A phone call to remember
The sun beats down upon his brow as it shines harshly through the steel window of the train compartment. Dilapidated old buildings offer some shade as the train slowly chugs into Mumbai Central station. Damn! it should have been raining he sighs to himself. Monsoons always a trigger a tsunami of nostalgia in his mind. All the stations are starting to acquire some meaning in his mind. But this time it it is not about the rains or the train stations. It's about the month and the date. Numbers. A year is a long time, not long enough to forget the parts, but long enough to forget the whole the parts make. His fingers play with the buttons on his cellphone and by instinct dial a peculiar number. It is an unknown number to the cellphone, for, it has been erased from its memory, a vain attempt to erase it from his own long term memory. But he doesn't need LTM for this, it's hard wired into his fingers. By the time, the enormity of the act registers, it is too late. Summoning ...
