Adhutha Rail Nilayam

What’s a good job? Is it just something that pays decently well? Or does it have to be something more? Well if you think a good job is just something that pays you decently well, then you should call that number. Yeah! That number I see in front of me, printed on cheap white paper, finding its place in a small notice that has so many more details on it- nothing bigger than GOOD JOB, SALARY Rs. 10, 000 to Rs. 12, 000 per day.

Really? For one day? That too, something that requires “text messaging capability”- oh sure. I tell myself that I should call myself and find out the whole story. There could possibly be something interesting in it- well yes, more interesting than the enticingly worded notice.

But then I rebuff myself- I see this notice every day, I see these kind of notices every day and all I do is let it percolate through my lackadaisical mind. I’m like a cow sometimes- I chew what I see, sometimes unintentionally, sometimes longer than needed and I only act in dire circumstances. If I didn’t know better, I would be writing this under the bold font of Ruminations of a Lazy Cow.

Anyway, the train has now left Mandaveli station. At 7:54 am, the train does not have many commuters. I see no familiar faces, although I take this train every day. But even if I had seen familiar faces, it would take a while for it to register in my mind- you know, it has to get clearance from the cloudy security of cobwebs; so somewhere down below, you may read about a minor revelatory moment.

The biscuit fellow is missing. You see, there’s this North Indian fellow who sells butter biscuits! Freshly made with an intoxicating aroma. FRESH! Every day, I would find him on the train, with a big bucket full of butter biscuits. I have never tasted those biscuits, but just the sight of those fresh, scented biscuits was my daily boost of stringless nostalgia.

As I was saying, I do not see any familiar faces so I continue to look around and see what these early-to-go-to-wherever-they-are-going people are- OH WAIT! I removed my spectacles to wipe off the generous perspiration and my hand clashes against the back of a middle-aged gent standing in front of me. The clumsy oaf in me apologises with an equally generous grunt and a wave of the hand- as if it was his hand that clashed against my body.

He takes no notice of me though. As I put my spectacles back on, I notice that his right leg is shaking. Maybe he is humming a song and his leg is in sync with his tones- the music enthusiast in me makes an unsavoury entrance, as you can see. But quite assuredly, he seems to be in a nervous state- he repeatedly wipes his gleaming face, checks his watch (OH YES, he did not check his mobile phone for the time), and continues to shake his leg to a non-existent but catchy number.

As the train whizzes into Greenways Road station, my eyes are feasted to a fleeting glance of a huge wall painting of Sivaji Ganesan. My memory fails to place the movie this particular shot belongs to. I go to the entrance of the car and crane my neck to my left, to get a better look at the painting. But seeing that I had been lazy to get on to the car that pulled in just near the staircase back in Mandaveli, I cannot see much of the painting from where I am stationed- my eyes also aren’t the best.

But before I can concede defeat owing to my superior sense of laziness and my not-so-superior eyesight, my feet are stamped and angry voices reach my ears. Sigh. “Konjam thalli nillu pa!” and “Vazhila ninnu yaaraiyo paakaran paaru! Enna pozhapo…” I turn quickly to trace the form that gave voice to the latter comment, eager to know someone who recognized the deep potential housed in my unimpressive self. Well to me, the latter comment translates to “Nee nalla varuva!”- well YEAH! So I search for the voice… “Unnai kann theduthe….”

She has not stopped talking and hence I find her easily. She has a big basket on her head, which she carefully places on the ground. She sits by the door- on the other side, which faces not the platform, but the rails- and keeps mumbling about how she must somehow make better sales of the flowers that her basket holds. I go on tip toe to see, beyond all the heads, that she has the small, white, intensely intercalated malli poo. I can see that it is fresh. It is also moist as I can see it gleaming in the sun. She must be coming from Koyambedu I think and maybe, she will get down at Thiruvanmiyur. Maybe she has a stall near the bus terminus there.

Well if she is coming from Koyambedu, she must be late today. Usually, people like her go to Koyambedu at four or half past four in the mornings to get their goods- their sarakku. Maybe she got held up somewhere. Some problems with her business. That takes me to another lady, whom I met near Thiruvanmiyur bus depot. She sells groundnuts and makes two trips to Koyambedu market every day… what is her name? This time though, my memory arrives in good form. Single mother, Senbhagam.

I jump out of my memories onto the now heavily crowded train, as we pull into Kotturpuram. “Yayy!”, I think as this is the station where oh-so-many students get off. I realize that my car is the same- a few more have got on actually.

“Dei, adhan annikku kuduthene da?” he says, as he boards the train. “Nee onnum kudukkala, naa onnum vaangala”, comes a taut reply. They are two teenagers, dressed in identical blue pants and white-and-blue check shirts. The latter is busy watching something on his mobile phone and the former, disgruntled with the reply he received, now cranes his neck to join in on the show, with a resigned manner. “Naalikku kondu vaa da”, he says quietly, to which he gets no response.

I smile to myself- I was going back to my school days now. The best time of my life, till date, those years surely were. Even now, whenever I go via Mylapore, whenever my car breezes past my school, I involuntarily looks in its direction; whenever the train pull past my school, I look longingly at those third floor windows and at the path downstairs leading up to the canteen; whenever a bus creaks past the road leading up to my school, I take in those few seconds of bliss.

As an adult, I have many days that I want to forget. My childhood had days that I cannot remember. My forgetful memory though knows not what to do- but always clicks when school pops up.

At Kasturba Nagar station, many people get down and break the flow of my thoughts. I stretch myself (and I want to assure you that there are still no familiar faces), lean against the wall of the car and took straight into two brown eyes. She is sitting right opposite where I stand and for that one moment, our eyes met. I know you are asking, “Seri, how do I know her eyes are brown?” Brown only okay? Believe me.

She’s fair. Not too fair, but yeah, she’s fair. I don’t like people glorifying these fair women, just because they are fair. “Azhagu venum la? Colour mattum dhan ah?”, I want to ask them- but I never do. But her, as she quickly averts her gaze- no, she is different. She is slightly fair and as her eyes close momentarily, I say to myself that she is beautiful. What I actually said to myself was “Parra!” but never mind.

Just as my ruminations were picking up speed, she looked up and smiled, as a well dressed, good-looking guy sat next to her. I turned away, acknowledging defeat…

Sitting in front of them, is an old lady. She is bespectacled, has white, shiny hair, soft skin- my Paati has soft skin. She- not my Paati, I am talking about this woman on the train- is wearing a beige colour sari and is staring out the window. I don’t know… there is something calming about her. She seems… distil? I don’t know. She seems classy too. Coming to think of it, maybe this is what somebody will think when they see my mother on a train. Maybe.

As Indira Nagar station arrives, I search around in the car and zero in on this bearded man. He seems vaguely familiar. He seems well-built. He is wearing a dirty lungi and a white shirt. He seems vaguely familiar.

Who is he? My memory is slow and I can hear it running around, looking in all the unused rooms of my vastly vacant brain. FAST!, I implore and then it hits me! It was yesterday night. We were standing in my apartment’s parking lot. My dad was pushed to the wall. On his throat was a hand, firmly on his target. I was just beside my dad, looking on helplessly. My dad’s hands were held back and he had fear in his eyes as he looked at his captor. A blow to my head made my eyesight worse. As I struggled to stay up, I looked at my dad’s captor and THEN I realized where I had seen him. THEN, I realized.. but, yesterday night, before passing out, I had tried to reach that man who had his hand on my father’s throat. My right hand kept flailing, failing to reach him.

“Annaa enna panreenga?” drifted in a voice and I suddenly woke up. I seem to have dozed off. I thanked the guy with the mobile phone, who had found my drifty behaviour more interesting and had deemed it fit to arouse me from my dreamy fit.

I looked around. There wasn’t any man there who seemed familiar. But the incident from yesterday night seemed fresh in my mind. ADEI! I was having a continuation of yesterday night’s dream. Yesterday night witnessed disturbed sleep, majorly because of this guy’s antics- talk about finishing off scenes properly…I suddenly search for that girl, hoping that that guy’s entrance was a dream too. But, you know….

I get down at Indira Nagar station and walk down towards the exit. As I walk past the ticket counter, I realize that I am at the wrong station. I was supposed to travel to Chepauk, not Indira Nagar. There’s nothing in Indira Nagar for me now, just the college I studied in many years back. I am jolted when I realize I just travelled for 15 minutes without realizing that my destination was wrong. Well, you cannot say that it’s all about the journey, not the destination- no no, you cannot say that here.

I walk back up to the platform and await the next train. As I flip through my phone to see the MRTS app (yes, we still use the MRTS; the METRO is yet to arrive), I travel back to those days when I used to arrive in this very station, to make it to class on time. But before I can check the next train’s arrival timing, I get a call on my phone.

The voice says- “Sir, you had called us about a good job. We offer Rs. 10, 000 to Rs. 12, 000 per day. When can we have a sit-down with you?”