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"Girl in the Train" by Chitral Kumar on Sulekha at http://www.sulekha.com
7th May 1999 Satya Prabhakar [email protected]
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Girl in the Train
by Chitral Kumar on Sulekha at http://www.sulekha.com
The month of May in Madras tries the most stoic of saints. It is hot. It
is humid. Add pollution and crowded rooms, roads and trains... it isn't
exactly a holiday in Ooty. I worked in Hyderabad as a programmer and I
came to Madras a week before to spend some time with my sister's family.
I had a great time with my nieces who, I think, have a lot of affection
for me; I give them my undivided attention and I work and play with them
on their level. My brother-in-law is a good man. He is a successful
entrepreneur with an exemplary zeal for everything he does. He is
interesting to talk to; my sister seems happy with the wealth and her
status in the community; my nieces are always cheerful, yet manageable;
that is perhaps why I like him so much. I like him more than my
temperamental sister who, obsessed with jewelry and other symbols of
affluence, has never learned to be genuinely affectionate. He sent me a
round trip A/C sleeper ticket to come visit them. I was taking the train
back to the daily grind and a hotter, but less humid, Hyderabad.
As I was about to bend down to place my suitcase under the seats in the
air-conditioned coach, I noticed a streak of dazzle walk by outside the
compartment. All men -- particularly 24-year old young chaps like me --
have a highly sensitive, always-operational radar that spots and tracks
beautiful girls with ease. I quickly nudged the suitcase under, got up
and strained my head to see where the streak of dazzle was headed. She
was outside the door of my compartment talking to the coolie and paying
him the money. I could only see a part of her two slim arms working a
simple and elegant brown leather handbag in an attempt to fish out the
required cash. The coolie seemed happy with the tip she gave him. He
picked up the suitcases again and walked into my compartment and shoved
them under the berth opposite mine. I became tense with anticipation
knowing this girl with shapely arms could be traveling with me. I longed
to see all of her.
It was only when she walked into the compartment a few minutes later
that I got to take a good look at her. It's difficult to capture in
words the feeling one gets upon being so close to such an attractive
girl. She was, well, lovely. She wore an orangish-red handloom salwar
kameez and a matching bindi on her forehead. About 5 feet and an inch or
two. Slim but not thin. She wore her long hair with a certain ease. She
had an air of dignified calm around her as she moved in a slow and easy
manner. It's no exaggeration if I say I literally couldn't take my eyes
off her as she tried to arrange her things and settle down.
She caught me looking at her, smiled at me and quietly said, "Hello." I
recovered quickly and spoke just as softly, "Well, hi." She didn't say
much for the next few minutes and I continued reading my Hindu
newspaper.
She asked, "Are you going to Hyderabad, too?" I didn't quite expect her
to start a conversation. I replied hastily, "Yes! How about you?" No
sooner had I finished asking the question did I realize my stupid
mistake. She used the word "too" and any idiot would have known that
meant she was going to Hyderabad. She smiled softly and said, "I am
also." Her smile created two of the sweetest, cutest dimples I have ever
seen and pumped a zillion lumens of light and warmth out of her
beautiful eyes into our little space. Her eyes conveyed honesty and
affection commingled with a sense of playfulness.
[Now why did she start a conversation like that with me? The word "too."
Doesn't that convey a feeling of "are we going to be in this together?"
Didn't it also say, "I sure hope so!" This means she doesn't hate me.
She must feel that I am OK to talk to. It also shows that she is not a
snob. Otherwise, she would have just ignored me, an unremarkable guy.]
"Madras is unbearable in May, isn't it?" I posed the intellectual query.
She smiled that megawatt gorgeous smile again and said, "Yes, it is.
Glad I needed to be here only for two days." I thought for a few seconds
groping for something to say, "I am visiting my siter and I have been
here for a week. So, when did you come to Madras?" Damn, again the same
tension-inspired stupidity. If she told me already she has been here for
two days, that means she came on the 21st. She replied, "21st." Her
voice. It is so melodious and soft. I am not good at coming up with
metaphors, but her voice reminded me of soulful flute playing a merry
tune on a silent night. It seemed to jingle with laughter and the soft
flow of Krishna waters. There is something about her that is so
alluring. Definitely.
"I came to attend my grandfather's 60th birthday. This is a big event in
our family," she said, pushing her silky-sheen hair back. As she did
that, I noticed her soft, smooth hands with slender fingers that curved
gracefully whenever she held something. She asked me what I did for a
living. I told her I am a software programmer and a freelance
photographer with credits in India Today, Onlooker and Frontline. She
said she worked as a coordinator of travel services for the Nagarjuna
group of companies. We talked about our jobs and our interests. I told
her how I picked the subjects for my photography projects. She listened
intently with sympathetic eyes as I explained one particularly tough
assignment I did in the Charminar area soon after some vicious
Hindu-Muslim riots. She spoke admiringly of my talents when I showed her
a few photographs that I always carried with me. She conversed easily as
she spent as much energy listening as she spent in painting vivid
pictures of her thoughts and statements. She asked intelligent questions
about my hobby that nobody before ever did.
[When was the last time someone listened to my real passion with such
interest? All people talk about is how much money programmers make these
days and how they work in air-conditioned comfort. When was the last
time someone really admired my creative output? All they care about is
when I am going abroad and when I would be ready to start interviewing
girls for marriage. Gosh, it is so fulfilling to be with someone who
understands you. She is not only attractive but also nice.]
After about an hour or so of reading, chit-chat and my stealing glances,
she took her feet out of her shoes to put them up on the berth. Even her
feet are beautiful. Golden yellow, smooth, soft and with not one
imperfection. I felt this strong impulse to take them in my hands and
caress them. This was when I noticed she wore no silver toe rings all
married south-Indian women wear. Somehow this made me happy. Very, very
happy.
[She has placed her feet on my berth. My berth. Even though she is
sitting at the other end of the berth away from me and the window, this
gesture told me that she felt some intimacy with me. This says she
considers what's mine her's... she feels safe with me and she likes me.
Unless she felt that way a girl -- particularly an attractive girl like
her -- would never do such a thing. I imagined her placing her feet in
my lap and I was pressing them gently as she smiled with her eyes. I am
beginning to feel something for her. I want to keep looking at her. I
want to be with her.]
The sun began to set slowly in the horizon to the rhytmic sounds of the
speeding train. She took out several steel cans from her meal bag. I
told her that I needed to order a meal when the attendant came around.
She smiled and said, "If you don't mind, you can share what I have. My
grandmother made these." I said, "No, no, no. I can't do that. There
won't be enough for you." She replied, laughing, "Don't be silly. My
grandmother packed enough to feed this whole train and the next. I am
sure you will like this. Come let me help you." She served me a plate
full of delicious food. Her sense of humor and ease with which she
convinced me... She served me additional helpings and gently forced me
to eat more than I could.
[Since my mother died when I was eight years old, I have been starved
for affection; to me, the world since then has appeared as a harsh and
uncaring place. My dad got married to his mistress soon after my mother
died; I was sent off to a boarding school. Nobody, including my own
sister, seems to care for me truly. I have really been an orphan since
my mother passed away. I can never forget my mother...she loved me and
indulged me as if I were a baby. She made sure I was happy even as she
struggled with her illness and my father's infidelity. Now I am here
with this girl, a stranger, who, for some reason, seems to care if I
have eaten properly... seems to understand my passions and my happiness.
She asks me questions that make sense and make me happy. Am I dreaming
or is this real? Such a lovely girl... she said "Don't be silly!" to me.
I know I have known her only for a few hours but I think I am in love
with her. What 'think'? I am. I want to be with her. Oh, man, my heart
is aching. I don't want this journey to end. God, do something and make
the train stop in the middle of nowhere. Nothing would make me happier.]
We settled for the night. She smiled at me, said 'goodnight' as she
drifted quickly into sleep. I carefully avoided looking at her while she
was trying to sleep so as not to make her uncomfortable. Once she was
fast asleep, I didn't stop looking at her. I stared at her. I am not a
big fan of over-used expressions, but her face did remind me of a full
moon on a cloudless night casting its soft, affectionate, nurturing
light all around. As we passed over the bridge, the periodic bright
mercury lamps on the bridge shined on the smooth, youthful undulations
of her upper bosom that quivered slightly with the moving train. I felt
guilty invading her privacy. My pulse quickened and I closed my eyes to
absorb that strange feeling of being in the presence of something
divine.
[I know this whole thing is silly. How can one develop such strong
feelings so quickly for a total stranger? But, there is no point in
arguing with my heart. It is feeling something and I am not able to help
myself. I love her. I don't care what comes in my way, I will do
whatever it takes to be one with her forever. But come tomorrow morning,
we will reach Hyderabad and the time will come for us to part. I am
feeling very sad already. I will take her phone number and call her
tomorrow evening itself. I will do whatever it takes. She is kind. She
is beautiful. She is intelligent. She understands me. She listens to me.
Her eyes. Her dimples. Her perfect feet. The smooth, quivering
undulations.... To have someone like that -- no, to have her -- as mine
forever... there is no greater joy. God, help me, pleeeease. I had never
asked you for anything nor will I ever. Why is this strange feeling of
happiness and great sadness and confusion?]
I didn't sleep all night. I kept staring at her in the darkness,
thinking fond thoughts of us being together in a far away place and
feeling feelings I had never felt before. Several times that night I
ached to hold her hand in mine and kiss it and not let go. I dreamed
about placing her head in my lap and caressing her cheeks. Most
strangely, not once did my thoughts veer towards anything sexual. I just
wanted to be with her. I just wanted to hold her. That's all. Before I
knew it, the night ended.
The train slowly pulled into the Secunderabad station and suddenly the
calm in our midst was disturbed by tens of coolies who jumped into the
moving train, asking to help with the luggage. I had already asked her
for her phone number. She readily gave me her card. Her name -- Sapna.
[Sapna. S-a-p-n-a. How fitting. It matched her perfectly. She is a
dream. The dream has a name. An address and a phone number. I know her
well now. I am ready to roll. Nothing can stop me now. I am experiencing
a mixed feeling of sadness and joy and palpable excitement in my heart.
I won't see her for a while but then I have her name and number.]
We got off the train. I thanked her for everything, offered my help with
her luggage (which she politely refused) and, having nothing else to
say, bid her goodbye. I looked at her fondly for one last time, felt my
shirt pocket to make sure I still had her card and turned to talk to a
coolie. It was then that I noticed a pretty little girl run towards us.
A man behind her was hurrying too, asking the little girl to slow down.
She ran straight to Sapna, jumped into her arms and screamed in joy,
"Mummy!" Sapna kissed the girl hard several times. The man arrived
smiling happily, hugged Sapna and said, "You don't know how much she
missed you. I am so glad you are back." As they walked away, I saw her
squeeze his hand gently.
Copyright Sulekha and Chitral Kumar, 1999.
Reproduction permitted only for personal use.
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