The Red Train

Rahul got stuck at the railway signal - again. Of course, this was inevitable. After all, Atul chacha was never late. Chacha halted his auto rickshaw in front of Rahul's house at 9 a.m. He did not honk; he wasn't one of those people. Rahul, too, was bound by his own chains of punctuality. He couldn't make anybody wait. They reached the railway signal at 9:20 a.m. As he watched Rose pass by like she always did, Rahul wondered if she recognized him. It'd been almost a year since he'd been following this routine, and the red train never failed to say hello.

The 12X14 room, or Rahul's house, was perfectly neat. He had to keep it that way. He just had to. As he lay on his bed that night, he felt restless. Something wasn't right. He got up several times to ensure that the doors and windows were locked, and his bag packed for the next day. His clothes were ironed too. What was bothering him then?

The next morning was no different. Rahul looked out of the auto rickshaw at 9:20. He knew that she would greet him customarily. But Rose was nowhere in sight. "How can this be?" he asked Atul chacha. Chacha turned back and smiled, "Maybe you are ready." "Ready? Ready for what?!" Rahul asked him to stop the vehicle, and began looking for her at a terribly frantic pace. He inquired with every single soul in sight, but nobody would speak about her. What if she'd already left? He raced along the railway line to catch up with her. He raced till he ran out of breath, till he tripped over. And his eyes opened to the white ceiling of his 12X14. "Phew, a dream!" he thought to himself. He dove into a blissful slumber.

Atul chacha arrived on time, and Rahul was ready. As chacha braked his three-wheeled carriage just ahead of the railway track, Rahul peeped, and then, somehow, he couldn't sit there any longer. He sprinted towards the track and started running along it, just like he did in his dream. He saw her approaching him, and this time, he wouldn't let her go. He ran towards her. He ran and he ran. He did not stop; at least not till he was breathing.



I had taken an alternative route to office that day, and I ended up being stranded for over an hour, somewhere close to a rail line. I saw a man squatting on the side of the road with his hands holding his head, looking extremely grieved and lost. He was wearing the uniform of an auto rickshaw driver. I walked up to him and asked him what the matter was. "I'm so forgetful," he said. "If only I could remember his name." He was talking to himself. "His wife died here, exactly a year ago. Just like he did. Can you imagine?" I didn't know what to tell him, but he was completely unaware of my presence. "I took him for his daily visits to the doctor. He could never get over her death. His wife. What was her name? I think it was the name of a flower. Or was it? I'm so forgetful. If only I could remember her name."

Who Am I?

Hello darling, it's been so long. How have you been? Do you know me, you ask? But of course you do! It breaks my heart that I have to remind you, how you loved me and placed me above everyone else, how you looked for every possible chance to be with me, how you spent your days and nights in my arms. Why else would I be speaking to you today, when you don't even remember me?

It only seems like yesterday that we met, hours after you were born. Years passed by, and we became inseparable. You'd be ready with endless excuses to see me, irrespective of where you were. Your parents never understood why you enjoyed being with me, but they let us be. For some reason, they had faith in me, and they knew I'd keep you happy, which I always did. I'd sneak into your classrooms and meeting rooms to pay you a visit. Neither your teachers nor your bosses liked me, and your better half was always jealous of me, but you never cared! I gave you company both in your good times and bad - when you went for picnics with your family, after you finally received your first job offer, when you were sad about leaving college, when you were travelling places, when you were tolerating a horrible movie, when you were tired after a hard day's work, or when you were sick. In some of our meetings, I'd take you to mysterious places with unknown faces, and you'd love those journeys. Oh, how I miss those days!

Sweetheart, I know I've been mischievous now and then, but I never meant to hurt you. I didn't realize that hide-and-seek with me would torment you so much, when you always enjoyed the game with your friends. I was just being playful, I swear! At times, I'd arrive late to see you, but only when you reeked of coffee, which I cannot stand. Then, there were days when I lured you into spending more time with me, and you ended up being late for work. Yet, that was only when I thought you really needed to be with me! Those mysterious journeys I accompanied you on, might have been scary at times, though my part was only to take you there. The demons belonged to you, and I'm sorry I couldn't take them away. Maybe I wronged you with my childish misconduct, and that's why we aren't together anymore.

Too many barriers stand between us today - barriers made of anger, tension, anxiety, and stress. I can no longer hold your hand, let alone embrace you like I used to. This is but a last attempt of mine to bring you back to me. I want you in my arms, but not when it is too late, and your body is cold and lifeless. Because then, even though you will be with me forever, I will not feel the warmth of your presence or hear the sound of your heartbeat. My love, I know you can still hear me. Please, darling. Please come back to me.

Monday Grief

Mondays can be good only if you are not working. Finally, you have five days of your "me" time when you do whatever the hell you want! But if you are working, you can pray that your boss is on leave (yeah right, like that'll happen!). Aah, sometimes I wonder what a privilege not-having-a-job could be, but then, you know, too much of sitting around could be...ehh bad for me? Oh what the hell, there could be nothing like it! I'd sleep and sleep, I'd eat to my heart's content and grow fat (of course, never look at a mirror), I'd read, might even become a writer (who knows?), I'd watch a lot of movies and criticize them, I'd pass nonsensical judgement over people, I'd go for singing classes and yes, I'd take up gardening. What say? Too much?

Anyway, so this is what it is - my blah working Monday! Did I want to get up from my comfy bed? Hell no! In fact, my half-asleep brain was praying for one of these at 8 in the morning:

• a bout of fever
• a sprain
• a Bharat bandh
• a natural calamity
• an extraterrestrial invasion
• a surprise visit from my parents (sob!) 

And what did I get? An autorickshaw strike. Yes.

We all know that Mr. Edward A. Murphy, Jr. had resolved to make everybody's lives miserable. What we don't know is about his special interest in agonizing my life. After a marathon of Poirot episodes till late Sunday night, I just couldn't beckon enough muscles in my body to move, and my eyes were like two blobs of burning coal - red and black with few white ashes here and there. Obviously, I did not want to drive to work. C'mon God, this is the least I could ask for! Well yes, I could have just called in sick, and done without any of the above catastrophes. But you see, here's where the 1234th rule of marriage (something called ethics?) plays its card. I'll say no more.

Well well. Thanks to the strike, I had to drag my reluctant self and my poor two-wheeled carriage to survive yet another episode of Bangalore's pothole-infested, noise-polluted, dust-covered fury. And here I am now, cheering myself up with a few randomly penned words synchronized with Bollywood music, totally ignoring the throbbing sensation in my head (God, I need some food and sleep!). On a completely not-so-different note, I could really do with that surprise visit from mom and dad.

Hmmm...so here ends part 1 of 12 of my New Year resolution no. 1 - to write something every month. By the way, I never said that "something" would be a literary piece of art.

So long, folks! Happy first working week in 2014!

Disclaimer: The above piece of writing is fictional, with no offence intended for spouses and bosses.

PS. to Disclaimer: Believe me if you have to.