I bought this ‘Exal 4 – STAR’ scented pen at Ranchi junction just to have it. Few hours later at 0011 i.e. 00:11am, I am writing this diary with this pen and waiting for the Howrah Mumbai Mail to arrive at Gomoh junction.
I am waiting outside the upper class waiting room (Gents). I prefer to sit outside. This terminology of the waiting room itself reflects so many divisions. Class, gender. I am not sure how much of casteism we have forgone but we are happy to add new divisions. Indigenous or western, I fail to understand this constant desire of people to categorise themselves.
An empty freight train have just passed through platform 2 where I am sitting and writing. The guard at the end of the train stares at me. Probably he has not seen many people writing something at midnight on a platform. People all around me are sleeping or pretending to sleep. Songs are being played from the mobile of one person who is sound asleep. It seems he was trying to keep himself awake. ‘Duniya ka gham dekha to apna bhula dala...’ catches my attention.
It’s 0039. Another freight train passes before me. The loud grumbling sound of the train makes no difference to the ambiance around me. The air is very still. The scent of the written words can be felt distinctly. A coolie is strolling along the platform. Somebody makes a sleeping vendor sell ‘kurkure’.
When I see all the people around me, they seem to be venerable and innocent. Every person at the end of the day just requires a 6 feet by 3 feet space to sleep. One man in his early 20’s is standing before me and pushing some buttons on his mobile. He asks me,”Aapko kanha jana hai?” I reply dryly,” Mumbai”. He nods and goes back. Anyways, where was I? At the ‘end of the day’ problem. I am remembering a story in Bal Bharti or Kishore Bharti, where a man can own as much land as he can run on a single day. At the end of the run, the man dies of exhaustion and ultimately he needed only that much land in which he can be buried. How true! The good old NCERT has instilled into many kids of my generation a strong moral sense.
The fourth freight train passes before me as it’s 0121. Announcement for the arrival of Jharkhand Sampark Kranti Express from Delhi on its way to Ranchi is being made. People from the Postal department have thrown in many bags of mails on the platform. The Sampark Kranti train has arrived. I am wishing if I can board this train and go back to Ranchi. I cannot tell you how much I love Ranchi. A girl is peeping out of the window of S1 coach. The platform has came alive now. A coolie comes to me and asks if I require his services. I deny.
One blind man is asking for directions from another man. This man picks up his luggage and holds the blind man’s arm and is taking him to the desired platform. Humanity is not dead after all! It’s 0153 and I am getting little restless. I have also observed in these 2 hours that except for an old lady sleeping inside waiting room, I haven’t seen a single female on the platform. I think they are missing something very interesting in life. To be alone at night in a remote station where anyone hardly notices you and you notice everyone else and write, its a wonderful experience. It’s hard for a girl to be alone at rural stations in night and even harder for them to remain unnoticed.
Dehradun Howrah express has arrived. I had come home from Roorkee for the first time by this train only. It’s 0203 and my train will arrive in about half an hour at some platform which I still don’t know. So, better I should go to inquire. Two people come to me and ask, “ticket idhar hi kat-ta hai?” I say,”pata nahi”. Might be, with a diary and pen in hand, I seem to be the most knowledgeable person here.
Anyways, it’s time to wrap up. Goodbye.
