A Rendezvous with The Professor

It was pouring again as I reached the park. The soaked jeans wrapped around my muscly legs as I gasped for air. I looked up and found the numeric digit 5 staring down at me from its plaque.

‘At gate number 7, he would be waiting,’ uttered a voice inside me. 

I sprinted again along the bending curve and soon found myself approaching a silhouette of a human figure. It was a man in his late sixties. Draped in a blue windcheater, black trousers, and a navy blue bucket hat, his face, with winter-white mustache and beard, looked tired. 

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, professor,’ I asked.

‘Well, well, habits die hard. Have you brought it for me?’

‘Yes’

I combed my jacket and produced a mini-sized cellphone. The device was on, and the shimmering screen displayed a message. 

‘Well, let’s see if we can crack it,’ the Professor said as he took the cellphone from me. 

‘We must, professor. A hundred lives are at stake. I completely trust your good judgment.’ 

I took some deep breath to suppress a rising agitation and fixed my gaze at the wise man as he looked ruminatively at the code in the device. 

‘Undoubtedly, this is a malicious computer code,’ the Professor sounded gruff, ‘but to investigate further, I need to upload it to my console.’

‘Okay, fine, but we don’t have much time, and the red alert,’ a sudden piercing noise engulfed the surrounding, and I jolted out of my reverie. 

It took few minutes before I could reawaken my senses, and shortly a plumping shadow of old age came down upon me. The frail old legs were not muscly any longer, and the wise old Professor was nowhere to be seen. 

‘The same strange dream again.’ I thought as the hallucination I just had didn’t make any sense. 

I was a septuagenarian living in a small hill town in India. A father to a 35-year-old man, married and settled abroad, and a husband to a beautifully anti-aging grey-haired woman, I’d spent 35 years of my life imparting the knowledge of calculus to high school students in my town. Malicious computer code was not even remotely associated with my happy and humble life. Yet, despite that, I’d been having this peculiar dream for the last few days. 

‘You are up,’ my wife’s upbeat tone ruptured my meditative state. 

‘Yes, just a while ago.’

‘What is it? The same dream again?’ 

The thought that she never failed to read my mind evoked a sense of delight. I nodded, in response, with a smile. 

‘It’s just a dream, don’t fret over it. Now come on, freshen up. I will go and make your breakfast ready.’

I’d always been fascinated with the mountains. They have a lot to offer. In addition to picturesque valleys, alpine climate, and proximity to nature, a close-knit community is one of the specific factors that had elevated my adoration for mountain life. In a hill town, the bonding among its residents rose above the trivial affairs that often disintegrated personal relationships in city life. Of course, we never meddled in one another’s personal lives, but at times of crisis, we always had each other’s back. 

After a delicious refreshment, I went out for a stroll abiding by my daily routine. It was a bright and beautiful day, and I could feel the soft refreshing autumn breeze brush against my face. Although the vision of the previous night was trying to emerge back into my consciousness, I couldn’t help notice the blooming nature around me as I walked down the soddy, gravel-laden path with my cane. The environment looked reinvigorated with the downpour of the previous night. Alongside my course, colorful wildflowers were swaying in the morning whiff. The captivating sight of the snow-capped peak against the blue sky persisted until I went inside the tea shop at the town’s main market and occupied a table toward the end. 

‘Good Morning, Mr. Sengupta,’ the shop manager said with a jovial smile, ‘What can I get for you today?’

‘Good Morning, Mr. Pradhan. I would like a cup of Darjeeling tea and two oatmeal raisin cookies. Thank you,’ I reciprocated with a grin. 

‘Surely, getting that for you. Please make yourself at home.’

As it is named, ‘Pradhan’s Cafe’ is among the oldest in the town. Admittedly, it was as early as half past 8, but there were hardly any tables vacant. It was a popular get-together venue across all age groups, and the gradually increasing peak-hour starts from 7 am until late evening. 

As I waited for my tea and cookies to arrive, a man entered the shop. He was in his late sixties. He was draped in a blue windcheater and black trousers, along with an identifiable navy blue bucket hat covering his head. Winter-white mustache and beard hid most of his facial features. However, behind a thick pair of glasses, his tiring eyes scoured the shop for an empty table. My heart skipped a beat. 

‘How is this possible?’ 

‘Who is this man?’

I was acquainted with almost everyone in this town owing to my long career as an educationist in the town’s most reputed school. 

‘Then, how come I don’t know this man?’

‘Is he an outsider? If so, then how come I dreamt about him without having met him before physically?’

‘Are these the symptoms of an onset of senility?’

I could feel a slight pain in my temple. 

Reluctantly, the man approached my table and said huskily, ‘May I?’

‘Sure, please’ I couldn’t suppress my curiosity to find out who he was and under what circumstances did he make his way into my reverie. 

The man occupied the opposite chair and sat across the table. As he was placing the order, a voice inside me went ahead of him - one plate of bread toast and one cup of black tea without sugar. 

‘How do I know about what he likes for breakfast?’

‘I can vouch I have never met this man before.’

Ignoring the escalating pain in my head, I initiated the conversation. 

‘Excuse me,’ I said.

He looked my way, his peering eyes fixed on my face.

‘You look very familiar, but I am not able to place you. Are you from this town?’

‘No, I have come here for technology research on behalf of my organization. I am from Delhi. Have you been to Delhi?’

‘Yes, a long time ago, though.’ 

Needless to say, I knew that he was hailing from Delhi. However, I restrained from divulging it. Instead, I asked, ‘If I may ask, for technology research, you should be in one of the I.T. hubs of India. So what brings you to a small hill station?’

The man looked at me calmly for a couple of seconds before replying, ‘The objective of my research is to understand the problems faced by people living in remote areas, away from the hustle and bustle of Indian cities, and how technology can be leveraged to minimize these problems.’

‘I see.’ I pretended as if I had no air about it. The slight pain in my temple was now a throbbing headache, and I chose not to carry on with the talking. Our food had arrived, and we started eating in silence. 

As I was about to leave the restaurant after placing a fifty rupees bill on my table, the man said, ‘This is my business card,’ his extended hand, which was not as wrinkled as his face, held out a beige, squared paper card with a name inscribed on it - Mr. Ved Prakash Menon. Under the appellation, in a smaller font, it was written - Professor, Computer Scientist, and Entrepreneur. I felt light-headed. ‘Ved Prakash Menon,’ it kept reverberating in my mind. I could feel my cognition going berserk with an incoming chain of information. Lucid visuals of events started appearing in front of my eyes.

I was suddenly transported to a different setting with bright, colorful lights and a crowd of people. I was occupying a chair on a podium with other distinguished guests. I soon realized that I was being recognized for my state-of-the-art invention in the field of Artificial Intelligence. The crowd broke into applause, but before it could end, I found myself in a room stacked with gadgets. I was standing in front of a giant monitor screen that displayed robotics animations. I could feel the presence of a young man, with a robust build, beside me. I was going to ask him something. But before I could do that, I found myself precariously landed near a plight of stairs going down. My hand missed the railing, and I toppled down the steps. No sooner I reached the ground than abysmal darkness fell upon me. 

Minuscule rays of light penetrated into the lingering darkness of my mind as I slowly opened my eyes. I was lying on a hospital bed, and my wife, standing beside the bed, was staring straight at me. 

‘How are you feeling now?’ She asked solemnly

‘Light,’ I said in a feeble voice.

‘Good, let’s go home then.’

‘Yes, let’s get back home to Professor Menon. I have a lot more to deal with him.’

She gave me a surprised look, but soon the astonishment transpired into a smile of warmth and hope. 

‘Sure, but before that, here is a letter for you.’ She said and handed me a pink envelope. 

I opened the sleeve and fetched the correspondence from it. 

Dear Mr. Sengupta,

I ask your forgiveness for putting you through so much discomfort. I honestly never imagined how this act would pull through, but I thought it was worth a try. I am a theatre actor. I have always known a stage as my whole world. But, unfortunately, a few years back, I met with an accident and was rendered bedridden. With less than a five percent chance of performing again on stage, I could see my life fall apart in front of my eyes. Wrapped in appalling despair, I was miserably searching for an anchor to hold on to. Until I stumbled upon a copy of your work – Let There Be Sunshine, your debut novel where you introduced Professor Menon. A person of grounded principles who has waded through galore of difficulties to reach the pinnacle of success. He rekindled a ray of hope and courage in me, and because of him, I can stand on my legs today. 

Life can be brutal at times, and I confronted its mercilessness again when the news of your accident reached me. I was devasted to learn that you’ve given up writing as you couldn’t relate yourself to your main character anymore. Letting Professor Menon succumb to retrograde amnesia was something I couldn’t accept. Hence, I planned to pull off an attempt to make you confront your protagonist in real life lest it helps bring back your memory. 

Earnestly looking forward to your next novel, I have learned that you will be introducing a new character of a young law enforcement officer – Arjun Kashyap. To find out how the alliance kicks off between the Professor and Arjun is worth a wait. Until then, I wish you a speedy recovery. 

Yours Truly,

One of your innumerable readers

P.S. Next time, I would ensure consistent makeup on both face and hands. I am pretty sure you must have noticed the gap.