On the train.. a story, maybe

On the station

Its a dry arid sort of a day. She walks up and stops and pulls at her kurta to ensure its shape. He walks up, just a step behind her, and stands next to her with his hands crossed on his chest. She straightens up and also holds a similar stand. The station is empty except for them. It’s uncertain whether they are waiting for a train to come, to board the next oncoming train or to receive someone. It’s not a station that generally comes on a train’s stop. 

My train passes by, at a speed. I see them and maybe for a second my eyes locks with that of hers. Like somehow in this wide expanse of a world, we found each other for that nano second, saw and embraced each other as long lost souls with lives mirroring each other, with acknowledging each others pain and journey and those rare instances of joy. And our eyes part ways. 

They continue to stand. He pretends to clear his throat and asks, 

“So how long are you to wait?”

“As long as it takes i guess.” She says, with pretend indifference. 

It has not been a long time coming, this goodbye. But such is the nature of their lives. They have said this goodbye, without saying goodbye, several times now. Somehow their meeting is as inevitable as their parting. 

She looks out in the open space before her. Dry barren land just beyond the train tracks with sparse trees and shrubs spread haphazardly across the brown expanse and clear bright sky. No cloud anywhere to give anyone any respite even for a minute. Her eyes automatically squint and as soon as she realises this, she straightens them out too. He looks at her and then looks around for the station master, who will come out anytime now for his inspection. Meanwhile, the sun in the sky is making sure that nothing untoward happens in its bright light. 

She takes the phone out, checks the time. She did not want to move. She would rather just stay still. But she had things to do and time was always running out of hand. On the other hand, he had all the time. He came just for this goodbye, for the time being. He had nowhere else to be. Not right now. 

She keeps the phone back and does not make out to move. They keep standing. Next to each other, not far apart but not so close too. For a minute, for a second, for an hour, for eternity, for nothing. How did they encapsulate so much space when they are so little. Their minds a sea of emotion and a universe of possibilities. And yet, they are maybe just a figment of someone’s imagination. 

He finally says after what feels like several eons or rather several beads of sweat that have been consistently trickling down his back, what they both are thinking, 

“Coldplay wont stop here on their way.”

.

.

.

“So what? That’s as good an excuse as any.” She replies after sometime has passed.

He looks at her, in awe and in mild disgust. She can stand there and pretend to be whatever she wants to be and yet not come out and be honest with him. He who has given up so much for her and he who understands that somethings are just not meant to be. She looks on ahead and finally turns and looks at him, the softness finally reaching her eyes.

“Our goodbyes have to become stories of legend, how else will we immortalise us.”

She walks on to the edge of the station to sit on the bench outside the station masters office. He follows her to the bench but does not sit down. He goes behind to fill some water and take a gulp to quench his parched throat, the oppressive heat finally dehydrating his throat. 

It will be time soon to leave, to move on, to forget this space, to breathe in cool air conditioned air which will take all memories of the oppressive heat away. But she won’t be there. She will, until the next time when they meet, stay here at this spot. Waiting.

That is, after all, the nature of those who live in one’s memory or are ghosts, take your pick.