The Sleeper Class

The overhead light was in its full glory, showering golden illumination on a crowded platform where she stood with an army of family members and friends, chatting with them incessantly unaware of any attention that she drew.

She looked pretty excited. She was very fair, beautiful and appeared pampered to me at the first look. Guess what! She was traveling with her parents. Duh! She was married. Newly married! Damn! I came across a familiar face in the group who turned out to be her father-in-law. Oh! I knew him darn well. Jeez!

My idea of a clichéd nice journey suddenly appeared screwed up. I was taking a mini-break from work and on my way to attend an old boys’ meet.

My biggest problem was something else - the timing of travel. The train departs at 9.35 pm from my City which meant I would have to sleep as soon as I got on board. Not that many – why many, not any – co-passengers would have disagreed to such a proposition. But every time, I took this train, I was annoyed to see 70 percent of my co-travellers asleep. How could they?

For record’s sake, I am a near insomniac. By the time, I hit the sack, half the world, at least those in my neighborhood, is awake.

I got into the train. So did they, after an elongated session of farewell embraces and blessing dispensation.

Berth no 16!!! What the @##@??? Was that not the uppermost seat? I hated that place up there since it meant unusually cold air from the AC blower caressing me all night and every time, I got up my head would hit the cold roof of the coach. God!

“You are on 16? We have 13, 14 and 15,” said the elderly man. He appeared a nice person, pretty talkative. There he was with his wife and daughter, our Lady in Maroon.

The luggage was soon tucked away below the seats, above the head. Water bottles placed on the side grids. They had made themselves comfortable by the time the train moved away from the station. She shared the seat with her mother and I, with the father.

At least four hours earlier, when I was beginning to pack my bag, I received a text message from my friend M who was on his way for the meet. It said: On board. I have the side lower berth and a beautiful woman for company. As we sit face to face now, our legs come in contact sometimes. AHEM...

“You guys are headed for Chennai?” I shot the first volley of the conversation though I am not much of a talker.

“Yes. Her husband works there. She was home for her exams and we thought we will drop her back,” the father replied. Cool.

“What about you? You work there too?” His turn now. “Ah! No. I am meeting some old friends after a long gap. Plan to relive some good ol’ days.” I said.

I looked sideways. Most of them were merrily asleep. It was just 10 in the night, maaan!!!

“These guys sleep so early.” I looked up hearing the Lady in Maroon saying her first words. God! I finally have company, I told myself. I won’t have to pat myself to sleep now.

A mobile phone rang. I heard the “Hi.” The Hi was pretty whisperingly soft. Must have been the husband at the other end. I never understood how people managed to whispertalk over the cell phone. I almost shout.

I brought out Burnt Shadows, Pakistani writer Kamila Shamsie’s latest novel and tried to get back to the page where I had left. The train had settled into a nice speed, moving in a serpentine motion through the cloudy dense night outside.

Fifteen minutes later, I could sense the urgency. The sleep-iness was apparently getting contagious. My co-passengers were beginning to catch the virus.

I picked up my book, my head phone and climbed to the uneasy seat. I had a cold, now the AC and the cold ceiling so threateningly close. And I had to sleep since the lights are going to be off soon. Huh!

The father took the upper berth opposite me, the women took the lower ones. The Lady in Maroon right below.

I tried to read a little but it was getting difficult under the conditions. I pulled out the blanket and decided to get myself some sleep, some early night sleep. And I slept like a dog.

It was 6. I sneaked out of my bed, headed for the toilet. While traveling in trains, I always got up early to brush and refresh. That’s mostly because no one knocked the toilet doors. That also meant the toilets were mostly clean during early hours.

I returned. Everyone was still asleep. I went back to my seat. I'd lie for an hour by which time, everyone would be up, I told myself.

7.20 am. No change in scenario. I wanted tea. I wanted to spread my legs. I wanted to look what the morning looked like. But.....I pulled the blanket again.

8.30 am. The attendant came calling for tea. Finally. No one else was awake to be interested. I think the father was up but still lying on his berth. The women, still in slumber.

9.30 am. I was hungry. “Idli or bread and omelet?” I heard the attendant a few feet away. Sitting like a student in his dorm, I ate my breakfast. Still no one cared to wake up. No, I guess, the father was downstairs. And the mother was up. Lady in Maroon still in bed.

10 am. She lazed out of her seat. “What time is it?” the first salvo of the morning. Lunch time, I wanted to yell.

The cell phone rang. “Gooooood morning,” the husband again and the whispertalk started. I finally got to come downstairs and sit. Dammm, my legs were aching..

The family had breakfast and I read a little more of Burnt Shadows. "I slept a little late, did not I?" she asked her mother. I wanted to answer that question but I read on. I, at least, acted like reading and they talked on. The sequence was sometimes broken by phone calls and whispertalks.

Lunch time and we, finally, were doing something together. Fifteen minutes, and I saw people hitting the sack again and the bug did bite my immediate co-passengers too. Will sleep again? That means I will have to sleep again? Gawwd!!! But I did. I had to. The next three hours were siesta time again but when the mother shared the lower berth seat with her daughter, I got to sit with the father and read on.

At 5.30 pm when the train finally reached Chennai, I was happy the sleep-traveling had ended.

As the friends reached one after another and we began to leave for the City, one of them announced: “This re-union is happening after a decade. So no one will sleep for the next five days. This is final.” And no one was actually allowed to.

(If you think the post is very long, you are right. My apologies.)

The Storm Outside

I stood there just outside the gate and watched the storm beginning to rage. There was a strange sense of anticipation in the air which made me anxious; almost unmindful of the strong wind and the rain to follow.

I looked at the house for a moment and then searched for my cell phone in my jeans pocket.

“Would you open the doors?” I said when she picked up the phone.

“Oh! You are already here?” She asked, a tinge of surprise laced in her voice. She probably was not expecting me so soon.

I reached early, I told myself. All my life, I have been late though. I always had a strong feeling that I should have been born in the ‘50s but it too was delayed. By two decades, I think. Terrible.

“If it’s begun to rain, it must be me at your doors. I am the Rain Man, remember.” My reply smacked of my self-obsession.

I pushed open the gate and reached the porch. She was not there yet. I stood there in front of the main door. The creepers and climbers had grown longer on the wall, almost covering an entire side of the entrance gate. Soon I could feel little drops of rain on my body. Oh! It’s raining, finally. This has been such a long dry spell.

There was no sign of her yet. I stood there, looked up at the evening sky fast turning dark with clouds getting low. The wind was getting stronger, the rain drops bigger. I stood there waiting for her. Several minutes passed by. Several memories came rushing back.

“How long have you been here?” she suddenly appeared from inside the house.


I looked at her for a few moments. I looked at those deep dark eyes. “A little while ago,” I replied.

“Come on in,” she said.

For a second, I wished she had not showed up. It has been an age since I met her last. My yearning to see her, for a moment, appeared more powerful an emotion than that of the joy of meeting her.

I stepped forward leaving the storm raging outside.




I will meet you yet again


I will meet you yet again
How and where? I know not.
Perhaps I will become a
figment of your imagination
and maybe, spreading myself
in a mysterious line
on your canvas,
I will keep gazing at you.
Perhaps I will become a ray
of sunshine, to be
embraced by your colours.
I will paint myself on your canvas
I know not how and where –
but I will meet you for sure.
Maybe I will turn into a spring,
and rub the foaming
drops of water on your body,
and rest my coolness on
your burning skin.
I know nothing else
but that this life
will walk along with me.
When the body perishes,
all perishes;
but the threads of memory
are woven with enduring specks.
I will pick these particles,
weave the threads,
and I will meet you yet again…. Main Tenu Phir Milangi by Amrita Pritam

(Image: www.deviantart.com)

To Her

Love

I.

Until I loved you,

I wrote verse, drew pictures,

And went out with friends

For walks…

Now that I love you,

Curled like an old mongrel

My life lies content

In you…

Freedom

II.

You planned to tame a swallow, to hold her

In the long summer of your love so that she would forget

Not the raw seasons alone, and homes left behind, but

Also her nature, the urge to fly, and the endless

Pathways of the sky…

To love. To freedom. To women.

To Madhavi Kutty.

To Kamala Das Suraiya. In her words. RIP (March 31, 1934-May 31, 2009)

(Image: Shamim Qureshy)

The Smoke

It's always going to be between you and you. When you start smoking, you don't burn others...........