Dead man walking

In the bustling city of Delhi, amidst the chaos of daily life, my wife and I found solace in our evening walks at the DDA Sports Complex in Pashchim Vihar. It was a routine we cherished, a time to unwind and observe the world around us. Yet, one seemingly ordinary evening, our routine took a surreal turn.

As we strolled along the track, I couldn't help but notice a peculiar figure among the regular evening walkers. Sporting a French beard, dark glasses, and a suspiciously full head of hair for his age, this gentleman stood out like a sore thumb. But it wasn't just his appearance that caught my attention—it was his behavior.

On one occasion, as he passed me on the track, I noticed a sudden change in his gait, as if he were trying to conceal something. Intrigued, I decided to investigate further. The following day, I arrived early and discreetly positioned myself on a nearby stone bench, keeping a watchful eye on the mysterious walker.

To my surprise, when he thought no one was watching, his limp miraculously disappeared, revealing a familiar stride that sent chills down my spine. It was then that I realized the uncanny resemblance to my late friend, Sarat Dutta. But how could this be? I had attended Sarat's funeral just two years prior, mourning his untimely demise from COVID.

Haunted by the possibility of encountering a ghost, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. Night after night, I lay awake, grappling with the inexplicable reappearance of my deceased friend. But curiosity got the better of me, and the next day, I decided to confront the enigmatic figure head-on.
I confronted him by calling his name and he half turned but realising that he got caught started walking fast. But I was determined to unravel the mystery of reappearance after death so I walked fast  and confronted him.
He was annoyed and started speaking in Hindi, "Why are you chasing me?"
Hearing his Hindi I couldn't stop my laugh,"Well your bad Hindi has exposed you,Sarat!"
Somehow I got some idea about this mystery.
I told him," During COVID time there have been cases of wrong body taken by relatives as the bodies were handed over in completly wrapped condition so there was no scope of looking at the faces. The name tag with address were the only identification. Your case must be similar to that."
He looked guiltly at me and pulled me to a bench and told his story.
Sarat's story
.....
You know that I took VRS from IOC and started a business of maintenance of refineries. But as COVID came in 2020 my business failed,I had to take loan to pay salaries of my staff. The loan was piling up then I was down with COVID. I have only one son who invited you for my funeral and you know my wife died in 1998. I was put in the nearest government hospital. There I found many patients were coming who had no address.
Me and my son hatched a plan. I switched my alloted bed with a critical case patient without any address. That poor guy readily agreed. As he was on my bed so he became me. Because we were all COVID patients so the nurses would rarely come near us. After a few days that fellow died and my son got a ring from the hospital to take the body. He collected that body fully disinfected and wrapped like a Mummy. He with his friend went Kewratala to burn the body in electric furnace. Thus I died and you attended my funeral,we planned to perform it prominently by issuing newspaper notification. So my workers and loan shark came to know I was dead. We were staying in rented house and my son does a lowly paid job. There was no scope of his paying out the debts and wages to my workers. They too realised it was bad financial case. I ran away to Delhi,grew this French cut and put on this wig. No one suspected any thing but then you appeared from no where to Pashchim Vihar. I avoided CR Park ,South Delhi thinking that most of the Kolkata Bengalis have relatives staying  at those places.
Adopting a disguise, I vanished into anonymity, my French cut and wig serving as shields against prying eyes. But in a city teeming with memories and secrets, even the most meticulously crafted facades can unravel with the slightest misstep.

And so, as fate would have it, our paths crossed in a twist of serendipity, threatening to expose the carefully woven web of deception that shields me from the consequences of my past life. As I navigate the labyrinthine streets of Delhi, every shadow and every glance serves as a reminder of the precarious balance between truth and illusion.
While narrating his pitiful story he broke down. Passerby were looking curiously at us.
I understood his delicate position so promised not to divulge his whereabouts.

Caution :Friends because of secrecy I have used false identity,I had no friend named Sarat in Indian Oil.My encounr with him didn't take place in Pashchim Vihar,Delhi!