The girl in the green dress

I still remember the day I saw her. I was fifteen. It was a hot summer day. But, I really wish it had rained. I was leaning against the school corridor and was talking to my friends. I checked my watch to see if it was time to get back to the class and gave a glance at the distant end of the corridor to see whether the teacher was coming. That is when I saw her.

Among students who wore dull khaki pants and a funny striped tie, I saw her walking down the corridor in a bright-green salwar. It was her birthday. A shot from the song “Pachai Niramae” from Alaipayuthe crossed my mind. For the next few seconds, I saw nothing but her.

She was taller than the others, had a dusky complexion, and wore a warm, bright smile. Her eyes reflected the rays of the sun, and her wavy hair bounced over her shoulders, etching the moment in me forever. As I am writing this, I remember J. D. Salinger’s quote,

“She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.”

She did that to me. I was too young to fall in love. But, I did. Not for long. But, for that moment. Witnessing her walk down the corridor was one of the best things that happened to me during my rather miserable high school life.

And, as I stood there, she walked past me. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t have to. As I saw her gracefully move, the song “Pachai niramae” kept playing in my head. I never felt bad for not talking to her. Instead, I felt lucky for being there in that corridor. Life is made up of such small moments. Moments that go so fast yet stay with you forever. Seeing her was one such moment.

The funny thing is I never saw her again, even though we studied in the same school. I don’t know who she was, or where she is. But, whenever I hear the song “Pachai Nirame”, I become a schoolboy in that corridor smiling at the girl in the bright-green salwar.