Good things come to those who wait.
Except at Karjat Station, where those marking time are rewarded with an overcrowded and poorly equipped train that is always 20 minutes behind schedule. Consistency is wonderful but consistency in tardiness is an art form.
The boy (DO) who boarded the train after the Vada Pav mob had munched their way to a state of uneasy somnolence was exhausted but happy. He'd been on an all-day hill trek with friends. Now, DO was headed home and not picky about how he got there. While the bogie's walk-through area wasn't the only available space on offer, the thought of being amidst a cacophonous orchestra of wailing babies and hyper-aggressive adults shivered his timbers. The slightly less ghastly alternative was the common area, next to a morose, pickle of a guy in a striped blue shirt who at least seemed knowledgeable on the benefits of deodorants.
However, DO was vary. A strange, new species of human being was taking over the country (and one isn't referring to the nutters who think the sun rises from and sets in the ass-crack of dear leader), and had to be avoided at all costs. If Early Man had been a good indicator of human advancement, the Early Millennial surely suggested imminent mass extinction. DO saw them everywhere - people in their 30s and 40s whose weapon of choice was the formidable "I'm not impressed" expression. If you didn't get away quickly enough, they'd buttonhole you and proceed to ruminate on the dubious charms of life in their own youth, most of which sounded boring and painful, if their rapturous description of dial-up modems was anything to go by. They also tended to offer unsolicited advice on every topic under the sun, with expressions that often reminded DO of supercilious llamas suffering from a bout of gastroenteritis.
Mr. Morose looked like he'd just escaped college, which is why DO struck up a conversation that more or less ticked off the usual topics - location, occupation, this shitty train, college, age, age-wait-what?, this shitty train, etc. The guy was a reluctant talker so DO found himself narrating snippets of his own rather interesting experiences.
At 21, many of his friends were already shuffling through the timeless cycle of halfheartedly completing their engineering degrees only to get the fuck out of the country as soon as legally possible. DO was more optimistic about India and believed there were enough opportunities here itself. He was in college too but viewed it as an avenue to different, eclectic experiences, rather than a ticket to foreign parts. He shared his experience of staying in Auroville for a few months, volunteering with a guy who made eco-friendly cycles. He was comfortable with the thought of being different, making out-of-the-box life and career choices and certainly wanted to visit Auroville again.
Mr. Morose couldn't help but be impressed by DO's calm demeanor. Did he, at 21, possess the same equanimity? He suspected otherwise. Damn, he knew otherwise. Which is why he fought the urge to preach. Instead, he only talked about how, the older he got, the less energy he found within to push his body and mind to have fun.
As the train crawled past the outskirts of Pune, Mr. Morose grabbed his bag. It'd been a long and tiring journey and he couldn't wait to get home, so he barely realised that DO was tapping him on the shoulder. Turning around, he faced a piece of crystal placed on an outstretched palm. DO smiled and said "I collect them on my hikes and I would like you to have this one".
Something about that gesture got to Mr. Morose. It was completely unlike anything he'd ever done, or would have done. It suggested an easy openness, a willingness to connect, an uncomplicated and optimistic view of life and a potpourri of other positive cues that he seemed unable to conjure up. Accepting the gift, Mr. Morose thanked DO and stepped off the train, wrapped up in thought. As the rain pitter-pattered on his umbrella, the train creaked its way out of the station and into the night.
Song for the moment: The kids are alright - The Who
Except at Karjat Station, where those marking time are rewarded with an overcrowded and poorly equipped train that is always 20 minutes behind schedule. Consistency is wonderful but consistency in tardiness is an art form.
The boy (DO) who boarded the train after the Vada Pav mob had munched their way to a state of uneasy somnolence was exhausted but happy. He'd been on an all-day hill trek with friends. Now, DO was headed home and not picky about how he got there. While the bogie's walk-through area wasn't the only available space on offer, the thought of being amidst a cacophonous orchestra of wailing babies and hyper-aggressive adults shivered his timbers. The slightly less ghastly alternative was the common area, next to a morose, pickle of a guy in a striped blue shirt who at least seemed knowledgeable on the benefits of deodorants.
However, DO was vary. A strange, new species of human being was taking over the country (and one isn't referring to the nutters who think the sun rises from and sets in the ass-crack of dear leader), and had to be avoided at all costs. If Early Man had been a good indicator of human advancement, the Early Millennial surely suggested imminent mass extinction. DO saw them everywhere - people in their 30s and 40s whose weapon of choice was the formidable "I'm not impressed" expression. If you didn't get away quickly enough, they'd buttonhole you and proceed to ruminate on the dubious charms of life in their own youth, most of which sounded boring and painful, if their rapturous description of dial-up modems was anything to go by. They also tended to offer unsolicited advice on every topic under the sun, with expressions that often reminded DO of supercilious llamas suffering from a bout of gastroenteritis.
Mr. Morose looked like he'd just escaped college, which is why DO struck up a conversation that more or less ticked off the usual topics - location, occupation, this shitty train, college, age, age-wait-what?, this shitty train, etc. The guy was a reluctant talker so DO found himself narrating snippets of his own rather interesting experiences.
At 21, many of his friends were already shuffling through the timeless cycle of halfheartedly completing their engineering degrees only to get the fuck out of the country as soon as legally possible. DO was more optimistic about India and believed there were enough opportunities here itself. He was in college too but viewed it as an avenue to different, eclectic experiences, rather than a ticket to foreign parts. He shared his experience of staying in Auroville for a few months, volunteering with a guy who made eco-friendly cycles. He was comfortable with the thought of being different, making out-of-the-box life and career choices and certainly wanted to visit Auroville again.
Mr. Morose couldn't help but be impressed by DO's calm demeanor. Did he, at 21, possess the same equanimity? He suspected otherwise. Damn, he knew otherwise. Which is why he fought the urge to preach. Instead, he only talked about how, the older he got, the less energy he found within to push his body and mind to have fun.
As the train crawled past the outskirts of Pune, Mr. Morose grabbed his bag. It'd been a long and tiring journey and he couldn't wait to get home, so he barely realised that DO was tapping him on the shoulder. Turning around, he faced a piece of crystal placed on an outstretched palm. DO smiled and said "I collect them on my hikes and I would like you to have this one".
Something about that gesture got to Mr. Morose. It was completely unlike anything he'd ever done, or would have done. It suggested an easy openness, a willingness to connect, an uncomplicated and optimistic view of life and a potpourri of other positive cues that he seemed unable to conjure up. Accepting the gift, Mr. Morose thanked DO and stepped off the train, wrapped up in thought. As the rain pitter-pattered on his umbrella, the train creaked its way out of the station and into the night.
Song for the moment: The kids are alright - The Who
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