By Devraj Singh Kalsi
During long-distance train travel, I stay anxious about my fellow passengers in the neighbouring seats. Like any other optimist, I am hopeful of finding beautiful, exciting people to make the hours fly like minutes, to ensure I do not have to pull the curtains and switch on the reading lamp. When the attraction of the window seat offering a panoramic view of the green world fades after a few hours, having engaging people occupying the opposite seats to converse with on a wide range of issues ranging from politics to films is a boon. The presence of yawning bores makes it soporific as their loud, unending phone conversations detailing domestic drudgery start getting on the nerves after a while. Unfortunately, most of my train journeys have nothing refreshing to offer. So, the sight of a young smart lady walking in with her ticket to locate the seat was a huge visual relief. But the joy was short-lived when an elderly lady with a bawling baby in her arms followed her.
Understandably, they were related and perhaps shared a mother-daughter relationship. The young lady understood they were allotted the upper berths. She requested a swap. But the greed of the window seat prevailed. I declined the switch. This bland refusal left her shocked. The elderly lady also did not pitch in with her personalised appeal as she understood that if I could say no to a beautiful young lady, my response would remain the same in her case.
Before they could climb up, a gentleman wearing a hat walked in and seeing their predicament, offered his lower berth to the young lady. Delighted that the young lady would be seated opposite, I took it as some kind of relief but sadly the young lady climbed up while the elderly lady with the child sat in front and started changing diapers. The beautiful lady and the hatted gentleman went up. The gentleman spread himself above my seat while the lady occupied the upper berth on the opposite side. I thought this would provide some opportunity to catch a glimpse of the beauty, but she was so grateful that she enjoyed conversing with the hatted gentleman regarding her difficult journey to the national capital for medical treatment. The gentleman continued to guide her even though she did not seem interested in his advice.
He showed his sensitive side by asking the railway staff to control the air-conditioning temperature as it was quite chilling at night. He made it appear he was doing it for the small child and the lady out of concern even though they had not asked for it. The elderly lady thanked him by saying her arthritic knees needed this relief. As the AC turned warmer with his intervention, the women were assured they were in the presence of a genuinely caring person whereas I was a villain who declined to help women in need and now stayed wide awake to overhear their conversation. When the young lady found my furtive glances too hot to handle, she pulled half the curtain to block my sight. Perhaps this was well-deserved for being from her perspective, uncaring.
During the night, the hat belonging to the gentleman toppled onto my berth and awakened me. I sat up and threw it near the corner gently, hoping not to disturb his snores. In the wee hours of the morning, the hat fell again but this time his legs also dangled in front of me. Perhaps, he was getting up from his berth to probably visit the loo. He suddenly jumped down and took the hat from me, with a barely audible thank-you, and searched for his slippers underneath the seat. When he returned to the cabin, he picked up his phone and gave a wake-up call to his family and reminded them that his parcel would arrive via courier that morning, much before he reached home. They would have to receive it in his absence.
When the railway catering staff came for taking breakfast orders, the hatted gentleman was accorded great respect. They seemed to be familiar with him. During their conversation, it emerged he was a former parliamentarian who still travelled quite frequently by the same train to the national capital. When the elderly lady on the opposite sought to know his name, he revealed his full identity. I searched online. The first page gave the image of the gentleman wearing a hat, with a short biodata revealing his long, illustrious political journey spread over the decades doing social service. In a way switching the berth for the lady showcased his sensitive side and also hinted at the comfort and ease with which he could switched sides during his political innings. Had the lady and her family been a resident of his constituency, he would have definitely got their votes.
He got a grand salute for the tip he gave to the staff member after breakfast, and it reminded him of how common such genuflection had been during his heydays. I felt I should have started a conversation with him to know the state of politics today, but since he appeared to relive the past glory, it did not appear he had any connection with the present dispensation. It was not likely he was positive of a grand comeback, as he remained wedded to the glorious past, with his worn-out hat representing the outdated courteousness and etiquette long associated with the past. When the elderly lady thanked him profusely for his kindness, he folded his hands like an astute politician does in front of the public during election time and stayed modest about his generosity with a smile spread wide on his puckered face.
When it was time to disembark, he sat on one side of my berth and shuffled his dossiers, and called up an associate, asking him to fix an appointment in the second half of the day. That a former member of the House slept on my upper berth was a privilege indeed. Now I could boast about it and for that, I needed to have a selfie with him or his autograph at least. I was sceptical since he knew I had declined to help the women he might refuse to entertain my request. My hesitation prevailed as I could not countenance a rejection in front of the ladies. So, I resisted my urge for an introduction.
When he stood up clutching his files and dragged the wheeled trolley with the other hand, I maintained a safe distance from him, scared of dashing my luggage against his legs. I was expecting there would be a few acolytes waiting with marigold garlands to receive him at the station, but I was surprised to see there was not a single person waiting for the former leader. He was a lone man pulling his burden and finding his way among the crowd. He kept walking the length of the platform with his hat almost toppling in the wind, firmly holding his set of files and the trolley with the other hand.
Devraj Singh Kalsi works as a senior copywriter in Kolkata. His short stories and essays have been published in Deccan Herald, Tehelka, Kitaab, Earthen Lamp Journal, Assam Tribune, and The Statesman. Pal Motors is his first novel.
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