At King’s Circle, the woman gets down
The first day, I hadn’t noticed her, nor on the second, or the third and for quite sometime. Then I notice her, she sits rank opposite me by the dirty window, snoozes while keeping her head on her laps. Our journey is an hour long, nice feeling when a familiar face travels along.
She’s fair like fish-fillet, her brown tresses falls over the head on her knees as she sleeps in fetal upright position. Her apparel jeans and cotton, suggest she’s a student. Her fine set of teeth make my eyes follow her. She struggles not to see me, her eyes dart on all objects in the train, the canopy, the graffiti and the bill which assures better sexual performance. She chills me in the spine, when her eyes turn gray with loath, but she sits opposite me. I learn her name is Sula Maitre from the label on her bag and feel good to know.
Last Wednesday a matronly-looking woman gets in our compartment at Bandra and she sits adjacent to the girl, they readjust their sitting position in a manner meaning to give more space to the other, but they occupy more space eventually. The woman too has fine set of teeth and I begin to notice her. The girl notices that I notice and frowns.
The woman sweats profusely, drops of sweat above her upper lips are string of pearls. She reaches over the girl and talks love things to the young man who’s come to see her off. They hold hands as the train moves, the woman frets and whimpers and the young man fade in the thick of human. For sometime, the woman closes her forlorn eyes, she’s about to cry. The girl and me watch this and acknowledge we are watching.
In a fit of fury, the woman wakes and dials and speaks into her mobile. She tells the listener she wants to elope, and she says can’t wait anymore and to hell with her husband and says she will jump off the train. The girl and me are disturbed about this, the girl gives scornful look and I am expressionless.
This goes on and the girl shuts her eyes, overhears the conversation in which neither of us have stake. I look at the electric panel, the figure of skull and bones warns of “Danger 550 Volts”. We judge the woman’s action from our viewpoints.
The woman disconnects, the bead of sweat has evaporated. I look around how many passengers hear her and fear I am protective about the woman. During the silence which follows, girl is back to the game of averting eyes.
At King’s Circle, the woman gets down and walks her way, the girl traces her movement till the flight of stairs which is over crowded.
The girl and me, travel the next day and the next to next and for sometime, she occupies the same seat opposite me, we feel the warmth of camaraderie but we don’t speak. By end of May, Sula stops coming by this local. Her curriculum over, my girl is unlikely to take this train again.
I feel terribly lonely.
__END__
