Between Stations

With a faint touch it opens. Please stand clear of the doors.

Ah, its freezing inside. The corner, the corner. Oh no, the other corner. God bless her! She is beautiful! Utterly so! And wearing polka dots! Such a neat way to put Kajal too. And such nice locks. Like a fierce Maenad! Shelly would have written something about her. No, rather Keats, he was more likely to fall in love. Maybe I should write something about her. What’s this song?! Tum Jo Mil Gaye Ho. This song. Where would I be without this song! Navin Nischol. Such a marvellous actor! Can’t believe he’s dead. Philip Hoffman dead too. And Gabriel Garcia. I still sink when I remember he’s dead. On the day they were going to kill him, Santiago Nasar woke up five thirty in the morning.

Will I ever write something as moving as this? She looked at me! Or the boy behind me. He looks cute too. Damn, I always wanted blue earphones. Blue Is The Warmest Colour. I have to see that movie. Would download it. Those fuckers at PVR won’t release it. She looked at me again! It was definitely me. Is my fly open? No it isn’t. So she was looking at me! I’d like to sit next to her. You are such a pervert. Don’t laugh now! Alright you can laugh. You made that kid smile. I miss them! I miss them both. So meaningful every journey is in childhood. And look at me here grappling with meaninglessness. Such a long word, meaninglessness. Long words make me hopeless. The idea of not owning language, not being able to pronounce something is overwhelming. Seriously Mr Swift how does one pronounce Houyhnhnm?! Yet one has to live.

Why is she so sad? Should I smile when she looks at me? But how much should I smile? I mean what quantity of smile would do? Your small how-do-you-do smile ends up with bloated nostrils and shivering lips. And you obviously can’t slap a stranger with a full-fledged laugh. You have to learn to smile that assuring smile. Oh! She’s looking. Don’t balloon up your mouth. It looks childish. Look away! Look away!

Behold! It’s the river! And the mighty bridge. Such a perfectly hazy reflection it casts on the water. Like some cherished memory. And the river is calm lest the memory vanishes for ever. How can you keep something as it always was? And that too something as fickle as memory. I have tried. Believe me I have tried. I believe you have tried. I should write of someone dying here. I must make the death peaceful. The river’s going away. Here comes Coketown. Dickens would have loved Delhi. Doors will open on the left. Please mind the gap.

With a faint touch it opens.