Trains In Rains

 

The summer heat had gone. I had a blissful sleep. Rain.  I woke up and left for work at 7. 

Taking a rickshaw to the station is a classic. 

Rickshaw fellow : sir, please give exact change. 

Me : bhai, no! Exact plus more. 

He had to take a detour because a tree had fallen on our regular route. 

I watched school children walking very slowly to the school.  But that is a universal rule and not because of rains. Because they will return home running despite the rain. 

It was pouring. My loyal umbrella was doing all its bits to keep me dry. But along with the rains came the gusty winds. And my umbrella occasionally turned upwards as if it was thirsty and collecting rain. All its spokes straining - along with me.  So much for loyalty. 

The stairway to the station was  puddled Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!

I reached the station at 7:12.  The indicator showed the 6:47 train would be arriving soon.  Rain. 

I folded my umbrella and waited - like everybody else. Some were wearing raincoats. Few had forgotten to bring anything. And some didn’t bring one throughout  the monsoon! Somehow or other they never got wet.  Strange. 

I stood at the corner of the platform and looked for my train.  I could see few others doing the same. Heads in the air towards the tracks. The train arrived slowly as if through a mist. Like in a dream. It hooted for us idiots to stand back. Though it was late it wasn’t that crowded. But the way people rushed into the train as if it was the last train. Force of habit. There were plenty of vacant seats available, especially near the windows.  Summer was over. No scampering for a window seat.  But I stood as I always did for the first few minutes. 

Rain picked up. People looked out and then at one another. Half smiles.  Enjoying the rains but at the same time wondering if the train will reach the destination. No matter how often you travel you will always want an assurance from someone else that this city will not come to a stand still. We have the best drainage system in the world and all that crap. The truth is we are just plain lucky. 

People shut the windows but a few let them remain open. Half-checking if anyone dared to defy. College kids were glued to their phones listening to music or scrolling. Heavy rains were just an everyday affair.  

I took a wet seat. Some people were already dozing and some were pretending to be asleep so that they didn’t have to offer their dry seats. 

After several stops at other stations, the train arrived at my destination with no fanfare. Very much on time though hadn’t started on time. 

I took out my loyal umbrella and started walking towards my office thinking - would I be able to get back home even if not on time?

Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!

Refugee

 

I still feel I am unknown 

though have lived here for a while. 

I possess but do not own. 

And less I see people smile. 

The old streets look new to me. 

And colder are the warm nights. 

Tell me a place I can be

where I can sense some sunlight. 

Belittle not what you view-

I  am no stranger than you. 

Whiskey

The first sip of whiskey burned down my throat. 

It was a bit bitter as expected. 

But soon hit me hard and I was afloat. 

I drank to be socially accepted. 

In my teens it was just random drinking. 

In my middle age I learnt to savour-

unaware that I was slowly sinking,

and not doing anyone a favour. 

I thought whiskey and I could coexist. 

Telling myself it was a way of life. 

But deep I sank unable to resist. 

My mind and body at bittersweet strife. 

Amid the lies and unwanted advice -

I surface to breathe - know wise from the vice. 

Gaffe

 

He looked afraid on the stage. 

Stuttered and fumbled for words. 

And people were quick to gauge,

branding him a no-good-nerd. 

Was he really a fool,

and his stumbling act just guile?

For though his gaffes looked awful,

he could not resist a smile. 

Unaware, we fussed and cursed,

this prankster with a purpose. 

Memory Tap

 

In the hour of dawn when the moon still glowed,

I opened the rusted memory tap. 

Stories dribbled with a sputtering flow

as if woken by hiccups from a nap. 

Some were lukewarm and worth reminiscing. 

Few should have remained like a distant haze. 

Some tasted like a sweet cake with icing. 

Some left a bad taste - could not be erased. 

I switched off the tap for a few minutes. 

But I could still sense the gurgle of tales. 

I savoured all and sundry and tidbits.,

and will not let the flow stop nor run stale. 

As I soak and sink into this outpour-

my sink overflows yet I ask for more.

Shoeshine Boy

 

He calls you with a sweet smile. 

Then knocks on wood and whistles. 

All set to polish in style

with wax, cream and brush bristles. 

He could tell some funny tales

that just don’t  make boots shine. 

He would fix a shoe that ails,

and your petty daily whines. 

He knows every shoe unknown.

Just by the way it is worn. 

Beach Chair

She brings her chair to the beach. 

A flask of hot chai - her friend. 

As the morning sun glows peach,

the moon fades - its vigil ends. 

The sea takes back little sand. 

Her chair slides one inch deeper.

Today, she has time on hand. 

Nature is the time keeper. 

Walkers pass by, wave from miles. 

She squints  her eyes with a smile.