The train whistled in the distance, enjoying its naked shriek. The winter’s fog was too lazy to wake up. It left people all the more cold. Tonight, the color was lemon yellow.
Kelve Road was a bizarre station. It was kissed by distance: it was the only connecting railway line to the Island City of Mumbai. It only enjoyed 2 trains a day and one at night. The local stalls for tea and etcetera – there was no coffee- waited anxiously for the trains that would bring hungry passengers and they would rush back to their trains saying, “Keep the change”. The natives here had been fishing their fishes for more than six decades. The stalls were owned by the not-so-fishy men. It was always easy to satisfy some one else’s hunger rather than hunting one’s own prey. Except for this hunger, Kelve was a peaceful place.
Tonight was just another winter’s dream for these stall-owners. The fog was now wide awake and it was settling in rapidly. The steel lines cut a stretch of grass that changed colors: green, red and yellow, boasted of some wild flowers that cried every morning as the dawn set in. The tears were white in color.
Far off, across the east side there was a Church, with a red enclave that housed the bell that looked a startling devil’s crimson. Most people had objected, saying that the bell looks as if the Devil himself has invaded the Church: sitting atop, mocking the prayer-mongers with its ringing. But nobody had that kind of money that could change colors, so people had no other option but to pretend that the Crimson was not really crimson, after all. On the west, there was the Arabian Sea protecting the shores of the village. The quaint night sky was so black as if it was unaware of the possibility of a morning.
He was strangely quiet, too, as he entered the station. His footsteps were silent- padded by the thick soles of his sports shoes- and still, some people turned to look at him. He was aware of the stares, and accepted that: he was too sophisticated for any place. He settled on the steps of the bridge, and lighted a cigarette. He glanced at his watch. Two hours more. He looked around, as if searching for an answer, and the cold station seemed to reply, don’t look at me like that. He nodded to himself and looked away, and caught the eye of one of the stall owners.
Chai.
The stall owner stood with an assured existence, seeing that his glance had moved a stranger towards his stall. He prepared to answer queries about the trains, and their timings, their reservations, ticket windows-
“One Coffee,” he said, interrupting the tea maker’s thoughts.
“Coffee? No. Tea? Yes.” The tea maker was proud of his workable English.
“Chai, then,” he started looking for change in his pocket. “The 4.05 train comes on time?”
“Usually? No. Unusually? Yes.” The tea maker handed him chai.
The stranger looked at him for a long second and then moved away. He wondered if he should go to some hotel to spend the two hours. He looked around once again. And then, he found an answer.
* * * * *
She walked towards the station as if the entire station had been constructed in her honor.
She glanced openly and she openly answered the stares of the stall owners. Her bag was too huge for her, but she didn’t seem to mind the unusual weight and height proportion. She was moving slowly towards the station, and the kuccha road made her pace slow. She stood for a second, took a deep breath and noticed the station. There was a silhouette of a man against the fog. He was drinking from an earthen cup, and looking around restlessly. The fog had already made the station dimly visible – as if it was a romantic setting of a Black and White movie set- and the man’s figure was hugged by his own cigarette smoke. As if his soul was clinging to him. Too tall for his jeans, she sighed.
Then she saw a stall owner in the middle of the platform, the fire in his stove providing warmth and light to the few people enjoying the darkness, and his tea. Some people sashayed the platform. They looked as if they were fighting with their bodies against the cold, and the tendency to sleep. At 2 AM there were around 13 people on the entire station.
City of Nights, she sighed.
She breathed again, rubbed her hands, pulled her muffler closer and pulled her bag with her. After three minutes, she stood at the gate of the station. The man had started to look somewhere else, but then her tall figure had risen from nowhere and he stared at her.
She smiled at him. Who is he?
He blinked, and smiled back. Who is she?
She started towards the bridge in his direction, pulling her bag with great difficulty, but royally. She had only started to move, and the man walked across the fog, and took her bag.
He said, “May I?” and she had stood straight, tried to smile gratefully, and by the time she replied he had already started walking ahead with her bag.
One of the men at the tea stall whispered with a smile, “Another couple ready to elope. Our station sure is famous.”
“We must build a monument here some time.”
“Hope their parents don’t come here to create a scene.”
“Are you mad? We need a scene. They must come soon.”
“Here, have some more chai.”
She was tall, but barely reached his shoulder, and tried to pace up with him. “Where are we going?” she asked him, but hastily corrected, “I mean- where are you taking my bag?”
He didn’t slow down. “To the seat there,” he replied, pointing with his eyes. “Where do you want to go?”
“I- I am going to Mumbai. The Four Oh Five train. What about you?”
“Me? I am a coolie,” he looked at her. She had to laugh.
** * * * *
He kept her bag down, and offered her a seat. He took his own suitcase, made it stand on its wheels and sat on it, across her. “Mumbai. 4.05 Train,” he replied.
She studied his face. Too eager for a conversation. Looks decent, though.
He looked at her. Smiles at a stranger. Hope she isn’t looking for a customer.
“Can you please stop smoking? It kills,” she said, “even the ones who don’t.”
He blinked. “Yeah, sure,” he threw his cigarette. “Do you usually order people?”
She sighed. “Well. I think the habit has caught on me. I run a company.”
“Or may be is it the other way round? You caught on the habit, and the company runs you?” He said reflexively. A moment later, he smiled. “You don’t have to answer that. I am just a bit cranky tonight. Being rejected and stranded back-to-back is not my forte really.”
She assumed a serious expression. “No, I mean… well… it is true what you said. I was not exactly ordering people around when I was born. People did things for me out of love, never had to order. But things change, you know. So now I order people. Guess, am not lovable anymore,” she said with a chuckle.
He smiled. “So what is an Unlovable Miss doing out here at this time?”
“This time? You make it sound as if I am doing some forbidden act. No time is too late in Mumbai. I was driving back to the city from Silvassa, and my car broke down. We were not carrying any spare, and all the mechanics are fast asleep at this hour. I left it with my driver, and decided to take the train. You?”
“Am just out to save my engagement. Rejected. Hitch-hiking through trains to get to Mumbai. Stranded as of now.” He said as a matter-of-fact.
She blinked. “Okay… so… since your engagement is in danger, why don’t you catch a flight?”
“The feeling is new to me. I want to postpone the moment of finality.”
“What if you… don’t manage to save it because of this delay in reaching to your fiancé?”
“The delay cannot do anything. The harm’s already done.”
“I see.”
The fog surrounded them, and felt awkward. It could not come in between them, for the space was filled with the brightness of silence. They looked at each other openly, and the eyes didn’t carry any questions. Only answers.
He said, “I am an engineer. I repair cars.”
“Oh, great. So probably you can fix my car and I can drop you wherever you want.”
He smiled. “No. And you don’t want that too.”
She looked at her feet, and smiled. After some time she spoke. “This is a good place. I wish I could see it in the morning. That Church looks so out-of-the-place.”
He turned back to look at the Devil’s Crimson Bell, and said, “And that is why it must be there. Else, this place would look too perfect, too clear.”
“I guess we take care of imperfection. Nature is so perfect. There is no room for ugliness. But we make structures- like this Church- and balance beauty with ugliness.”
“You’re beautiful. Tell me where the ugliness is.”
She moved her glance from his face to rest on something… but her eyes could not find another object that could do justice to the memory of the first glance. So she looked at him again, “Well. I am ugly too. You must see me yelling at my people. I own a company, and I think that everyone is my bonded laborer. I don’t believe in robots. I think human beings are robots themselves. I am too possessive about my nail-cutter, my shoes, my jeans, my tissues. I demand a lot in the Board Room, in the Bed Room, in the brain, and the heart. I hate weaknesses. And I don’t even accept that in other people. I never give accounts of where I was to my shareholders, my employees, my parents. And they are too afraid to ask me.”
“A person speaking so ugly of herself. Beautiful.”
She blushed, and realized she had. His eyes were fixed on her face, brows knitted slightly, and the mouth relaxed. He was smiling.
He said, “Just like my cars. They look good, and they perform too. Nothing is superficial about them. And when they break open, they bleed openly. And you know why that open-ness is required? Because only then a mechanic can fix her up. They are so delicate, just like a woman’s body.”
“What?! You – ”
“Excuse me. But I am permitted to choose my own metaphors. So. Just imagine. If they pretended to run well, and we humans thought that they are fine, we could crash anywhere, any time.”
She smiled, “You really do love your cars.”
He was silent. Yes I do.
She was silent. And what about your woman?
He blinked, but said in a more passionate tone, “I love her too. But love was always different for different people. Her friends tell her I don’t love her as I don’t open the car door, rather I stare stupidly at the car, its make, its model, and she waits patiently till I notice her standing, hoping that my chivalry will surface. And it does. Wrong timings, that is all. So, when she met a man who got her roses, remembered her pet’s birthdays, and opened the car door, she told me she had found her soul mate. The very fact that she was looking for someone beyond me confirmed that I was not her “soul-mate”, she said. I shrugged, and said okay. I hung up to pack my bags to catch the next train for Mumbai. She calls me again and yells if I loved her or not, I she made a difference to my life or not. I say nothing. She said goodbye and hung up.”
She stood up, and asked, “Where did you get the chai from?”
* * * * *
They walked to the tea stall and were unaware of the disappointed stares of the men. Forty five minutes and they haven’t even touched each other yet.
Both walked, and their shadows didn’t like their bodies. They began whispering to each other.
He said, “It gets colder each year.”
“People?”
“Weather.”
“Oh.”
“It is 3 AM now, and the wind is harsh. But that is expected, the beach is close by.”
“You’re sounding like Christopher Columbus.”
“You won’t believe. I carry a compass with me.”
She stopped and looked at him, “What?!”
He smiled, and walked ahead. “Break my record,” his walk seemed to say. Her shadow pleaded with her to catch up with him.
She stepped ahead, “I polish my own shoes, and so I carry my boot polish everywhere I travel.”
This time he stopped to laugh. “Oh. What a disappointment! I thought you must be one of those sadistic women entrepreneurs who would love men to polish their shoes.”
The stall owner and the other men were disappointed, but they geared up as the two neared. They hunted for some steamy snacks of conversation. But they were left starving. She had the chai.
She walked slowly behind him, drinking the chai in the earthen cup meticulously. He kicked with the empty pack of cigarettes.
She said, “Work in Mumbai city.”
“No,” he didn’t look at her. “Not even if you offer me a job.”
“Did an angel appear before you to tell you that I will offer you a job?”
He stopped kicking the empty pack. “Well. You look good enough to be an angel yourself. But, you see, I am a devil of sorts. So I must refuse.”
They sat down again. She rubbed her hands and glanced at her watch. “Fifteen more minutes.”
“What do you wear?”
“Excuse me.”
“Watch. Which one is it?”
“Esprit.”
“Try traveling once without it. If you seem lost, you’ll understand that you are. It would be strange to look at the sky for the time. Then nature will start teasing you- some days it will be cloudy, dark ones, the sun would go on a holiday, the moon will be off for a vacation, the dusk would once want to romance orange instead of pink, and so on. But if you could still tell the time, and the weather, and the seasons, you pass the test.”
She smiled. “You really are recruiting me aboard your vessel, aren’t you, Mister Columbus? And what do I get if I pass the test?”
He openly wondered. “Well. That is an important point. See, if you pass the test, you get to travel light. Lighter. Women should cut down on accessories. That way you also learn to talk with Nature.”
The night was earning more black at the command of Nature. The silence kept glowing between their eyes. He took a deep breath every now and then. She closed her eyes every now and then. After some time, she spoke.
“Nature. I understood it for the first time when my love had taken me to a surprise vacation. I had opposed it so much, but he did not listen to me. And I am glad he didn’t,” she said. “It was a night journey, and he had tied a black satin ribbon on my eyes. We were in the train. He asked me to feel and hear the sound of the tracks, the friction, the stones. He said it was Music. And I downloaded it in my mind forever. I would take my hands forward to feel where he was, and he kissed my fingers. I heard our footsteps as we walked. And then the music of the sea. The salt in the air, tasted the same like his kiss. I knew we were on a beach. Sand pampered me, and the pebbles taught me to be grateful to the sand. He made me stand, and I thought I was flying while standing still. He took off the ribbon, and I felt his lips over my eyes. I opened them, and I saw Nature for the first time: The beauty, the colors, the stones, the sand, the fire licking the air, and my man. My life had a meaning in that one moment. Sometimes I feel that meanings have been lost. Then it occurs to me that may be I have stopped looking. But now the man is not there who could have blindfolded me, shouted at me and taken me to Nature. The Nature took him.”
“May be you could take him this time,” he said looking at the fog. “Surprise him for a change. And where can a lover possibly go? You are not at war with the Nature herself, are you? In fact, thank her. You look at the bright sky and you see him. You look at the fire near that tea stall, and you see him. You look at the shadows, you see him. He touches you when it rains- he doesn’t leave any place on your body untouched. He kisses you, summoning the winds. Yes, the Nature did take him. Don’t loose him.”
Far off, a train screeched, fighting the cold.
Both looked at each other. Silence glowed, and both thought that the night had been unfair. It was not staying for long.
He smiled. “Anyway. The best thing about traveling without watches is that it is a good way for strangers to set talking.”
“Well, we set talking without that.”
“Why did you smile at me?”
She shrugged, “I don’t know. Why did you return my smile?”
“I don’t know."
Their shadows had been together, playing. Their play was interrupted by another shadow. The tea stall man appeared with his lantern on the lantern, speaking loudly to no one in particular, “Beware. The train is coming… the train is coming… be ready…”
“You have the ticket?” He asked her.
She shook her head. “I will pay the fine and then travel.”
The light sparkled, and the train looked like a rising sun. The fog was disturbed, and it decided to be mellow. The darkness was ubiquitous, and unsure.
She stood up, straightened her muffler. “You have your tickets?”
He remained seated. “I am not going by this train.”
She stopped talking to her muffler. “I don’t understand. Are you taking a boat to Mumbai, Columbus?”
He shrugged, “That is a good idea, lady. I can’t go by this train. There are chances that where it ends, at that station, I might see you again. I don’t want to acknowledge the possibility. You take this one. I will wait for another train, and be careful enough that I don’t bump into your car that rests in this village tonight.”
“But we could still meet elsewhere. Without even trying.”
He stood up, looking down at her, “Yes. But I need to make sure that I made my efforts.”
She followed his rise, and smiled, “Come on. I am not THAT bad.”
He put his hands in his pockets, “You are good. And THAT could be a problem.”
Their eyes smiled. But the shadows remained angry. They did not want to part. They hated the sound and the light of the train.
The men at the tea stall were bored to death, and they checked the gate- some police man, some old man and woman, some one- to stop this boring couple.
The train arrived. And it looked as if it was arriving for her. She climbed the train. He helped her bag inside. She said, “I won’t be sitting inside. I will look at Nature, the view looks so good from here.”
“I know,” he said.
The train snaked its way out of the sleepy station, murmuring its apologies. The train whistled in the distance, enjoying its naked shriek.
After a few minutes, she coughed. The entire station was disturbed.
