Remembering Soumya

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"You are too sweet for the world, Soumya. Too nice for just about everyone." That's how I would joke with her. Unnervingly, it became a joke too cruel and played out in a bizarre, twisted way on Tuesday morning.

My first - and perhaps the most-defining last - memories of Soumya were her eyes - carefully kohled, perpetually twinkling with mischief, forever winsome.

But the more lasting memory of Soumya was her magical ability to be around, almost as if on cue; her charming indecisiveness between lime juice and cold coffee; her keen eye for detail and her art of subtle complimenting.

Soumya was arguably the only person I knew who could make anyone smile even on a bad hair day. Even a self-conscious news anchor.

I knew her from day one of college and would always wonder how she managed to keep her cool, her poise in the most annoying of situations. The days we were taken to task for bunking classes or missing deadlines, Soumya would wear an expression that would make us all giggly on the inside.

Forever smiling through her eyes, she was the first among us to strike an instant rapport with college seniors and then - a year later - with juniors as well. She was also among the first to land an internship, and later a job, with The Pioneer - it was a big deal to be employed while pursuing graduation, five years ago. In a certain sense, I and many of my classmates would look up to her. After all she was earning her pocket money.

But never did she make us feel she was a notch up, always attending patiently to our eager-for-office-gossip ear. Our birthdays were two days apart and I remember her listing out our common interests in the first year of college. As it turned out, we shared much in common - from a liking for coffee to mindless giggles to all things silver. And those cherished, shared memories will resound and stay with me for good.

I lost touch with Soumya for a brief while after college, a tad disappointed she and I wouldn't go to the same institute for our PG as it initially seemed. So while I headed to Chennai, she went to Orissa.

I saw her next in Jhandewalan Extn when CNN-IBN began operations. She was reporting for Headlines Today and I caught her twice on air interviewing Yuvraj Singh's mother (if I remember right).

Next I knew she was here, at IBN on the news desk. That's when I got back with her. Often, she would call or text after her shift to check if we could have lunch/dinner/coffee together, overtly careful about not upsetting my work hours as well. Once she called me at 10 am not knowing I had reached home at 5 and was asleep. A series of apology messages followed.

I could go on and on but that's what she was: A genuine person who never meant harm and could get along with just about anyone.

When I heard of the accident, I went numb. Soon that numbness gave way to anger. I felt helpless - just like many of us who knew her did. This wasn't meant to be.

People wonder why she could have decided to drive at that hour, speculation abounds, questions remain, anger simmers. Something inside wants me to question everything and seek answers: Should all women working nights be left to the mercy of the road - clinging to the false hope of a police van materialising out of deserted, isolated areas when help's required? Or live enveloped in a false sense of security of being escorted by an unarmed guard? Or should we get together, get more serious and proactive, find answers to them and DO something?

My appeal is we do it - lest more Soumyas should go into the shameful pages of history.

As faces of tragedy. Unnervingly, as statistics.