Day Four

I have no intention of turning this into a silly romantic story, Nancy told herself. As she lay awaiting sleep, she took stock of the day’s events. Another wasted day. She had noticed the engine driver's roving eyes from a distance. It was clear that he had not seen her. Three or four trains start from that station within an hour in the evening. The station premises milling with passengers would look like the quadrangle of a church on a Feast Day. It is not easy to find a person in that crowd. He had positioned himself at the wide entrance to the station, maybe with the intention that his sweet-heart should not have any difficulty in locating him. Malathy’s decoding was on spot. He intended to meet her at five o’ clock at platform number one. For no apparent reason, she abruptly changed her course and took a deviation towards right. She entered the platform through the cloak room and sneaked into the compartment of a train which was about to move. Guard was waving the green flag and the train started moving. At that time it occurred to her that it would be wise to check the train. To the query put before the person standing in front of her, she got the reply. ‘Venad Express.’

 ‘Jesus, this train goes in the opposite direction, to Trivandrum!’

She jumped out of the train. It won’t be accurate to say she stepped out; rather she dropped herself out and really fell down from the train. As if saying in style ‘here I go’, she nosedived. While falling in slow motion she imagined what would happen next. Stretcher, ambulance, a glamorous trip to the hospital!

     Defeating her expectations, she fell into the strong arms of a man. She opened her eyes at the face of the proprietor of those strong arms. That was the engine driver.

‘Oh, is that you?’ she asked a little disappointed.

‘Were you expecting Mammootty or Mohanlal?’

He showed no hurry in placing her down.

‘If you put me down, I could go by the next train.’

‘Why the hurry?’

He held her closer to him. People had gathered around. The station master in uniform came running and asked, ‘Any injury?’

‘To whom sir, to me?’ he asked, placing her on the ground.

Her legs were trembling. She realized that it would take at least five minutes for her to walk properly.

 ‘Rajan, do one thing’ said the station master. ‘Buy her a cup of tea. She is in a state of shock.’

‘Ok sir.’ He looked at Nancy and said, ‘come.’

Someone had collected and handed over her bag that had fallen on the platform. As she started walking after him carrying the bag, she thought. In the first round he has snatched the victory. Wait, there will be more rounds!

‘There are many ways to commit suicide.’ He asked her sitting opposite with the cups of tea in his hands that he brought, ‘any particular reason for selecting the one that you attempted now?’

‘How did you reach there?’ she asked.

‘Meaning?’

‘You were standing outside the station.’

‘So, it was to avoid me that you sneaked through the cloak room, isn’t it?’

‘You are intelligent. Correct guess. And I give you full marks.’

‘Had this been known earlier, I would have pushed you nicely on the track with my foot, instead of holding you.’

‘You brute.’

‘Shall I bring something to eat? Vada?’

She was taking count of profit and loss. I am suffering as a result of my attempt to avoid this guy. It is better to eat to cover up some loss at least. So, she said.

‘Masala dosa, maybe.’

‘I didn’t mean anything so grand, just a vada or banana fry. Anyway….’

He got up and walked to the counter. He returned carrying two plates of masala dosa. Sambar and chutney were filled in the circular cavities of the plate.

‘Hope you have no objection if I have a dosa.’ He said extending one plate to her.

‘It is me who fell off the train. What is the need for you to eat a masala dosa?’ She said rather disappointed at the sight of one plate moving away from her. ‘Ok, doesn’t matter’.

‘It is my wage for bearing the load.’ He said.

As they were eating dosa, he asked, ‘any objection in telling your name?’

‘Nancy.’

‘Ah! so, you are a Christian? Despite that you wear the sandal paste on your forehead?’

‘I get it from the temple.’

‘So, you are a devotee?’

‘No, I go there to see the priest. He is handsome.’

     Nancy closed the diary. Chechi was fast asleep. Nelson was lying close to her. His thumb remained inside his mouth, drawing on it as if he suddenly remembered not to break the habit.   

She lay down on bed spread out on the other side of the room. ‘Not for Pooja, but the Poojary, isn’t it?’ She recalled what the engine driver had said. ‘Not the music, but the musician!’ ‘Not the engine, but the engine driver’ she added.