Platform No 12
The cold hard concrete bench was not very comfortable but I had no other better choice than this to spend few hours of early December night there along with my wife Anita, as the train to Ajmer Sharif was late by two hours and we had almost four hours to kill. We were on a visit to Pushkar Raj near Ajmer Sharif in Rajasthan to perform certain religious rites on the occasion of my father’s first death anniversary and were waiting on the Platform No 12 of the old Delhi railway station.
Atmosphere in AC waiting room was uncomfortably aloof and stuffy , soon we got bored and moved to the sleeper class waiting room but it was over crowded with people sprawling across its paan stained floor and benches , so we finally decided to settle on the platform benches –there was at least fresh air and it was alive and full of activity ,some people passing their time like us ,others rushing to catch the train , while others munching happily at the food items they could lay their hands upon and some lazing around on bed sheets spread on the floor. It was really a fascinating scene .There were young, old and not so old vying for space on the platform, some had a resigned look on their faces – perhaps they had lost hope of their train ever coming! while others excitedly waiting for the impending arrival of their train.
One Sadhu Baba sitting in a corner was least bothered about the mad rush around him ,he was watching the happenings with bemused eyes and it seemed that the platform was his permanent night shelter. I looked behind me and thought of shooing away the dog who was trying to share the old tattered blanket of a malnourished lady sleeping near the pillar but then deciding against it , I got up to explore the station and get something to keep me warm and awake . McDonalds, tucked away in one corner provided me coffee and I loitered around gazing at the giant information display board hoping to see the name of my train being flashed but was disappointed.
People were moving around me oblivious of my presence – how small and humble one feels in such places ,almost negligible, nobody is bothered about you , you are all alone even in middle of the sea of humanity ,so many people around you yet alone and insecure….. Flashing signs, brightly lit stalls, loads of luggage stacked here and there and people rushing across, all too familiar but still looks too alien. How our mind works- it is a puzzle to me , how we make cocoons around us , isolating ourselves and trying to shut off ourselves from the people around us. Still you desperately look for some solace around but none is to be found.
I wandered back to my bench to the comfort of a little place which I thought was mine and more so because Anita was there , it was like home coming . The coffee I had brought for her had gone cold – perhaps my musings had gone a little too long. To avoid her disapproving looks I turned around and saw that the dog was by now almost half inside the sleeping lady’s blanket and both were fast asleep may be feeling more secure in each other’s presence and no longer afraid of the crowds milling around them.
“Attention please… ting …tong… ting.”- a crisp announcement about the arrival of another train brought me back to the reality and my wrist watch told me that still one and half an hour was more to be spent . It was time to cheer up my wife ,so I went to a fast food kiosk nearby . While I was browsing through the menu display board , a man in dirty worn out clothes ,with a impoverished look begged for some food in barely audible voice , and was immediately rebuked by the sales person manning the counter.Sunken eyes ,haggard look , cracked lips and shriveled skinny trembling hand imploring for food were enough to tell that man might not have eaten for long. Life can be so demeaning sometimes –it almost seems to be guilt to be alive. … Why it happens? They who are wise, say it is one’s karma. .. the fruit of the one’s past life. But who knows …? Why doesn’t God give the punishment of one’s deeds in the same life? Why one has to carry the baggage to another life – and then one doesn’t remember it too .This is unfair. If punishment has to be given then one must know the crime also. Then only we won’t commit the sins. But God doesn’t like it that way. He wants us to commit sins so that He can punish. These are the little games He plays with all of us. He enjoys it and that’s why we are mere toys in His hands. That is what the wise men and the saints call the ‘’Maya Jaal ’’ of the God. He is the Master Puppeteer and we the mere puppets in His hands.
“ What do you want ,Sir?” … the business like inquiring voice of the man at the sales counter brought me back to the cacophony of the Platform No 12. “One combo veggie meal”, I managed to speak out with dry throat, “ please make it two”, I almost stammered, as my eye caught the man in tatters… looking at me with distant looking expression less eyes. Perhaps emotions, feelings, pains, hurt, egos... had left him long ago...and he no longer felt the need for these nice little appendages of human life!
I walked back to my bench, determined this time not to let any thought come in between hot meal and my wife. I triumphantly handed to her the neatly packaged food tray and sat with her to enjoy the still warm and tasty rice and daal meal . Another family sitting on the next bench was coming back to life and Anita –who had in the meantime befriended them -told me that that their train was just about to come. After spending more than 10 hours on the platform, they were getting ready to spend another full day on the wheels running on the iron tracks. Well the excitement on their faces gave me encouragement and I settled as comfortably as I could, to pass another hour.
Just in front of our bench a couple -with six children of about 2 years old to 10-12 year old, had been camping for some time. They had about 10 different sized bags of all sorts, small, medium and large ones. I wondered how they both will manage with so much luggage and six kids .Soon I was provided with answer – as I looked with admiration at their management skill – each child except the youngest one picked up the bag according to his age and size and the eldest one picked the youngest child along with his own bag, both husband and wife picked the remaining bags and it was time to move on,…off they went to board the waiting train , no fuss, no confusion, very cool …everyone knew exactly what to do, and I understood why the bags were of different sizes.
How life teaches you to manage – no management school can do so – yes life is a great teacher. Experience is the wisdom you gather while negotiating the bumpy curves of the path you travel and this travel is life – some times sweet & joyful, some times sour and painful, depressing at times and exhilarating at others, life is a drama to be played and after playing our role we will make way for others. This is a endless circle going on since times unknown and will go on for times unknown .Realizing this, that I have to move to the next scene in the drama of life, I took off again to have a look on the giant display board and it informed me that Haridwar – Ahmadabad Express – the train we were to board -was arriving in half one hour. I felt a surge of excitement – now I understood why the faces of passengers light up on coming to know that their wait is going to be over shortly.
Platform No 12 was still abuzz with activity even now when the long arm of the giant clock hung on one wall was inching towards the smaller one to meet it. It was soon going to be midnight and a moment later –the moment which will be the witness to the change - a new day will begin. Just as a new life begins after one life ends -- like a scene in a drama. But the mad rush will continue in the same way. People from all walks of life, from almost all regions of the country , foreigners , some rich and famous , some poor and destitute , some grieving and some celebrating, some hungry looking for left overs , some well fed, but cribbing about the lack of quality and variety of food items, will be keeping the place alive , full of life , and it seems that this ‘mini India’ the Platform No 12 , will never sleep the drama of life will continue to be played , only the actors will change.
My train had just screeched to halt and it was time for me and Anita to move on leaving the little cozy place on the bench behind….. very much behind. But the memories of the Platform No 12 will linger for long …. and will trouble me for long …….
