Chennai Chronicles

An unbearable stench fills my nostrils even as I enter the platform, understandably excited about the impending journey. It's been a good year and half since my tryst with the Indian Railways and I was looking forward to it. The train has always been an interesting experience, planned and orchestrated to the minutest detail or genuinely and honestly random, unexpected, spur of the moment sojourns across the length and breadth of the country. A platform for strangers to meet, a bogie of love and hope, a path(a track)to a new beginning.

Of all the times I have travelled in a train, and I have travelled a lot, this is only the second time I am going AC. I have travelled in a sleeper coach with a bunch of African nationals, sharing my reserved seat with them, packed to whole 10(more if you count their mammoth sizes) in a coupe that was designed to accommodate only 6, eating their smelly canned fish, chatting them up, smelling their African sweat and leaking my own(Well, sweat of course). I have travelled from Hyderabad to Bangalore, ticketless, was caught while admiring my brand new whisky flask, charged for drinking onboard a train and shoed from this end to that, from one corner to another till there was nowhere else to go.

I have gone from Hyderabad to Goa, from Hyderabad to Ooty, relinquishing my reserved berth for a seat by the door experiencing those things that only a train journey can provide; Massive waterfalls and little rapids, high mountains and low hills, vast planes and little dark tunnels, the wind in my hair and the scenery in my eyes. And here I am once again, walking down that familiar platform, sitting in that familiar bogie, chukk chukking away to Chennai, not for a trip, not for an adventure(well it may turn out to be one), but to witness two of my best buds lock horns(for the lack of a better expression) in holy matrimony.

Tamils cannot stop chattering, Goltis cannot get off the phone, Gujju's can't stop eating, Madu's bicker all night long. Kids won't stop wailing, husbands teach their wives life's goings on, wives play ignorant even as they play along. The smells of foods and flavors, from biryani to Battura or Sarson ka Saag, tingle your olfactory senses as the chuk chuk bandi chugs along. And in all this chaos and confusion, in this commotion, a lone boy is sitting, book in hand, window for a companion, listening and not just hearing, seeing and not just looking and experiencing and not just feeling the enigma that is the Indian Railways.

And wasn't it just moments ago when the unbearable stench of urine and goop launched an assault on my senses? Wasn't it just moments ago when I saw my train slowly but steadily rolling down the rails along the platform? Wasn't it just moments ago when its arrival had a caused a pandemonium of sorts - the aspiring and the hopeful running to fulfill their aspirations and dreams, the homesick and the desolate running to their loved ones for security and strength, coolies with baggage and people who were baggage each racing towards their destination only remotely understanding why.

Wonder what this trip has in store for me. 

The Dream - 2

His heart was racing; the blood coursing through his veins, warm as it was, seemed to have a life of its own. Gurgling with the infectious optimism that was floating through the misty air, he sat there, by her side (careful to keep a safe distance from her, wanting to get closer). Her presence seemed to brighten up his days, talking to her lightened the burden on his shoulders, and her dreams painted a riot of colors in his nights. He was in love; of that there was no doubt. Head over heels, truly madly deeply, in every clichéd, weather beaten, utterly inexplicable way one could be in love.

Her heart was pounding; goose pimples encrusted her exposed arm, accentuating her senses. Sensing a tension of sorts floating through the misty air, she sat there, by his side (careful to keep a safe distance from him, fighting off her temptations). He was smart, mature too, a little foolish and very adamant (Well, at least sometimes).  His humor was questionable but it made her laugh anyway. He was a romantic and she, a skeptic. But she could not understand, as hard as she tried, the bizarre feelings raising their heads within her that evening.

“A walk!” he said to her. “Or a movie?” he asked, and without waiting for her reply, promptly decided on the movie. There was a slight drizzle and the air was cold. Dark clouds adorned the evening sky and the sun (not to be seen) was on its way down. A walk would have been a wonderful thing to do but his heart told him otherwise. A soft, romantic movie, with a happy ending seemed far more appealing to him than the walk. Besides they could go for the walk even after the movie and that seemed like the icing on the cake to him.

“A walk…!!? “ she quipped. “Movie…!!?” she yelped. She wanted to suggest that she’d love to go for a ride on his bike but she reserved her opinion, trusting his instincts. Let the romantic set the evening up was her way of looking at it. The ride would have been a wonderful thing to do, but now that he had decided on the movie, it did not seem so bad. “Which one?” she asked. A romantic movie raised a bit of an alarm inside her, but she liked happy endings, so she ignored the blaring, beeping alarms and agreed to it.

They sat on the couch, a little distance from each other. He, gurgling with optimism, cheerful and eccentric and she, upright, tensed, slightly reserved. His joyfulness clouded his thoughts and he failed to notice his unusually quiet friend. She was glad he didn’t notice. The thought of telling him what she did not understand herself confounded her. So she did the one thing she knew and that was to focus all her energies on the movie. Laughing when the actors laughed, feeling an overwhelming sadness when they cried (but not cry herself) and feeling every emotion they felt, until she found herself staring back at her through the colored screen. The movie was his idea but he found himself to be constantly distracted, seeing the innocence of her laugh, feeling the depth in her sadness. He sat beside her, feeling her every emotion and utterly ignorant of the storm that was raging inside her.

For inexplicable reasons, she found her hand, almost involuntarily inching towards his, she felt her grip tightening around his and she was moving closer to him, pulling his arm around her, leaning onto him, resting her head against his chest. Her heart was pounding and the echoes of it resonated from every pore in her body and yet an almost eerie sense of calm was spreading through every muscle and every bone in her body. She fought for long and hard to protect herself, to lookout for her bereaved heart and in all this she had forgotten what it was to feel the comfort and the solace, a loving embrace could provide. In that moment, she did not know if she was in love, or if she wanted to be in love but she made her peace with her past and a tiny drop of tear trickled down her cheek.

The Dream

She stood there for what seemed like an eternity, contemplating if she should or should not let go of her inhibitions and take that leap of faith. The air was cold and the night dark. Countless stars adorned the sky and the moon, the moon was new and crescent. Questions raced through her mind; the answers, unfathomable, ambiguous and overwhelming. It seemed like a simple choice to make, she didn’t really have to do much anyway, but the consequences of her actions plagued her, ghosts from her past haunted her and memories of a similar happening still fresh in her mind.

Innocent! No that she was not! And yet she felt almost ignorant about matters of love and trust, of life and hope. Well, maybe she was, she thought to herself. Love and trust she had given once, unconditionally and what did she get in return? Once bitten twice shy? Damn right! Yes! Why not? No one was taking her for a ride again. She wouldn’t let them. Walls guarded her, walls around the fortress that was her heart. Innocent, pure and magnanimous that it was. Her fortress! Indomitable, impregnable and unconquerable!

How does anyone trust anyway? How does one take that leap of faith when everything around us seems to suggest otherwise. What with people falling out of love faster than they fall in to it? What with hurt, pain and hatred engulfing the world around us? Look around and you can only see lying cheating and deceit. How does one look past all of it, ignore every sign that says you are going down (and there are a lot of signs, more than the good ones anyway) and find the courage to lose themselves?

And switch to the world that is not your own, one that is a figment of your imagination, one built, caressed and nurtured by writers, big and small and look and for an answer. And again you encounter such monstrous things, men conjuring up djinns, fearful dragon riding evil kings and shrewd and cunning men and women with their insidious plans and propagandas, out to rule the world. How then do you trust and love and live happily ever after?

He tossed and turned in his bed, impatiently waiting for that beautiful woman to put an end to the endless questions in her head. Never once wavering, never taking his eyes off the gentle glow emanating from her fair skin, or her dark eyes that failed to conceal the doubts jostling for space within her, or her gentle, skeptical smile. Yes! He was bowled over by those little things that he saw in her. Mustering every ounce of courage, he tells her, “Place your hand in mine. I am not asking you for more and believe. Believe in love and life and everything nice. Believe in you and I and what we can be. Lose yourself, live for the minute, live for the moment. Take a leap of faith, here and now.” And then he stood there for what seemed like an eternity.

And ever so slowly she stretched out her hand and skeptically put it in his. And he held it gently and firmly, careful not crush her hands, but firmly enough to reassure her that he meant every word he said. His heart was racing at break neck speed; gazillion things were pounding his head as he waited for her to say something, a gesture, a word, something, anything. And that smile, that smile he couldn’t take his eyes off, angles across her face, but this time all those apprehensions, those whys and why nots and the what ifs were left behind. It was a smile that was as careless as the whispering wind, as free as the falling rain, as pure as the oceans blue.

Yes it was a dream. A dream as real as can be. A dream which had him, her, the shining stars and the crescent moon. A dream that was his as much as it was hers.

On A Rainy Night

Not a warning. Not a sign. Not even the slightest of clues. And the heavens opened up to unleash one of the greatest creations known to mankind. Rain! Oh what a wonderful thing it is. Unpredictable in its nature, indomitable in its spirit and unrelenting in its power, it can tear your world to pieces just as easily as it can mend a broken heart. The sound of those tiny droplets of water crashing against the earth is music to the ears for some and misery to some others. It is an expression of passion and piety for some and pain and evil for some others. It is selfless when it gives and sinister when it takes away. Some hide in shelters when it arrives and yet, others feel at home even in all its fury. 

He stood there without a care for the world, in awe of the nature, the spirit and the power of the rain. Soaked to the last piece of clothing on his body, dripping from head to toe, he stood there, still as a rock, listening to the deafening sound of the rain, feeling the water splashing across his face. That familiar sinking of the heart, that standing of his hair on its end, those goose bumps on his arms and legs, that familiar chill running down his spine, the oodles of energy pulsating within his body, it all came back to him and he felt alive once again. And suddenly there was a momentary emptiness where his heart should be. It was as if his heart had just popped out of his chest, acquired a pair of wings and scurried away to find its place within that one person who had come into his world, conquered his heart and refused to leave. 

He couldn't help but wonder how; the same rain had just a year before brought him such pain and solitude. And here it was again filling in him Hope - for the road ahead, as long and narrow and winding as it may be; Love - to give selflessly, welcome or not; and Strength - to hold his own and carry on, never mind the  consequences. It was this duality of the rain that fascinated him the most. What could bring happiness and cheer at one time could just as easily leave incredible pain and solitude. And it never ceased to amaze him.

But on this day, the pouring rain brought to him images of her. She was a special girl, that one. Childlike in her enthusiasm for life, fiercely independent, vociferous in her arguments, she was a high roller, much like the rain itself but for one striking contrast. She was not as benevolent and as uncaring as the rain when bestowing her love. And yet her wavy hair, her innocent smile, her adamance over trivial things, her honesty and her in your face blunt and frank opinions were all he could think of. She had come into his life quite unexpectedly but lingered on and eventually took control of it.

He stood there without a care for the world, still as a rock, soaking in every bit of one of the greatest creations known to man. Rain! Oh what a wonderful thing it is, giving rise to hopes unfulfilled, aspirations unconquered, dreams to be made true, love to be realized and life to be lived. Rain! Oh what a wonderful thing it is, intriguing, inspiring, undulating. Rain! Oh what a wonderful thing it is, caring but crushing, giving but stealing, rising but falling. Rain! Oh what a wonderful thing it is.