Dancing shadows

The train is about to leave. She sits by the window, with her young son. Near her is her mother-in-law. On the other side of the iron bars, on the platform stands her husband. It is a night's journey and he bids her farewell. The husband and the wife are middle aged. They aren't in the great shape and are dressed conservatively. A whistle is blown and the train is about to move along, gently puffing at first. The platform is crowded. People are rushing from one end to another. There is much noise. And even more praying for a safe journey. The mother-in-law closes her eyes for a moment and prays for protection in Urdu. And as the train moves along, the husband slips his hand in through the bars, touches his wife's cheeks, moves it to her chin and then brings his hand to his lips, much like the way one would to a child. Hushed endearment. Furtive and almost unexpected. And then the journey begins.

The romantic would find this a touching moment. The cynic would find many reasons why this is not. But if truth be told, there isn't always a vast difference between the two. Then of course there is the third, the indifferent one, the one who feels nothing, walking through life, yet closed away from it, numb much before his time.


Had some early morning grocery shopping to do. Walked out in a T shirt and jeans. The cool wind felt just great. Coincidentally, bumped into one my lunch mates last evening as well as when I was returning!