The evening sun had just
given in and the sky still had its pinkish red hue on. Another train had come
in, relaxed a little and left for its next point. Tiruvalla station looked
suddenly deserted as soon as a train left. It was and is still one of the small
stations in Kerala. Tiruvalla lies on the banks of the Pamba and Manimala
rivers and is the largest town in the central Travancore district.
The Madras Mail was
running late by thirty minutes. I knew that I would easily get frustrated
waiting and I was constantly trying to kill the thought that I will have to
kill time. I noticed that most of the travelers waiting on the same platform
were families. Some of them would be boarding the same train heading for
Chennai like me.
One little boy from one of
these families came close to the edge of the platform and started pouring water
on the track while his father was trying to dissuade him. This set a cue for a
few other little boys from other families to try and do the same and they kept
pestering their parents for their water bottles.
Beyond the station’s fence,
a crow who had just stolen a fish from a fish stall was battling with a cat,
after it had inadvertently dropped its catch. The platform tea shop vendor was
into a banter with a customer, possibly a regular traveler, on Kerala
politics, while the radio in his shop was belting out some of the most
melodious old Malayalam numbers. Some of the best lines in the songs got sucked
in the discord of their banter and also the clatter of the vessels that the
helper in the shop was washing. The fact that I missed out on these beautiful
lines bothered me. Suddenly I realized that I was probably the only living
being who was not doing anything and that added another layer of frustration on
top what was already inside.
It became a little darker by
the time the Madras Mail came into the station. I got into the first-class
compartment and settled down near the window. The train started moving as I
slowly bid goodbye to Tiruvalla. I always
preferred the first class over the air-conditioned coach when I travelled solo.
I loved the windows that opened out and let in fresh air. One could experience nature
very closely as the train whizzed past the mountainous earth through which its
passage had been hewn out in the Ghats with lush green shrubs brushing past the
window frame. I loved the drops of water that came dripping down the window
grill after a rain and the smell of wet earth. The compartments also had doors and
thereby we could have our private space with just a few co-passengers.
To my surprise, my co-passenger
was a foreigner. He was asleep on the lower berth opposite to mine. The other two
berths were still empty. I enjoyed the beautiful view through the window and
the rhythmic music emanating from the tracks. In the fading light coming
through the window, I saw him move and stretch his hands and legs. “Hi. I am Matteo”,
he said and extended his hand in greeting me. “I am Roy. Nice to meet you”, I responded
with hesitation. He sat up and switched on the lights. He looked dull and run down
and that made me a little tense. A doubt that he may be drunk ran through my
mind and disturbed me. Matteo lit a cigarette and started smoking. His hands
shivered as he held the cigarette and let out a stream of smoke through the window
into the darkness. I did not protest on the smoke accumulating in the compartment.
I normally would proactively start a cautious conversation with a co-traveler,
but here I hesitated even for that too.
“I believe you are on a
tourist trip in Kerala. How do you find the place?”, I pitched in. Matteo was
looking out through the window and took time to make eye contact. “Absolute
beauty of a place. I am from Germany and I love Kerala”, he replied with a
vague smile. “How about your family? They have not come with you?”, I asked. There
was silence while both of us caught the attention of a few kids waving to us
from fields that went past. “I am single again”, he said. I did not want to
probe any further as there arose a tendency in me connecting his depressive demeanour
to probably a troubled personal life that he was into. I decided to digress a
little. “I am sure you would be having a plan to see the best places here, like
the Periyar National Park, the backwaters of Alleppey, the Sree Padmanabhaswamy
Temple and other places”, I said. “My ex-wife gifted me this beautiful watch
last week”, he said. What I had thought about him was right. “You still meet
her. That’s nice”, I said. “Yea. We went up the Nebelhorn mountain last week on
my birthday. She is still concerned about me. She loves Kerala. I promised that
I would take her to a few places here. She will be coming tomorrow to Cochin”,
he said as his face suddenly illuminated with a faint smile from the melancholy
that it had been soaked in. There was silence again as Matteo lit another cigarette and looked into the night. The train moved at a rapid pace
with its rhythmic music. We reached Ernakulam and Matteo got up. He wasn’t steady
when he stood up. “You have a safe journey”, he said and stepped out into the
night. I wished him a happy time ahead.
Although I gave him a warm
smile as he stepped out, Matteo actually left me in a daze. To me he appeared
lost but I was not sure if he was lost in love again. I was also single then.
It was the early 90s and India for me was still a country holding on to
traditions and arranged marriages, at least in the social circle that I swam
in. How could someone separate in a marriage and then accept a gift from the ex-wife
and also take her to places that she wanted to go?
Two years later, when my
marriage was about to happen, since both me and my wife were from the same
school, we thought it would be good to go together to invite the teachers. We had
been in same school with me as one year senior to her. We both were into serious
academic pursuits and we had hardly talked to each other. Our families were known
to each other for many years and that was how the marriage took shape. But
still, our parents debated and mulled for at least a week about our going together
to invite the teachers. At school, the teachers also asked us questions on the
same lines, whether there had been any romance at all between us, as they hadn’t
seen anything in the open.
Thirty years have passed.
Today I see a different India, a different youth and a different older
generation trying to come to terms with this change. It’s as though we have all
moved towards what Matteo was touching upon thirty years back. Today it’s not a
big thing. It seems to be happening everywhere around us. Nothing seems to be an
issue as long as things finish well. The only catch would be the thrill in the ride
till the end result shows up.
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