The railway station was packed with commuters storming to catch the last local train at 1.40 a.m. It lashed heavily in the Mumbai outskirt on that night and the station wore a chaotic look with people scampering in all directions to hop on the last train. Water has choked the entire track and percolated to the surface.
There was not a single local train that could be spotted and worried faces longing for the last local raised a hue and cry at the station and barricaded the railway officers who stood like silent spectators wearing a blank facial expression. A young man in his late 20s abandoned all hopes and slouched on the empty bench with his head deck on a huge bag.
The fan on the tin roof ceiling slowly whirred to life. He chased off the flies hovering above his head and sucking blood on his skin with his hand. Water tapped on the tin roof. He fell asleep on the bench and bore no distraction by the whining voices, wail of a baby and loud steps running heavily on the stairs. The man slept peacefully on the bench. The old clock fixed on the ceiling was on the verge to strike 2 a.m.
Voice whispers were heard behind the snoring shadow that propelled him to leap on his feet. The station was suddenly deserted. A couple of railway and army officers stared at him and tried hard to conceal smiles. He was hesitant in his tone, “What happened?”
The officers looked at each other and said, “The rain has put you to sleep like a lullaby sang to a child. The last local came immediately after you dozed off and already left the station. There was so much noise and some people tried to wake you up but to no avail.”
He felt stupid and cursed himself. He didn’t have any choice but to wait until the morning. The officer gave him a cup of tea in a glass and he gulped it. He sat on the lone bench and watched at the empty railway track.
With love
Vishal
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