There is no update on the screaming old lady. In fact, I haven’t seen her after that screaming episode. Perhaps, she will just spring-up from now where and instigate an onslaught of questions in my mind.
Actually, I am not writing this piece to update you on that lady. It’s more because of an insight I had yesterday (So lazy. You may think again). I chanced upon this thought while waiting for the train (Yet another coincidence. The trains and platforms seem to be my only source and places of inspiration).
I had been to our Vashi office for a meeting. After wrapping it up, I needed to urgently rush back to Belapur. I reached the platform almost panting after my super brisk walk to the station. When I reached the platform the indicator displayed a train that was expected almost 9 minutes later. I must have missed the earlier one by a few minutes.
Muttering a few cusses, I settled on one of the vacant benches. I began to think how far the train must be at the moment. That’s when, suddenly, this thought came to me that I was at the wrong station. No. No. Not the wrong station, as-in to go to Belapur. I was very much in the right station, but not the right station to be at that point of the time to board the train that was expected. Sounds confusing? Let me put it again. I mean at that time the train I needed to board could have been nearing Mankhurd. So, If I was at Mankhurd at that moment, I could have boarded that train. Or if I would have been somewhere in Sanpada at that time, I could have boarded the previous local train that I had missed. See, being at the right place at the right time is so important. So, I waited for this place to become the right place and the right time to arrive. This happened after 9 minutes and I boarded the train and headed back to Belapur office.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
In the Right Place at the Right Time: 13 May 2009 –Wednesday
There is no update on the screaming old lady. In fact, I haven’t seen her after that screaming episode. Perhaps, she will just spring-up from now where and instigate an onslaught of questions in my mind.
Actually, I am not writing this piece to update you on that lady. It’s more because of an insight I had yesterday (So lazy. You may think again). I chanced upon this thought while waiting for the train (Yet another coincidence. The trains and platforms seem to be my only source and places of inspiration).
I had been to our Vashi office for a meeting. After wrapping it up, I needed to urgently rush back to Belapur. I reached the platform almost panting after my super brisk walk to the station. When I reached the platform the indicator displayed a train that was expected almost 9 minutes later. I must have missed the earlier one by a few minutes.
Muttering a few cusses, I settled on one of the vacant benches. I began to think how far the train must be at the moment. That’s when, suddenly, this thought came to me that I was at the wrong station. No. No. Not the wrong station, as-in to go to Belapur. I was very much in the right station, but not the right station to be at that point of the time to board the train that was expected. Sounds confusing? Let me put it again. I mean at that time the train I needed to board could have been nearing Mankhurd. So, If I was at Mankhurd at that moment, I could have boarded that train. Or if I would have been somewhere in Sanpada at that time, I could have boarded the previous local train that I had missed. See, being at the right place at the right time is so important. So, I waited for this place to become the right place and the right time to arrive. This happened after 9 minutes and I boarded the train and headed back to Belapur office.
Actually, I am not writing this piece to update you on that lady. It’s more because of an insight I had yesterday (So lazy. You may think again). I chanced upon this thought while waiting for the train (Yet another coincidence. The trains and platforms seem to be my only source and places of inspiration).
I had been to our Vashi office for a meeting. After wrapping it up, I needed to urgently rush back to Belapur. I reached the platform almost panting after my super brisk walk to the station. When I reached the platform the indicator displayed a train that was expected almost 9 minutes later. I must have missed the earlier one by a few minutes.
Muttering a few cusses, I settled on one of the vacant benches. I began to think how far the train must be at the moment. That’s when, suddenly, this thought came to me that I was at the wrong station. No. No. Not the wrong station, as-in to go to Belapur. I was very much in the right station, but not the right station to be at that point of the time to board the train that was expected. Sounds confusing? Let me put it again. I mean at that time the train I needed to board could have been nearing Mankhurd. So, If I was at Mankhurd at that moment, I could have boarded that train. Or if I would have been somewhere in Sanpada at that time, I could have boarded the previous local train that I had missed. See, being at the right place at the right time is so important. So, I waited for this place to become the right place and the right time to arrive. This happened after 9 minutes and I boarded the train and headed back to Belapur office.
Monday, May 11, 2009
The Screaming Old Woman
People think she is insane. But, I am sure life has done this to her. I always see her on the foot over-bridge leading to the harbour line platform at Kurla. I think she frequents the harbour line platform, and must not be going anywhere else. Because, whenever I am traveling to office or visiting friends in Chembur, I bump into her. But, I have never seen her late evenings when I return from office. Or perhaps, I did not really bother to consciously check out her presence at that time of the hour.
She is always staring at the pandemonium of the crowd rushing to office. At times, I have seen her talking endlessly to someone in the crowd who is impatiently waiting for the delayed train. And whose mind is grappled with this thought that whether he will make it into the train or not. Nevertheless, she keeps speaking unmindful of the ignorance. But, there is a certain amount of affection in her tone, which one would find in a mother’s towards her sibling. But, often she is just complaining. She is always trying to justify her stand on somebody’s wrong doing. Unfortunately, no body understands.
This morning was a little different from other mornings. She was not there on the over-bridge when I entered the station. But after sometime I could hear loud scolding sounds. After listening to the voice a little attentively, I realized that it was the same old woman. Today, she was pretty vociferous and animated in her rants. For a change everyone was looking in her direction and hearing her scream. But, the unfortunate part again was that -nobody was listening. That includes me too.
As I waited for the train to arrive, I began to think about the reason that must have forced this old lady to such a state. Perhaps, her children must have disowned her when she needed them the most. She must have undergone so many hardships and made equally unimaginable sacrifices to make their life better. I began to feel miserable with the mere thought of how painful she must have felt to be disowned by your children who are an extension of your own flesh and blood. You made your life nonexistent to give them their existence, and suddenly you just don’t exist for them. There cannot be a greater pain than the pain of rejection from someone who means the world to you.
Then again my mind raced in a different direction as I began to hear her dialect. She was speaking in a language that sounded pretty close to Bhojpuri or some other language similar to something spoken by the natives of UP or Bihar. That’s when I began to think again. Could it so happen that she must have lost her family to some villainous atrocity? Or was it some family feud? The questions started to pour and the answers were no where near.
For a moment I felt I should just walk across and strike a conversation with her. But then, something insane within held me back. My heart cringed with this thought that her story would remain unsaid and unheard. It will be lost forever.
My thoughts were racing in all directions and were growing overwhelming. I could not suppress them longer. Thankfully, just then I saw my train arrive. So I bundled my thoughts and boarded it. I could still her tirades. They grew faint as the train began to move ahead. Very much like her memories must have become in the minds of her near ones.
She is always staring at the pandemonium of the crowd rushing to office. At times, I have seen her talking endlessly to someone in the crowd who is impatiently waiting for the delayed train. And whose mind is grappled with this thought that whether he will make it into the train or not. Nevertheless, she keeps speaking unmindful of the ignorance. But, there is a certain amount of affection in her tone, which one would find in a mother’s towards her sibling. But, often she is just complaining. She is always trying to justify her stand on somebody’s wrong doing. Unfortunately, no body understands.
This morning was a little different from other mornings. She was not there on the over-bridge when I entered the station. But after sometime I could hear loud scolding sounds. After listening to the voice a little attentively, I realized that it was the same old woman. Today, she was pretty vociferous and animated in her rants. For a change everyone was looking in her direction and hearing her scream. But, the unfortunate part again was that -nobody was listening. That includes me too.
As I waited for the train to arrive, I began to think about the reason that must have forced this old lady to such a state. Perhaps, her children must have disowned her when she needed them the most. She must have undergone so many hardships and made equally unimaginable sacrifices to make their life better. I began to feel miserable with the mere thought of how painful she must have felt to be disowned by your children who are an extension of your own flesh and blood. You made your life nonexistent to give them their existence, and suddenly you just don’t exist for them. There cannot be a greater pain than the pain of rejection from someone who means the world to you.
Then again my mind raced in a different direction as I began to hear her dialect. She was speaking in a language that sounded pretty close to Bhojpuri or some other language similar to something spoken by the natives of UP or Bihar. That’s when I began to think again. Could it so happen that she must have lost her family to some villainous atrocity? Or was it some family feud? The questions started to pour and the answers were no where near.
For a moment I felt I should just walk across and strike a conversation with her. But then, something insane within held me back. My heart cringed with this thought that her story would remain unsaid and unheard. It will be lost forever.
My thoughts were racing in all directions and were growing overwhelming. I could not suppress them longer. Thankfully, just then I saw my train arrive. So I bundled my thoughts and boarded it. I could still her tirades. They grew faint as the train began to move ahead. Very much like her memories must have become in the minds of her near ones.
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