Chennai local

22Sep08

Tirusulam,Chennai

The sun at its peak , the gypsy lady gets off the train to relieve her body from the  embrace of combs, colourful bangles and stringed beads on to the steaming cement bench. Sweat glistening away on her wrinkled dark skin, she glances at me through the window without interest. As the local train sped me along with it, she  blurred into the white nebula of rays. Dimnishing to a speck that she must have matched the size of the smallest bead she had held.

Blinded by brightness, my eyes drift away into the packed chaos of the 'ladies' coach, which was an extension of the 'Ist class' coach, only physically separated by a 3feet high wall. I was travelling during the peak time. A time when office-goers checked watches hoping that it wasn't one of those days when their boss turned up earlier. A time when school kids struggled to balance themselves on their feet as their school bags, almost a huge extension on their slender backs got caught between impatient people. A time when kids who were lucky enough to find a seat pored through sheets of xeroxed chapters, mugging away calculus formulae, benzene reactions and scientific names of their favourite fruits for the papers they would have to sit for in less than an hour. A time when tiffin boxes were opened and the smell of freshly ground chutney filled the coach. My eyes hunted down the aroma. I had missed breakfast. It was 10.15 a.m.

In front of me, a lady who had been dictating reciepes in Tamil over the mobile ever since I got in, shifted her position to avoid the middle aged lady who was dozing away occasionally leaning to her sides. To my left there was a young girl studying intently. I peeked over her book and saw "haemostasis" in bold black letters. To my right, someone was shifting and I saw a girl of my age feeling her way next to me. She was hard of sight and I moved a bit for her to sit in comfortably. I wondered where she was off to unaccompanied. She wore a drab salwar and her hair was oiled into a neat plait.

Minambakkam,Chennai

The next halt. Sellers flocked into the over packed compartment. This time it was flowers and vegetables. Bannanas and bindis. Purses and salwar 'nadas'( the thread that secures salwars to your waist). Face towels and safety pins. Haggling and advertising. Raised eyebrows and approving smiles. Clatter of coins and grumbles. Pushing and swearing. Headache and interest.

I looked on in awe as the flower lady stopped beside my seat. The visually challenged girl held out her hand and the lady placed 2 'mozhams' of jasmine in it. I saw her cross checking the 'mozhams' by stretching it from the tip of her middle finger to the joint of her elbow. Twice. Satisfied, she laced it together and wore it behind her head, checking it consciously if it sat well. I could feel her body relax. I related to it. I knew she felt beautiful. I wished I could see her the way she saw herself in her mind then. Through her eyes.

Meanwhile, stations  crossed. Tracks heated up. A quick scan and I found two open Sidney Sheldons. Two woman in the far right of the coach talking in hushed whispers. It wasn't hard to guess from their expressions that they were bitching about someone . The other ladies had started comparing their little shopping purchases. Bindis and bannanas. Colourful and ripe. Just like the 'ladies'  coach, I was a part of. A couple of romeos hung out from the train that sped by my window.

Suddenly I noticed a woman in her mid-thirties. Her face yellow with turmeric. Open hair, curly and long, parted at the centre. A huge red round kumkum bindi in the middle of her forehead. But it was the angle that she held her head in and the way her mouth mumbled something that made me uneasy. I'm not proud to admit that I hoped I would not be left alone with her in the coach.

Park station, Chennai

Over ten stations had crossed me. I have been travelling for more than 30 minutes. The visually challenged girl was getting ready to leave. A few minutes earlier in response to my query to another woman as to how many stations far 'beach' was, she had replied it was next to 'Park' and the last stop. Suddenly I noticed, the coach was roomy and peaceful. I stretched my feet onto the seat across. Sunlight poured in and the fresh blue paint of the walls shone. It had escaped love proclamations and swearing scribbles that ususally ornate local train interiors. I could see till the end of the 'Ist class' coach. A gentleman, with dignified greys pored over the English daily. I got up as the next station approached. I saw the grey haired gentleman leering from his coach. In my girly head his respect fator did a stunning dive.

My backpack as I stood near the exit, held dear scribbles of my journey from Chromepet to Beach.

Beach Station, Chennai.

Goodbye rails.