railway trackback

One-stop station of moments waiting to happen....

Mission: Get to Counter-9 and book train tickets
Obstacle in path: Rickety ladder with bamboo extensions, from which hang paint buckets. Painters already on top of the ladder, so moving ladder out of the way is, well, out of question.
Gnawing thought (as a result of repeatedly justified fears about cosmic conspiracies regarding ticket availability): Dammit! Does walking under a ladder HAVE to bring bad luck? And is bad luck = not getting tickets? Is just forgetting about the tickets and going back to work an option?
Steely resolve: Will get tickets. Will walk under ladder.
Just then, I see an old man in a navy blue safari suit clutching a fat bunch of ticket forms. His hand is placed strategically on pant pocket, where (hopefully) an unstolen, but well-noticed-by-all wallet sits. He mutters a silent prayer, sighs deeply, and zips to Counter-9 under the ladder. On the way, he dramatically ducks, as if all the buckets of paint are standing poised to splash and thud right on his head. But he gets tickets!!
Emboldened, I too travel under cursed ladder. Waiting list 260. "No chance, madam." Proof 57 of cosmic conspiracy.
….

What’s with the urge to always drink coffee at the railway station and mix the sugar with the clever straw+stirrer? Everyone who passes by the coffee vendor visibly debates the purchase of a beverage. A lot of feet shuffling, hand crossing & uncrossing later, 9 out of 10 people eventually buy the coffee/tea/instant soup. It's wonderful to lose to your mind (as opposed to losing your mind, of course)
….

Madness at the railway ticket reservation counter. A distinct smell of limestone. Grey figures bustle about in paint-splashed shorts, their dull brown skin hidden under layers of whitewash. For me, they smell of the nostril-tickling freshness of walking into a newly painted house, of glistening things, clean things, of moving in.
But when they breathe in their own enamel smell, it must be no more than a reminder of another patch to be painted over.

....
Autorickshaw-wallahs and policemen sharing a lewd joke outside the station. Damsel in distress (read non-kannada speaking girl alighted from First Class Two tier AC compartment of train, who can’t find an auto to take her home) arrives at the scene. Cop's face hardens, he straightens up and orders the auto-guy to take her home. The girl is all gratitude.
The cop winks at auto-man in the brief moment before the auto takes off. Knowing nods exchanged. Ah, jobs well carried out.