Thoughts~#3: Conversations Happen

Often when I see people around me connect with each other over a conversation, I wonder, how much there is to a conversation. I have had some interesting ones with complete strangers, people from several walks of life; on a variety of topics.

At times, I thank the Almighty for this. Such conversations teach one a lot. After most such, I have stopped to pen my thoughts down.  At times I forget to do so, but the “image” etches itself in my mind, and heart…so somehow, I have always been able to retain moments from every such.

And I think, it is not easy to talk, and then to be able to speak, and to eventually connect with someone. Conversations don’t come easy…and oftentimes, you have to make them happen.

An interesting article in the newspaper today made me think on this.

How far people go to connect with others around them? See this: 100 conversations over a 100 cups of tea. 

Some of us are configured in such a way that a conversation is something we may not relish. Acceptable. Consider these though. Everyone. 

Letters are a thing of the past now. The written word on the brink of extinction. I shudder to think on this line. While letters were more about connecting, electronic mails are all about curtness. How well can you snub the other; perhaps how well did you show the other person his/her place. Irksome, to my mind. Opinions differ, perspectives change. I’d be glad to hear back from those of you who have had great experience or fond memories from these. Often one experiences how the written word alienates you; the spoken word can too, but the degree varies.

Language is not a barrier. You know it. I found it while undergoing my Initial Learning Program at my organization. The woman in-charge of washing dishes all trainees ate out of was a native of Kerala, in India. She would stand each day, behind a counter-the service window, just her hands visible to everyone who passed by to hand the finished plate over for washing. Not quite liking the work she did, I would bend down, and look her in the eye, smile and say thank you, every time I went to the service window to keep my used plate. She would smile back and shake her head, side-to-side. This went on for 25 days. We used sign language to connect. No words, beyond thank you…any other, in our own languages; and a lot of smiles. She treated me to a piece of cake from her meagre salary even as I vehemently refused. To cut the long story short, all of that was a conversation. Language and education, notwithstanding.

Chat’s not helping us either. No formal closures on chat (Google, Yahoo!, other such); unlike a conversation. Don’t you see that happen as the new normal now? Perhaps you do it too. I consciously try not to fall prey to it.

Have you ever stopped to think, that a ‘chat’ is a conversation. Imagine. You are speaking with someone, and suddenly, the person just gets up from the chair, and walks away.

The electronic word and world have taken a toll of sorts on possible conversation and on that which happens.

These above have had some bearing to different levels, on our capacities and abilities to converse with other beings, and people. A conversation is imperative to man’s survival. With the art (and beyond) of conversation soon vanishing, we may live to see a day when we want to connect, but can’t find the means. Where a conversation becomes an art/thing extinct. Where people don’t “see” its importance, and therefore cease to connect for a conversation over something big or small.

Reminds me of a few lines from RN Tagore’s poem, A Broken Song~ where there is no love, where the listeners are dumb, there never can be a song.

 

Thoughts #2: Life’s A Journey

The sea of human beings stared and wobbled, as the train chugged into the station. The clock in the station master’s room struck.  1900 hours. The cool evening breeze blew, forcing everyone to wrap their arms and clothes around themselves.

And then, the sea began to pour forth, bursting at the seams. All hell broke loose, with every passing moment. People scrambling to get aboard the train…young mothers scurrying with young ones in tow; families clinging together for fear of losing sight of their loved ones…still jostling ahead, for a foothold’s worth of space-on the platform and the train.

Once on board, a different world on wheels awaited every passenger. No space to stand; leave alone walk to reach your seat. The train was filled cheek by jowl with people wrestling to make way…and get some place to lodge themselves. Scary, for the sheer numbers that were in; unreserved, and they were in; reserved, and they tried to get in; some trying their luck to get in; some cursing theirs for having to let “it” go. The Railway Police Force did not show up…nor did the station authorities. What could they have done? The power of multitudes, is a fear (for the one who fails in his duty) to reckon with!

It was a cold evening in early February this year.

After a lot of shuffling, wrestling, and word mongering did everyone get on to the train. Now, how does one get to the designated seat? How does one move. Well, push came to shove. Lo and behold, everyone managed to fit in.

As the train chugged out of the station, chaos and anxiety was writ large on every passenger’s face. More than half the people onboard travelled without a ticket, unreserved, and with sheer grit, bordering solely on Faith.  They had to get off at Allahabad…to take a dip in the holy waters of the Ganges; on the most auspicious day of the year~ Mauni Amavasya. Time it takes to reach there by train from Varanasi? About two and a half hours. Time that train took? Five and a half.  All trains ran thus…all passengers inconvenienced: those who missed theirs, ones who got on with Hope of reaching for the holy dip on time, and those who got on to any which way.

While I can’t represent the voice of people aboard that train, I can speak for myself…and spell my thoughts on this out. Here are a few:

My first thought was of utter disdain and anger. How can we let people, who have no business being there, in?!? What a poor facility management. What ruckus. Damn you!

As the train covered a kilometer or two, quarrels and verbal duels rent the air. I tried to steer clear… anger mounting. Huddled into one corner of discomfort, I sat through those five and a half hours; tried telling people to not squat on the floor… or to mind their elbows and luggage loosely tied together in bundles.

After a few kilometers more, I thought, what made these people board a train that they knew would be full of people, who would dislike their presence? Be full of disdain towards them? Furthermore, what made them sit patiently, in one corner, just smiling back to everyone and anyone who was rude to them? My heart went out to them.  Not once did they talk back; never did they argue. Yes, they knew they had no business being there, but there they were, riding high on the waves of their Faith; and on Hope, that they will make it.

My conversations with a few revealed they had been journeying for close to two-three days now. They had been afoot for more than 48 hours! Slowly, some passengers stopped spewing venom at them. Perchance they realised what drove this lot.

At 0130 hours when the train arrived at Allahabad, all of them got off the train…as if keen to move to their ‘aim’.  The rest of my journey was beset with discomfort…but that did not matter to me. I thought, and some more, of these people I just rubbed shoulders with.

Their Faith and Hope were two factors that aided them. They were the reasons why the people did not shout back, or give in to their fellow passengers’ coaxing. Not, the fact, that they had no business being there. They were just there for a different purpose. Nothing else mattered.

The next day word spread fast that there was a stampede at the railway station. True to their lot, the newspapers threw up pictures that elicited sympathy, fear and pain from the readers. My thoughts went to my co-passengers from the previous day.

A few questions, remain with me: when authorities know it for a fact that this is to happen, why not plan for it in advance? Perhaps the answer lies in the sheer multitudes of our country; perhaps, in the inability and lack of foresight of those in power.

P.S: Am glad this post sees the light of the day. It stayed half-written, for a few days…and how I writhed in disgust towards self. Everything has a time; A Time when it happens…a book half read, a draft half written…a word untold…comes through, eventually.

Thoughts ~ #1 : The Monkey Video

 It’s Sunday, February 24, 2013, and I have a few things on my mind.

How do I get back to that one page I wrote on my journey of sorts, by train early this month; how do I upload this video on Facebook (taking donkeys years now!) and ‘I-can-sense-an-itch-to-write/been –long’ kind of thoughts. Rummaging through my mind…preventing me from taking an afternoon nap. (yes!)

Head’s throbbing for I intentionally forsook my medicine for the day…these above, need some sorting first.  Everything else, can wait.

Sorting my thoughts, not in the above order, though.

 #1: The video

Early today morning, I heard the familiar ‘damru-dugdugi’: a small two-headed drum, one sees Shiva, the Destroyer hold in His Hands (my favourite of the lot!).

Yes, ‘twas the man with two monkeys…atop his cycle. Vying for attention of children…in all the houses lining the road, he keeps walking.

Then the inevitable happens.

They begin to run out of houses. Screaming. Yelling in excitement.  Their parents exchanging glances that say ‘fetch-those-pennies-out and stand-here-with him/her-while-the-show-lasts!’.

Children. They are such bundles of energy.

Three from my neighbourhood called the ‘show’ open. They stood in extreme anticipation, while the ‘madari’-monkey tamer, put his paraphernalia on show.

The two monkeys, waited for him, patiently. The children’s excitement mounted…and the money dance began.

I have watched this as a kid…many a times. Sitting atop my Father’s shoulders…best and safe, as my little heart always felt sure the monkey would not reach me there. And all that while, he would answer my endless questions.

Today, I see it from my balcony, with a camera in my hand.

And I see a different script. A testimony to the changing times.

The parents go back to their houses once the show starts. The maids, helpers, take their places. The script that the monkeys dance to, has undergone a sea change- they have begun to show traces of domestic (though light-hearted and with pun) violence.  It is fun, as it used to be…the regular dance, ‘tamasha’, and songs. Claps follow. Children chatter. The show ends.

I ape the media in a way…or the average passer-by to any such drama. I have a camera, and I shoot. From a distance, I choose to watch what happens…as it happens…and I storify it now.

Perhaps, we as human beings are taught to ‘watch’ in silence. Perchance, that parent who has asked a helper to switch his/her place, needs to be there, to explain. To assail fears that the children experience…to answer questions, that barrage their minds.

The children are watching…and they are learning. Picking it all up. Their psyches are working big time, engraving these implicit messages.

And then there are monkeys...

P.S.: The video has taken all its while to upload. I will share the URL once it is up. Until then, tell me what you think

As Grandma puts it…From My Grandma’s closet

A True Tale of Tic, Tac and Toe

It was a cold wintry day when the three ran from door –to – door, looking for what they liked best. They would leap at each other the moment one tried to snatch the other’s share. Not only had they marked territories for ‘butter-hunting’, but also for ‘storage-of-the-sweep’ of each day. They would dig and dig, deep within the womb of the Earth, until they would be left panting and gasping for breath. They dug for their ‘storage’, where each would safely keep their loot until the next time they felt hungry.

Though they were sisters, they looked as dissimilar as possible- Tic, Tac, and Toe, the meanest cats around the “Buttermore” neighbourhood.
Today, however, was a different day for the three. It was winters for almost a month now, and the each had stocked up quite a ‘paw-ful’ of butter-soft, white butter, that smelled like heaven. What made today an important day of their lives was the fact, that Tic had been conning her other two sisters. She stole their share while they slept by the chilly nights, for almost two days now.

Tac and Toe did not quite realize what their little darling had been up to! Each evening, when they had their fill from their share, and buried the remaining under the Earth, they headed for the nearest barn to spend the night at. Tic, who always kept an open eye, on how much butter her elder sisters kept away, could not help but dream of laying her paws on it all.
Around midnight, when Tac and Toe would be fast asleep, snoring away to glory, Tic would tip-toe out of the barn, and head straight to the moor where the pits-of-butter were.
The day before when she tried for the first time, she was scared. “What if Tac and Toe arise from sleep?”, she thought to herself as chills ran down her spine. She dispelled all such thoughts from her head with the signature wave of her paw and let out a half-mocking mew as she crossed the stream that separated the barn and the moor.
She ran past the row of houses, the blacksmiths’ and the dairy, pausing for two seconds at each, to ferret out any fish bones, milk packets, or fruit peels from the bins left uncovered by the lazy owners.

She reached the moor soon enough, and began to look for the ‘spots’. Having found the two mounds, she dug and ate a bit from both the pits. She covered them as before and wiped all traces of butter off her whiskers. She trotted back to the barn and slid below the hay cover she used as a sheet during winters.
The next night was easier. She left the barn a little after midnight, and ate her fill. She redistributed the butter from the two pits so that Tac and Toe would think they still have their original stocks in place. She was becoming a master at this.
How smartly she chided Tac and Toe the next afternoon, for doubting that their butter stocks dwindled. ‘Moles, dear sisters!’, she chimed, ‘do not forget, moles are in plenty here!’
The other two were left thinking on how old they were getting for having forgotten how much did they ‘put’ the earlier day. They even started doubting each other for stealing off the other’s share of hard-earned butter.
All to Tic’s content and pride in her stealthy ways.
Today was the afternoon of the third day. By now the additional dollops of butter that she tucked in resulted in a slight bulge in Tic’s tummy. She even walked a lazy walk owing to the bit of weight she had put on. While her sisters hunted for their share today, Tic chose to bask in the sunlight. Sunlight was a rare event in the winters and besides that, her tummy was more than full!

Seeing Tic so laid back, Tac and Toe started thinking upon what led her to that. She was one naughty sibling of a cat who would always prance and run about to snatch half a paw from her elder sisters’ share or loot.
‘I have my doubts on the little one’, said Tac to Toe, waxing her whiskers.
‘To be honest, Tac, I too am thinking! I have been observing Tic is too happy-go-lucky during our loot today!’, said Toe to Tac.
Meanwhile, Tic lay blissfully unaware of all of this. She tossed and turned from side to side as she felt too lazy to move. She struck at the wasps and fleas that sat on her fur.
When Tac and Toe came to their mounds to dig the pit up, they saw a whisker in their respective piles of butter. So they immediately understood that this was not the doing of moles!
However, they did not utter a word. It was evening by now, and all three ambled back to the barn after they had their dinner’s share of the butter.
Sitting by the fire that night, Tac and Toe hatched a plan. They would take turns to stay awake and see what happens in the dark of the night. Tic, on the other hand, remains blissfully unaware of her scheming sisters.
They all sleep by ten. Around midnight, Tic stirs in the hay-stack bed. Tac and Toe pretend to be fast asleep, although they were wide awake. Tic gets up from bed, turns around to see whether her sisters are asleep, turns around one last time, and tip-toes to the gate of the barn.

She runs at light-speed! She crosses the blacksmith’s, the dairy, the houses in a row, and reaches the moor. She turns back yet again, for she could here some one following her at a distance. She hushed all fear and doubt within her with the same signature wave of her paw. She ran for the mounds, and dug both up one by one. She ate her fill. She covered the mounds, and as she was in a hurry, she forgot to redistribute the mounds this time around.
All this while, Tac and Toe had been following every movement of Tic. However, they ran before she could spot them prying on her. When Tic returned to the barn, she found her sisters fast asleep, just the way they were when she had left for the adventure.Next morning, when all three woke up, Tac exclaimed she is too hungry and that they should rush to the moor to eat some butter. It was while the three ran to the moor that Tic realized she had forgotten to redistribute the butter in the two mounds. She felt paralyzed for good reason. Her sisters would never ever spare her if they discovered what had she been up to!

She somehow managed to keep her calm.
They reached the barn, and Tac and Toe dug their piles up. As they had expected, they found that the mounds were half-eaten!! They mewed with anger, and purred incessantly! They rubbed their claws against the Earth!
Tic almost lost her breath. She looked up to the sky to look for some excuse. She did not know what would happen next.
She had an urge to run away from the moor, yet she knew she could not go far. Her sisters would get hold of her before she would manage to cover half the distance of the moor.
Tac spoke up, ‘ Tic, we know what you have been up to lately! And you are done for!!’, she said. Toe purred, ‘ We are not going to spare you! Had you asked us for some, we would have gladly shared it with you! You chose to steal, and now you shall have to pay!’
Tic froze in her tracks! Tears welled in her beautiful emerald button-like shimmering eyes. She mewed and mewed until she broke into uncontrollable sobs. ‘I am sorry, said she, ‘ I got greedy and wanted to do some mischief. My idea was not theft. It was adventure!’ She continued to mew softly, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

The sight of their little sister weeping mellowed Tac and Toe to some extent. It was just another few minutes before they chose to forgive Tic for her mischief and made amends.
The three sisters happily ate their breakfast, and basked in the Sun for a while before returning to the barn. Least did they know that the Vixie, the wicked vixen eavesdropped on all of this today afternoon!
She thought to herself as she reigned in her greed upon seeing three fat cats, ‘Woah! What a royal meal this would be for me and my family! Three fat cats!!’
That night, while the three sisters slept at the barn, unaware of their fate the next morning, Vixie the vixen planned her move.
At day break, Tic, Tac, and Toe brushed their furs and left for the moor, singing happily. Stopping by the stream, they could not help but admire their fine furs and sharp features as they gazed at their reflection in the sparkling stream. After they had had some nuts from the tree nearby, they ran to reach the moor.
They dug up their respective mounds and ate some butter off them. Tac and Toe each gave some share of theirs to Tic as a gesture of love. They all sang their favourite songs from the old times, when all at once, Vixie charged!
‘Hahaha! I have you for my dinner ladies!!’ she said, and the three poor cats froze to death.
Vixie inched forward, while they moved a step behind, for every step that Vixie took towards them.They were so very afraid that they could not run. Tic began to cry. Toe and Tac looked at each other and resolved that they shall not be dinner to Vixie tonight!
With lightening speed, Tac and Toe sprang upon Vixie. She hit them with her claws while they fought with her. Tic saw this and stopped crying. She ran and started pushing Vixie towards the pits. Vixie resisted. However, being attacked from three sides confounded her.
She struggled, wrestled and wriggled to free herself from their grip, though all in vain!
As they kept fighting, they did not realize that they had come very close to the pits. One step to the right and all would fall in! Tic alerted her sisters with her characteristic mew! They reversed their stance and with a sudden push, shoved Vixie into the deepest pit of them all!

Deep down, when Vixie fell into the pit, the three could hear her faint screams. They took one last look at the pit, before they covered it with mud and straws. That would surely see the end of Vixie, and also to all the troubles of the little animals she preyed upon!
Proclaiming their victory over evil with loud purrs and mews, Tic, Tac, and Toe returned to the barn, happy to be together and safe under their roof.
‘All is well that ends well!’, said Tac. Toe mewed in agreement while little Tic put her arms around her sisters and tucked herself in between the hay-sheets.

‘Good night’, she purred. Tac and Toe responded with a smile and a wag of their tails.

Oft' I Ponder

Neither trite, nor strife.
Neither trifle, nor vengeance.
Not of anger or despair,
Not unfair and not disdain.
Not of trouble, or of pain.
Such it is not.
But of penance and of hope,
Of truth, apology and love.
And of gentleness it is.

A May Affair

There is this strange lull in the times of this otherwise hyper-activity phase of merry-making. It is this deathly stillness that we the residents of Dreamorperish fear the most.

All of us dislike them but I hate storms.

No, not because of what havoc they are capable of wrecking…not even because of the dust that waits for you to sweep it out of your house, your room or portico. Not even because of the trees that fall, buckling to the fatal blow of the ghastly wind.

But because of the memories that every storm brings along with it. The memory of the day when Christopher-the Bamboozle knocked at my door.

Centuries of conmen put together would fall short of describing what gut Christopher was made of. He was the champion of his trade. Swift of hand and quick of tongue, this heavily built man was by far the most courteous of his tribe though.
It was his easy charm juxtaposed with a true cold blood manner that aided him on his trails for hapless victims.

Just as I sit waiting for my tea to brew strong enough, my thoughts float back to the day. The day of the raging storm that knew no end. The day Christopher-the Bamboozle knocked at my door…and they day he confessed his dislike for me.

It was a stormy August afternoon in the country side of Dreamorperish. Marked by the typical lazy Saturday afternoon, it was a day to just sit back and catch up on some sleep, read a book or listen to some of ones old favourites on the radio.
All of a sudden, stormy winds started blowing, the winds howled, the trees swirled, the rooftops sounded with the pitter patter of raindrops…which soon gave way to thunder showers.
The sky darkened as if Divinity had spurted vicious, black ink on to the sky. No birds chirped. No crows croaked. The streets of Dreamorperish were de-peopled and I had this inexplicable stir in my head. Something seemed to be amiss. What was it, I was not to learn until about another hour.

I sipped some water and headed for the bed. Pulling over the sheets on myself, I prayed for the stormy rage to subside. Something told me it portends a not so happy event.
I slept for a while, not long before I heard the knock on the front door. I curled up in bed…not wanting to go out. Knock again…twice …thrice…with an ever increasing intensity.
No, I cannot ignore those hammerings on my door! I get up and go out to check who that is…I have been nursing a headache for two days now…something tells me I must not go.
I fight every instinct, resolute to go give the one who disturbed me a good piece of my mind. The storm is at its peek. It knows no end…

Christopher standing at my door…with a butcher’s knife…screaming to be heard in the midst of that storm.
“I have come to kill you, Harris,”, said he, mad with rage. I do not know the reason for his anger.
He aimed at me…whilst I duck to escape the blows he dealt with that abominable knife.
I rushed back in to the house, with Christopher close at my heels.
I screamed, but no one listened. No one came to my rescue. Oh! The storm was to blame.

He deals another blow, and now I run behind the parlour, all around the table. Christopher keeps striking…he is not the one to exhaust and stop.
“I have come to kill you Harris”, says he again. Now I have reached the rooftop…hoping against hope that some one hears my screams. Oh! The fools are all huddled inside their homes.
I know I am cornered. Christopher knows it too…slowly, but surely, he inches towards me.
I still remember that look in his eyes from the day he came to kill me. There was disgust in those black, fiery eyes. They burnt with rage! Rage for me…what for, I am yet to learn.

My end is near. I await the final blow…and then Christopher speaks, “Harris, it is not for no reason that Dreamorperish town calls me mad. Why I come to kill you, I am sure you know”.
The storm is going strong and he has to scream even harder to get his words across.
“But Christopher”, I try to make him see reason, and he hushes me with a wave of his hand. “Hush, you fool”, says he, and strikes. I can feel that knife cut deep into my heart…I scream but no one comes to my rescue.
I am incapable of uttering any more words…and he is quiet too. He strikes again…this time my head bears the blow. I am bleeding all over…and screaming, as if I am possessed. Christopher has pinned me against the wall and counts every time he stabs into me. I cannot talk. The storm is still blowing and going strong. I cannot talk. Christopher is mad, so he has no words. Our eyes do the talking.
While his flash anger and inexplicable frenzy, mine flash the look of one who is lost. He is the vanquisher, and I am the vanquished. There is fear and upheaval in my eyes. The look of a dying man, who has no one to his rescue, is no different from a rebellion of sorts…if it were in him, he would strike back…if it were in me, I would devour the very being of Christoher. But I cannot move now. I am on the floor…breathing my last. Christopher, sitting by my side, and weeping. It is not without a reason that the rest of the town called him mad.
Suddenly he strikes me again, one final blow dealt to me, and I am a dead man. However, not before my final words to him. I promised I shall be back, wherever he was, to avenge my death. I am dead now. I am lying in a pool of blood.
The storm still goes strong. Christopher is planning his escape, and he is successful in managing one.
I hate to see myself lying like that. So vulnerable, so helpless. A part of me is still crying for help. The storm is finally settling down to mild howls, whispers and whistles.
It is not before a week that the local police discover me. Thanks to old Mrs. McKenzie who reported by absence…I still remember her savouring those afternoons when I read to her after she was forsaken by her son.
A prayer has been said, the soothsayer has laid me to rest. The people of Dreamorperish have wept a tear or two, and some even forgotten me. But I have not forgotten that fateful storm. I have not forgotten my promise to Christopher. I still writhe at every storm that blows past Dreamorperish. Sitting on the rooftop of my house, I keep looking for Christpopher. I shall return for him. I am a man of my words.
Oh! The disgusting storm, it will halt now, only to throw up images from that day. Chrishtopher, I am right here, awaiting that knock on my door…every passing storm, every possible day.

P.S: These words are an attempt at a technique of storywriting/general writing...to write from differnt perspectives. More to come from time to time.

The Stranger on the Platform

It was a regular Thursday. Like any other-work interspersed with thoughts about life and beyond. Some more work, and then plans to reach the station on time.
I had a train to catch, with a right foot that causes me to limp occasionally.
It was at a quarter past six that I decided to finally 'pack up' and leave. Early though t'was, but considering my not-so-mobile condition, it was clearly time to go.
I found myself at the platform at 1930 hours, on the dot.
Catching the 2210 hours, Lucknow bound Lucknow Mail, and waiting on platform no.16 is like second nature to me by now.
Some rajma-chawal priced at Rupees 20 for a 320 gram packet ( I could not help but read it, as the price was mentioned so big and clear) came to my stomach's rescue.
1945 hours, it was, and I was sitting on a bench. Cold winds blew and the winter chill made the few people (waiting for the train or preparing to go to sleep for the night) hanging on to every word the announcer uttered, shiver.
Not many people for that time and platform though.
I usually enjoy watching the on-goings at the railway station; each announcement reminds me of episodes, places, people and triggers countless thoughts in my head. Simply put, I do not struggle to while away time.
So, I plugged myself out to the tune of some Hindi melodies from the days of yore, when all at once I realized I am being ‘watched’.
Adept at it now (by virtue of the ‘over-protective and respectful sentiments” of our men folk towards women), I chose to look away…thinking whether I should get up and leave.
A few minutes passed and I quite forgot about it as the radio beckoned me yet again. After some time I threw a careless glance at ‘the spot’ and the stranger was gone. I heaved a sigh of relief.
Phew!
I was in for a bit of a shock as I turned my head the other way. The stranger was standing right in front of me, asking whether I could move to one side and give him some space to sit down.
Considering there were other vacant benches nearby, my first instinct was to bluntly refuse or even walk away.
I thought for a second, and made some place for him, plugging myself out yet again.
It was then that I realized that the stranger was trying to initiate small talk with me.
Announcements and pushcarts were the only other sounds that broke the silence there. I unplugged the radio and asked him to repeat what he had just said. Here I shall try to quote our conversation, almost verbatim:
Stranger: Madam, where are you going?
Me, quite nonplussed: wherever my train has to take me!
Stranger, trying to carry the conversation on: Madam, still, where to? Which train?
Me: To Lucknow; Only one goes from here and I know which one is it. Thanks!
Just as I was about to plug myself out yet again, he said,
Stranger: Madam (with some hitch in his voice, as he must have sensed my discomfort)…
Me: Yes?
Stranger: Actually madam…
Me, thinking to myself whether I should just get up and leave…who all can I summon for help,…
Stranger: So madam, don’t mind please, actually…I was observing you for a long time…
Me: Yes. Okay…
Stranger: Madamji, actually I am an army man. Madamji I saw you sitting alone here on this platform, only woman…and the police in that corner (he pointed to a far end of the platform) are not too sober. They made me leave my bench there, hurling expletives madamji. So I came here, as I saw you sitting, just to sit or stand by your side to keep you safe.
Goes on, and madamji, I have seen life, and many people, I can understand who is what kind of a person. So please do not mind, I just came in case we have a situation here.
Me, smiling: Ah! Yes, I can see you are an army man (his hair cut, posture and way of sitting cross-legged gave him away).
Where do you come from and where do you go?
Stranger: From J&K madamji, and I am going to Howrah on T.Duty.
Me: Okay. Where from, in J&K?
Stranger: From Uri madamji.
Me: Oh. It must be rather cold up there?
Stranger: No no madamji, not very, just a little below zero at times…and we are all used to it.
(He smiled)
I felt humbled by that remark.
Stranger: So madamji, are you from Kashmir?
Me: No, from Uttarakhand, though I was born and brought up in Lucknow.
Stranger: Oh okay madamji.
(On some second thoughts)…are you from an army background?
Me: Well, yes and no. A lot of my family and friends and their family have and still serve in the Army.
Stranger: Ok madamji. So you definitely know a few names of divisions and units?
Me, laughing: Are you trying to test my knowledge?
Stranger: No madamji. Nothing like that. I trust your words. (Smiles)
Me: Thank you. I understand. (I too reciprocate his smile)
Stranger: Madamji, an army man has traveled far and wide and as one I have seen the world and life from close quarters. We do a lot for our country and countrymen, but we do not get the respect we should, madamji.
Me: I quite understand your words and your sentiments behind them. I am with you on this.
Stranger: Yes madamji, it shows you understand.
(By this time more people had started getting on to the platform, and there was quite some hustle and bustle. I had not cared to check the time off late. Some people I noticed were staring at the two of us talking.
Soon, a middle aged man walked by, and asked us to shift and give him some space to sit too.)
The stranger and I resumed our conversation.
Stranger: So madamji, when we come to civil life, we find it difficult.
Me: Yes. I understand.
Stranger: We are honest people madamji and people just want to make fools out of us. This, when all we want from the Nation is some respect.
Me: Yes, I understand. I truly can.
Stranger: So madamji, I am also happy that this time our General saab is an infantry chap.
First time for the Army madamji. He is a very good man madamji.
Me: Ah. (smile)
The third person: Ah, so you are both from the Army?
Stranger: I am. Madamji has family and friends/their family who have or are served/serving the Nation.
Me: Yes. (smile)
All: smile
The third person: The Army, it should really be respected. The army men do a lot for us. High time we acknowledge them and respect their gesture towards the Nation, towards us.
Stranger, smiling: Madamji also thinks that way.
Me: Oh, absolutely. We should move away from jingoism though, and feel more often and in a non-contextual way. Yes!
Stranger: Yes madamji. (smiles)
The third person: Very true. (smiles)
Also, there is some not so good news about the Army lately. Not a very nice thing.
Me: It is with every organization. Exceptions are always there. But why don’t we focus on the good instead…it clearly out weighs the bad?!?
Stranger: Yes madamji. Yes…we have a good General Saab now. He is taking good care of us. These things keep happening. We try not to lose our morale at such times. Our officers help keep our spirits high.
Me: (smile)
The third person, smiling: Nice to hear that from you. Good. We are happy to know that.
(Announcer: Train so and so, from NDLS to Howrah to depart 3 hours late than its scheduled time of departure, from platform number 14. We regret any inconvenience caused to you by this.)
It was 2100 hours by now.
Stranger: Okay madamji, I will go now. My train is at 0030 hours, but I must go.
Me: yes, you must go to the designated platform. It was nice talking. Happy Journey.
Stranger: Okay madamji, same here. Happy Journey to you too.
Jai Hind madamji.
Me: Jai Hind! (smile)
The third person, smiles: Okay (waves to the stranger)
(The stranger smiles and leaves)

The third person: Amazing sentiment. We definitely need to respect them more.
Me: Yes! The Nation must!!
The third person: So, what about you? Where do you study/work?
Me: I work with the TATAs.
The third person: Oh! Another great organization. A few of the honest ones at the top. Good!
Me: Yes.

It was 2115 hours by now. My friends came calling so I took the third person’s leave.
After a few minutes passed, the train chugged into the station. We boarded and got ready for our journey.
I do not know whether the stranger understood that he was preaching to the convert all this while...or rather he did...for he singled the third person out in the conversation...including me in most of his assertions.
I was quite dazed for most of the time that night. There are some moments in life when you cannot quite figure out why or how something happens. You just sit dazed through them, trying to make the most of these poignant moments.
It was one such night.
It was quite a Thursday. Unlike any other!

- On the night of 20th January, 2011 @ the New Delhi Railway Station.