What a guy!

I sit in the Bangalore Cantonment station, it is slightly after 11.20 pm. The date, one that we won't forget for some time now, is April 2, 2011. I wait for the Cauvery Express - scheduled to arrive by midnight, though often late - immersed a Coetzee I have read before. There is a continuous muffled roar of fireworks in the background, even the sleepy station has a diffused joy about it.

This guy, in a blue Benetton t-shirt and faded blue jeans walks down the platform and settles down next to me. I can sense a contentment in his eyes, and a serene smile on his face. He stares at the empty railway tracks with that same distant expression.

I read my book quietly, stopping over an achingly beautiful passage, only to turn away to attend the occasional SMS, and a short phone call from my brother, and another from a friend.

The guy in the blue t-shirt looks at me, with that same expression, and says, "We won."
I smile back and nod.
There is a momentary silence, after which I say, "What a guy!"
He nods, "What a guy!"
Then it strikes me: do both of us mean the same person?

And then he says, "Twenty years, six World Cups. Finally!"
I smile. Obviously the same person.