearly ten years, and the owner, a kind-hearted older man, was very pleased with my work. One day, he called me into his office and said he had some bad news to share. My immediate reaction was that he had decided to fire me for some reason, which was the bad news he wanted to convey. But I was wrong. The bad news was that he had been diagnosed with colon cancer and had no more than a few months to live. He talked about his two semi-literate sons, who were worthless bums in every way possible. The company will die with me. That was his take. He wanted to do something good for me because he appreciated my work, which had saved his company from a disaster. I couldn't think of anything specific, but I did mention that I wanted to pursue a master's degree in economics; however, my family's financial circumstances did not permit it. I could apply to an Indian university where I could pay tuition and living expenses for two years. That was the favor I asked for. No Indian university, he insisted. He wanted me to go to America and earn my degree from a reputable American university. It took me two years to fully satisfy the admission requirements, but ultimately, I was accepted into the University of Chicago's economics program. The gentleman lived long enough to see me through my first semester in school. Once I completed the program, I got a job offer from a petroleum company in Houston, where I worked for decades before retiring in 2014.”
“And you never married?” Sarika’s tone showed surprise.
“Yes, I was stuck in time. The memory of my first love did not leave me alone, and I had no reason to wish for anything more from the god of love. I found the idea of marrying any woman other than the one who was the love of my life repugnant. I have lived in a colonial home as a single man with no plan to leave it and go into an assisted living facility. My friends tell me my dead body will rot because no one will know if I died after a sudden heart attack. I tell them jokingly that the pile of unopened Amazon packages outside my home will inform the neighbors that I had passed away and that they would let everyone know about it.”
“This fear drove me to move into an assisted living facility after I retired in 2009, although I loved my independent home too. Another benefit has been the friends I have made in the process. Generally, we cruise together as a group, but this trip is an exception.” Sarika added.
“You, too, never married?” Ajit found an opportunity to ask the question that had been bothering him.
“Not exactly. But my story has aspects that I can unravel with incredible difficulty. I left a lot of stuff in a vault with no openings, and I fear going back. I’ll have to break several locks to retrieve anything from that repository of events. Give me time to think about it. Let's talk about it at our next outing.”
Ajit suggested having dinner at the ship's highly-rated Japanese specialty restaurant, and Sarika resisted. “I know nothing about Japanese food and will make a fool of myself sitting there, not knowing what to order.”
Ajit insisted that it was not as complicated as it seemed. “Our company dining room offers Japanese cuisine each Tuesday. Therefore, I got used to eating Japanese food once a week. It will be fun. Please do join me.” Sarika responded with the usual half-smile, which Ajit took as acceptance of his suggestion.
Sarika wore an Indian dress for a change: a teal lehenga with matching choli and dupatta. With minimal but alluring makeup, she pushed back her age by at least a decade. Ajit, who had worn casual t-shirts with jeans so far, had taken out his black suit, reserved for the captain's night, for dinner. In short, they looked like a couple celebrating their fortieth or fiftieth wedding anniversary. As they were seated, Ajit coached Sarika about Japanese dining customs.
“Before we start the meal, we express our gratitude for having received the gift of a meal.”
“Oh, fuck!" Sarika looked at the menu and said, "I'm lost, and I want something to eat and get out of here.”
They ordered a vegetable soup, fish prepared in a sake-based sauce, and a few side items. The conversation focused on their daily lives without venturing into past events.
Ajit gave Sarika a friendly hug as he said good night, standing in front of her stateroom. "Tomorrow will be another day. Get good sleep, dear Sarika!"
The following day, they visited the Sakurajima volcano in Kagoshima, one of the world’s most active volcanoes. Standing at a distance, they could see the black smoke rising, a remnant of an eruption that had occurred a few weeks before.
“Japanese know how to make even awful things look more pleasant. Sakurajima means a cherry tree in blossom. When you look at the volcano, do you think of a cherry tree?”
Sarika didn’t respond. She removed her dark glasses and looked at the volcano as if she were trying to superimpose the image of a blooming cherry tree on the ugly plume of dark smoke of the volcano.
The following two days were spent in the usual routines. On the tenth day of the cruise, they visited the Peace Memorial Park in Hiroshima. Nagasaki depicted horror and hope more simply, while Hiroshima Park was an elaborate memorial.
Once inside the museum, Sarika said she was too tired to walk and wanted to sit. They found comfortable chairs beside the large glass windows with a panoramic park view.
“Ajit, I’ve been thinking. You asked me about my marital status. Yes, I was married once. It happened long ago when my dad, a senior officer with the All-India Radio, had just returned to Delhi after four years of a provincial posting. I had finished college, but the degree was useless as I had no practical skills to do a job and no aspiration to sign up for a master’s degree program. You know what happens under these circumstances. Parents think of only one solution: ladki jawan ho gaii hai, ab is ki shaadi kar do (the girl has grown up and is ready to be married). This is what they did. My husband Dev was a good-looking, freshly minted engineer with a job in a multinational company. What more could I expect? He was handsome, sophisticated in manners, a good host, and a warm friend.”
Sarika stopped to take a sip from her water bottle.
“My mom told me the boy would come to see me along with his parents. They will be seated in the drawing room, and I'll have to make an entry carrying a tray with six cups and a pot of hot tea. And I will have to wear a saree, which I had never worn before, and sandals with medium-sized heels as the boy was quite tall. I was certain I would fall doing this, so I rehearsed the act thrice. My mom also suggested that I should keep my gaze down and not try to answer any questions if they were asked. Everything went well; soon after, I was married on a warm summer day. We fell madly in love on day one. Dev proved to be an exceptional husband in every respect. My mother had told me to treat my husband like a god. She advised me to touch his feet whenever an occasion arises. I didn't have to do this. Dev was an early riser. He would make tea for both of us and then sit at the end of the bed, rubbing and kissing my feet, saying, 'Get up, my love; hot tea is waiting for you.' I wonder how many Indian husbands do that?”
Ajit took this as a rhetorical question. But he smiled and said, “I would have done much more if the girl of my dreams had agreed to marry me.”
Ignoring Ajit’s comment, Sarika continued, "We didn't go for a honeymoon immediately after the marriage, but six months later, Dev and I went to a scenic village in Nepal where he had rented a cottage for two weeks. The owner of the cottage lived nearby. He had prepared our meal for the first day and left instructions on how to get our supplies from a nearby market. We closed the doors, and on the third day, the owner banged the front door, thinking that something might have happened to us as he had not seen us leave the cottage. We were so lost in our love for each other that nothing else mattered. Dev decided, which was not a good decision, as I found later, not to have a child for the first three to five years of our marriage because the child would distract our attention. We wanted nothing to come between us, not even a baby. Such was the passionate love we had for each other.”
Sarika stopped once again to sip water. Ajit missed a heartbeat, fearing that this story was headed toward a tragic ending.
“Dev was crazy about cars. As a child, he collected models of 1950s cars like Chevy Bel Airs, Ford Coupes, Jeeps, and pick-up trucks. Sometimes, his father got these toys for him from the US because these were not available in India. We bought our first Fiat car, which was 1950s technology, and Dev was very excited about driving this car. As you know, Indian cars were not meant to be used as race cars, but Dev was convinced he could win a race driving his Fiat. He signed up, against my pleadings, for a car rally that was to run from Shimla to Solan and back, with a total drive time of fewer than three hours. Dev told me he had driven on this road as his family vacationed in Shimla each summer. So, the two of us arrived in Shimla. It was a nice sunny day. Most of the cars were Indian-made Fiats and Ambassadors with few foreign makes. There was a lot of fanfare on the Mall as the cars were flagged off one at a time … Near the town of Shoghi, there were a lot of spectators. A child ran into the center of the road for no earthly reason. Dev tried to save the child and veered his car to the extreme left, but he hit the railing, and his car went overboard and fell into the ravine … and caught fire. By the time the rescue team reached, nothing was left except a big pile of ash. Both the man and the machine were reduced to rubble. It was like the whole world had gone up in flames. Nothing remained. I was widowed when I was twenty-three …”
Ajit extended his arm to keep his hand on Sarika's shoulder, and she was silent for over a minute.
“How long can you cry, how long can you grieve, how long can you sit in a corner and sulk? Well, for me, it took more than a year. My dream life had suddenly come to an end. I was back, living with my parents. My dad told me I needed a professional degree to get a job. Therefore, I enrolled in a master's program in education. But I saw no future for myself in India. I knew I would be pressured to marry again, this time with a less attractive man, like a damaged good. I will have to live in a cave surrounded by all kinds of demons. That kind of life was not acceptable to me. So, I wanted to run away from that place. I applied for a US visa, got it without any hitch, and landed in Westchester County in New York because a family known to my father lived there. I got a job but flopped as a middle school English teacher. I spoke English with an Indian accent, and my students made fun of me. My teaching career ended in a few months. One day, I saw an ad for a secretarial position at a healthcare company in Kansas City. I applied, thinking no one would hire me because I had no secretarial experience. But to my surprise, I got a call from the company. They wanted me to come immediately because a senior manager was without a secretary, and he wasn't happy about it. That part of my story had a happy ending because I served with this company for over forty years before retiring, earning several promotions, and I have no regrets.”
“But you never thought of marrying again?”
“Ajit, I have not lived my life like a nun. When I was in my thirties and forties, I had several affairs with men, both single and married — they came into my life like a breeze and disappeared after they had completed their assigned roles. Some wanted to marry me, but I wasn't ready for an alliance. I had learned to live in a cocoon, protecting my little joy of being self-sufficient, not depending on anyone else, not being a subordinate to someone else's whims and fancies ...”
The tour guide from the ship came asking all ship passengers to start moving as the buses would be leaving soon. Ajit and Sarika joined the others, and Ajit was unsure whether the story Sarika was narrating had reached its conclusion. Was there more to say or share?
The next day, they visited Hozenji temple in Osaka as part of the tour, where they visited several shrines. Sarika came out of the temple looking weak and found a bench to take a breather. "I can't walk anymore, and my legs are hurting. And I'm hungry because I didn't eat a proper breakfast." And looking at Ajit, she told him, "Can you look at your phone and find out if there is any Indian restaurant nearby? I'm not interested in seeing any more temples. Let us go and eat something."
Ajit took little time to find a place — it was a bar and a restaurant, about a fifteen-minute taxi ride. The restaurant was large but not crowded at that hour. They found a table with a view of a small garden in the rear.
“I know wines that go well with an Indian meal,” Ajit said, looking at the bar menu.
“No wine for me today. I want a gin and tonic,” Sarika said firmly as if it were a significant decision.
“That’s a good idea, and then I’ll have a vodka tonic.” They ordered food and settled comfortably to enjoy their drinks.
“Let me add something to my story that was cut short by the tour guide yesterday,” Sarika said, sipping her gin tonic. “As you may know, Lahore radio station was one of the oldest in pre-partition India. It was a popular station before the partition and remained so afterward. This was a matter of concern to the Indian security establishment that people on our side of Punjab listened to the Lahore radio station, which was now in Pakistan, rather than to one of our own. My father was selected to go on a special assignment to a radio station in Punjab and radically change the equation. He was given the second position after the station director to make radio offerings more appealing and relevant to people's lives. The previous emphasis was on Indian classical music, which appealed to a small section of the population. My father's job was to create new programs in Punjabi and Urdu. He asked for a thirty-minute slot each evening for popular film songs; there was this stupid ban on broadcasting film songs at that time. He got everything he asked for. The radio station was located in a large bungalow, and across the road, there were two somewhat smaller bungalows; one became our residence. I had enrolled in a private school in Delhi and was looking forward to attending a college there, but my father's transfer took me to Punjab, and I got admission into a local girls' college. The distinctive feature of this college was that a bus arrived at eight in the morning to pick me up in front of our bungalow and brought me back around two in the afternoon, except on Saturdays when I returned two hours earlier.”
By then, the food had arrived, and Sarika said, “Let us enjoy our lunch, and I will tell you the rest of the story after we get back to the ship.”
Ajit’s mood had changed; a cloud of despair was settling on his face, which Sarika chose to overlook.
The café was virtually empty when they arrived to have some stimulants and continue their conversation, as most passengers had not yet returned from their excursions. “Where was I?” Sarika asked, removing her bulging purse from the table and keeping it on a chair by her side.
“Yes, I was talking about the college bus. After about a month, I noticed that whether I was going to college or returning, a boy stood near the unguarded radio station gate, next to a palm tree, resting his arms on his bike, and he always looked at me. I could say that he stared at me, but that would be the wrong word. There was some sadness in his eyes, especially how he looked at me – a wounded hope for something unattainable, a prayerful silence. Therefore, I was not offended. When this continued for a few weeks, I thought of complaining to my dad, but I knew what he would have done. He would have asked his low-class employees to catch hold of him and give him a full-body thrashing. They would have broken an arm or a leg. So, I didn't do that. But look at the strangeness of this. This boy came to that spot twice a day for four long years to look at me; either I was getting on the bus or coming off it. There were hot summer days, teeth-shattering cold days; there were rainy days, but it didn't make any difference. That boy was always there. He had an innocent-looking face, but from his clothes, I could surmise that he came from a low-income family. Why was he doing what he was doing? I had no idea.”
Sarika picked up her coffee cup for a sip. Ajit looked at her, but he could have been looking into a void, a dark hole into which splintered pieces of his being were falling rapidly.
“My father accomplished his work. He could have returned to Delhi after the third year, but he requested a one-year extension because I needed a year to complete my graduation. So, the day came when I rode that college bus for the last time. But while I was entering our residence, I saw an envelope lying on the ground. It said on its address line, 'For the love of my life,' I picked it up with the certainty that this letter was written for me. I entered, locked myself in the bathroom, read the letter, and cried.”
“Why did you cry?” Ajit asked.
“It was a five-page letter on sheets of paper removed from a college notebook, and he had tied those pages together with a red thread. The boy didn't have a stapler. He wrote a letter that he did not copy from a book or a magazine because of spelling and grammatical errors. But the words had fire hidden in them. I felt he had cut open his heart to say what he had to say.”
"Do you still have that letter?"
"No, I burnt it a few days before my marriage, fearing that if Dev found it, he would draw some wrong conclusions. But the boy's words of love for me lived in my consciousness for several years. Look at it this way. I was a reasonably good-looking girl but nothing extraordinary. I would not have won any beauty contests. I spent my spare time reading cheap romantic novels and keeping track of celebrity romances like Nargis-Raj Kapoor and Madhubala-Dalip Kumar. Why would anyone sacrifice so much of his time for me unless he was madly in love with me? This boy elevated me to a goddess, and I wasn't worthy of that honor. I felt extreme compassion for him. I didn't cry because my lover was writing his last letter; I cried for his suffering, the mental agony, torment, and anguish that my looks had caused him. Let me say plainly that if you love a girl and have only the right to see her from some distance. Would you go to see her twice a day for one month, one year, or four years? People do that for a deity to attain salvation. They don't do it for a girl who would grow old and lose her charm. And then, one day, she would die like other mortals. I remember a line from one of Shakespeare's plays I studied in college. It said, 'The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade to wanny ashes.' Beauty can't be a joy forever. It is short-lived, like everything else in the world. "
"How did this experience change your life?" Ajit wasn't sure why he was asking this question.
"I don't think I remained the same person. It was not only the loss of my innocence but also opened my eyes to people living in poverty while retaining their capacity to love others unconditionally. My life was no longer a walled garden; I could see farther on all sides, and I saw suffering: people yearning for things that were not in their reach, and then they were hurting themselves in the process … why is this coffee so cold?"
Sarika raised her hand to attract the waiter's attention. "I need a hot cup of regular coffee."
As she waited for the coffee, she added, "I remember one summer night; it was a windy and cloudy night, and I couldn't sleep. I left my room, came to the veranda, and sat on a cane chair. I looked at the trees in our yard that were wildly shaking. And then I looked at the gate. It was wide open. I thought that our gardener closed the gate at night. But I was wrong. I got up from the chair and walked to the gate to close it. I couldn't do it because it was stuck. I heard some voices from some distance, but no soul was outside on the road. I looked at the palm tree. The boy wasn't there. He was gone; he was gone from my life; I would never see him again. And standing there, I wept. Had I fallen in love with him? Was he my first love? I wasn't sure."
The coffee arrived, but Sarika ignored it.
"This scene has returned to me as a dream in recent years. I don't know why. I find it strange that I never saw Dev in my dreams. Even when I was grieving, I wanted him to come to me in a dream, but he did not. It seemed that Dev had fallen into the depths of an ocean or flown to another galaxy in search of some other Sarika. But that boy, I have seen him in my dreams. Is he still waiting for me somewhere? I don't know."
Ajit got up hurriedly and said, "I'll be back. I need to use the restroom."
He walked quickly, fearing that he might fall. He went into a stall and locked himself inside. He sat on the toilet seat and found himself in the grasp of an emotional storm. He was saying something that he should have told Sarika face-to-face. "Sarika, I saw you at the annual radio station poetry symposium for the first time. You were seated on a chair in the front row with your parents. I had no invitation, so I sat on the ground with other uninvited guests. I fell in love with you at first sight. I constantly looked at you, your every smile, your every gesture. I think I died at that spot, and a new person was born, whose sole purpose was to love and adore you like a deity. When the function concluded, I walked behind you to find out where you lived. The rest of the story you have narrated. When I graduated, I had to leave that city for employment, so I wrote that letter to you. If my letter caused you to suffer, I must apologize. I had no such intention. I was a broken man. I wanted to leave the madness of love behind and escape to a different world. But I failed. There was no other world for me. That unnamed girl I fell in love with during my youth has never left me. I don't find any trace of that girl when I see you. But when I close my eyes, she is always there. There are hundreds of images stored somewhere inside me. I see her in many colors, in all kinds of attire, and all types of weather conditions. She is young and full of vigor. She looks at me without expression, which is neither love nor hate. This meeting with you, Sarika, decades later doesn't change anything."
Sarika waited for Ajit to return and then left somewhat confused. Did she say something that offended Ajit? She never wanted to open her vault of painful memories. Still, Ajit had diplomatically pushed her to unlock forgotten gifts of suffering and deceptive joys. And now, when she needed him the most, he was nowhere to be found.
Ajit stayed inside his stateroom for the next two days and did not even come out to look at Mt. Fuji. He lay on his bed while his thoughts stayed afloat on an emotionally charged ocean of unanswered questions, thinking of all the tricks fate had played with his weak heart.
On the last day in Tokyo, as he rolled his carry-on to catch the bus to the airport, Ajit could not avoid seeing Sarika as she walked towards the buses parked outside.
"Oh, here you are, the missing boy. I thought I had lost you. What happened to you?"
"Sarika, I'm sorry I was not well. I should have called you. My apologies."
"Anything serious?"
"No, the usual stuff – nothing unusual." Ajit had not practiced lying, so he said this, looking at the ground.
"Hope you're feeling better now. If you ever come to Kansas City, please let me know. We can have lunch together. But I know no one comes to Kansas City, and there is nothing there, and it is a very depressing place."
"I would love to meet you if I came, but I don't have your contact information."
"Let me give you my card." Sarika opened the smaller pocket of her purse and took out a decorative card. It had a cell phone number, an e-mail address, and the word 'Angel' in bold letters in the center.
"If you came to my facility and said you wanted to meet Sarika, no one would understand. Everyone knows me by my nickname, Angel. This was a gift from one of my lovers. I liked and adopted this name, which has become my identity. I'm not Sarika; I'm an angel of love, the angel of light. And if you ever write to me, don't forget to mention that we met during our Japan cruise. My memory is not good anymore, and I forget names."
"I'll surely do so," Ajit said while accepting the card. Sarika didn't ask for Ajit's contact information, so he didn't offer any.
"Which bus number are you on?" Sarika asked.
"Number five."
"I'm on number three. My bags are inside, and I see that it is ready for boarding. Goodbye, Ajit. Take care!"
Sarika walked away. Ajit felt weak; his legs were shaking. He looked at the bench in front of him where someone was sitting. That person looked at Ajit and felt the need to vacate the seat for him. Ajit sat there and lowered his head on his carry-on. Tears were flooding his cheeks. The person who had left his seat for him put his hand on Ajit's shoulder and asked, "Sir, are you feeling okay? Do you need any help?"
Ajit looked up, wiping his tears, and replied, "I'm going to be alright. Thank you."
Meanwhile, he heard the announcement that bus number five was ready for boarding. Ajit got up, assisted by his unknown savior, and strolled to his bus, rolling his carry-on.
