Train Journey

TRAIN JOURNEY

     It’s funny how a word or picture or anything or nothing at all can all of a sudden bring back a rush of memories that were, just moments ago, hidden deep in the corners of the mind. I don’t know what threw my mind to a year ago, but I could vividly see myself in my dark-blue kurti  and jeans, rushing down the endless stairs of the Hazrat Nizamuddin Station in New Delhi. I could feel the wait of my luggage, the heat of the noon-time and the anxiety crowding my mind. I was returning home for the semester break. It was the first time I was travelling alone.

     The AC coach was such a blessing. I spotted my seat (a window seat! Hurray!), shoved the luggage underneath, rushed out and bought some magazines and some food to nourish my exhausted self. I returned to my seat, and before settling down, said a quick prayer for a safe and hassle-free journey. My anxiety couldn’t last long, for I knew instantly enough, that my prayer was heard. And granted. And due to the countless pleasant childhood memories that were connected to the times spent in numerous train journeys, I was soon secure.

     I studied my fellow passengers. An aging couple. A mother and her 12 year old son – evidently mamma’s boy and another guy, about 25, who had the air of a bachelor.

     Average height. Average build. Average complexion. Average facial features with a good nose and nice eyes. “None of my business,” I told myself sternly. I was a “Proper Girl” and knew just how to behave. And so I picked up one of the magazines and browsed through it.

     By dinner-time the passengers aren’t normally as stiff as when the journey began. Dinner-time is when they actually begin warming up to each other. I was conversing with the mother of the boy about my course and my college. The elderly couple were listening. The old man had just finished narrating his experiences as a practising lawyer.

     The bachelor was partly listening and partly playing with the boy. And when he answered the retired lawyer, I remember observing that he was a decent, well- mannered chap. While saying something witty, and while everyone were in splits, he suddenly looked at me, as if to include me in the conversation. No sooner did he look, than I nodded curtly with a flat formal smile and looked away. Why was I so cold? Well, ask a “proper” girl who knows how to behave in public and she’ll tell you why.

     I woke up at six the next day and found everyone fast asleep. I enjoyed the sunrise, while I listened to the chattering sound of the train upon the tracks, as it sped by. As I witnessed life awaken in the villages outside, I heard a slight movement somewhere.

     Oh no! He had woken up and was presently coming down. I nodded a nod of recognition or whatever and he went away to freshen up. I immediately caught hold of a magazine, so when he returned I seemed to be busy reading. After many minutes passed, I realized that I had been staring at the same line. He was just sitting with nothing much to do. The others slept on.

     Curious person as I am, I realized I wanted to know more of him. Why was I bent on being so rigid? I looked up and asked, “ Aap kahaan se ho? Where are you from?” 

He looked up. “ Varanasi. Do you know the place?”

     Sincere. Straightforward. Shy. Sweet.

“Ofcourse. It’s a major pilgrimage spot.”

“Well, that’s my ancestral place. I grew up in Lucknow. But I’ve been staying in Delhi for a year now.”

    We were both pleased to have broken the ice and we enjoyed the conversation with each other. We agreed upon how staying away from home wasn’t easy and a lot of other things. Before long, the retired lawyer awoke and joined the conversation. The arrival of breakfast awoke everyone else who were still asleep. I was happy.

     A few hours later, he got busy all of a sudden and started gathering his things. That’s when it struck me that he wouldn’t  stay on for the entire journey, but was to alight at Nagpur Station, five minutes away. Bits of our conversation where he mentioned that he’d be in that city for five days to attend a meeting flooded back to my mind. Before I knew it, the train chugged to a halt.

     “ Okay beta, All the best.” The lawyer shook hands with him, while the women showered him with affectionate blessings and wishes.The twelve year old boy called out, “Bye Aashish bhaiyya!”

     So his name was Aashish. Oh. Okay. A glance and a nod and he was gone.

     It’s been a year now. Ofcourse, I never saw him again. But whenever someone mentions Nagpur, I think of him. A few years more, and he will perhaps be erased from my memory. Perhaps not.

     It’s funny how our paths met for a day, never to meet again. It’s funny how I could feel at home with some people, only to never see them again. It’s funny how life is so steeped in irony. We don’t have answers for a great many things. I confided this to a friend. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “Well, that’s life.” She’s right.

     But it wouldn’t have been half so exciting and fun, if there was a reason, an explanation, an answer to everything. I think I like life just as it is.

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