Mangala express is normally late. A three hour delay is never unusual.
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I am cutting down the story, I am in the train now.
As usual, I roam about through the compartment, look at interesting people and wonder why they are better than me in many ways. I carry a lot of books with me, (helps me into sleep). And when I am tired of sleeping, I would stand at the foot board, stare at the green fields, calculate the instantaneous speed and average speed of the train with the stop watch in my mobile phone and the meter – markings on sides of the rail. Then I Wonder why people have to throw litter outside even when they have started to keep bins inside, Wonder why train is still slow, And dream of inventing a time machine – sort of thing which will get me from Calicut to cochin at the fraction of a second.
It was no different today, after a short nap ( this was fast – just two pages of “Pattern recognition” and I was out), I walked down to the door, stood on the footstep, took a breath of fresh air. Refreshing. I wish It would rain.
It was then a sight of a kid, may be nine or ten years of age, caught my attnetion. He stood near the train, watching the train pass by. The train was slowing down. A small station was near, may be this train stops here for a crossing.
The kid seems to be crying. Or, is he? May be he is. He is helplessly looking at the train. The train is not yet stopped. It seemed like he want the train to stop. He was not crying out loud either.
Did the train hit someone?
I looked at the front. I could see the platform at some distance. I saw two men sitting at the platform, and nothing from their gestures suggested the train would have hit someone. If the train hit someone, they would at least be staring at the train.
And then, the train stopped. At a very ackward position. Not at the platform, not for a crossing. I know. I know because I have been travelling just too much in train. In kerala.
I knew Someone was hit.
For sometime, I could not see any movement around the train. I was confused. I looked back at either sides of the train, and I could see no activity. Just the kid.
And then, the frenzy. People running . Yes, someone is on the rail, and precisely, below my compartment. If that someone is still on the rail, beneath the train, there is no coming back to life.
Speculations, and comments on who is dead, why, was it a suicide, or an accident, and so on and so forth was asked. It looked a pure accident to me, but now, about half an hour later later when the train resumed its journey, and as I type this, I am not quite sure.
People rushed, and many were seen taking the photographs in different angles possible. I didnt want to get down the train. I just did not want to see. I must be weak hearted. In fact, I am, i guess. I dont mind seeing blood. But, no, I dont want to see it. I dont want another image of death waking me up in the middle of a night , precisely when I want a good sleep.
The body of the mother was taken out. It was said the body was torn into pieces. I saw the body covered with white cloath. I saw death.
I saw the relatives coming down and bursting to tears. I saw emotions pouring out. I saw fellow passengers in disbelief. I saw passengers sympathising. I saw them commenting about accidents. I saw people calling the dear ones and letting them know about the accident. (I did that too.) I knew my heart beat going up. I felt blood rushing up to my face. I felt heavy. I felt helpless.
Everyone has to die. At some point in life.
I thought of the very few people I consider important In my life. I knew, I have to see them die. I have to face it when they die. Unless I am lucky enough to die before they do.
I have to see them die. At some point, in the next thiry years to come. (I have no idea as to how long I will live, but not more than thirty years, i guess) and I have to get out of the trauma of seeing at least some of them die.
I wish they were not Important to me.
I wish no one were important to me.
The Hermit. I am jealous of him.
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