Trivandrum Mail

1999

 1999

 The late hour of the night only became evident when Nadira and Shreyas realised that theirs was the only compartment whose light was still on in the entire coach, the sound of the combined snoring of all the passengers filling the air. Shreyas peeked out of their curtain and retreated back inside with a sheepish expression on his face.

 “We should probably put the light off.”

 Nadira agreed.  He hit the switches, swathing them in semi-darkness. Nadira quickly leaned over her berth and opened the reading light, creating a small pool of warm yellow light. She looked over at Shreyas and he was taking out a bedsheet and pillow and quilt from the pile of bedding provided for them. He kept everything he needed on the unused lower berth and then spread the bedsheet out on his berth, tall enough to reach, tucking it in neatly under the flap at the edge and pushing it in carelessly on the other end. He placed his pillow on the end near the window, and spread out the quilt over half of the berth, folding it back. Then he surveyed his handiwork for a second before turning to Nadira. She got up quickly, following suit and taking out her bedding. She had the upper berth too, and it was well out of her reach. Slipping off her health sandals, she clambered onto the lower berth, holding herself steady with the other foot braced back against the opposite lower berth. In this position she started to spread out her bedsheet. She didn’t get very far before she heard Shreyas chuckling.

 “Do you need help with that?”

 Her dependency on him was starting to irritate her.

 “No,” she said firmly, as she struggled to reach the opposite end of the bed to tuck the sheet into. Even as she did so Shreyas stood beside her, an inch or so taller despite her added height. When her efforts proved to be futile he quietly reached over and tucked in the sheet, spread the quilt, and placed the pillow at the end close to the window. Nadira slipped down again, sitting cross-legged on the lower berth. Shreyas kept standing. She assumed he would now go to sleep – she didn’t want to because she wasn’t in the least sleepy or tired.

 He was looking at her. She acknowledged it only after a few seconds, looking up and meeting his gaze. In the darkness she could only see the highlights of his eyes.

 “What?” she whispered.

 It took him a few seconds to reply.

 “I’m not sleepy.”

 “Neither am I.”

 They looked at each other.

 “Talk to me,” Shreyas blurted.

 Nadira felt herself flush – a stranger had never talked to her so directly before, and yet the curly-haired police officer on the Trivandrum Mail felt nothing like stranger to her.

 She stood up. He smiled. They climbed up onto her berth. She sat cross-legged, as far as possible from him, her conservative middle-class values stopping her from moving close, and he sat against the wall on the other end, back bent and neck slightly stooped because his head was touching the ceiling. For a moment they simply sat together, exploring this new feeling of being close, of going one step over the line of being strangers.

 He was the first to speak.

 “Why are you going to Chennai?”

 She couldn’t see him very clearly in the darkness but she knew that he was looking at her intently, that his eyes were full of disarming openness.

 “I’m going to stay with my aunt for some time,” she told him. “I just finished college, so...my parents think it will be good for me to stay in the big city.”

 He chuckled, the low sound seeming to materialize out of darkness. “Anything is big compared to Kottayam.”

 She laughed, and the sound surprised them both. It was tentative but it was free, unforced.

 “What about you?”

 This time she looked at him, waiting for an answer.

 “I’m visiting my mother,” he replied.

 She raised her eyebrow, and whether he saw it or not, he clarified. “My father and my stepmother live in Kottayam. My mother is Tamil, and she went back to Chennai after she divorced my father. I visit her when I can.”

 Nadira’s mouth turned down at the corners in empathy for him.

 “I’m sorry.”

 She saw him shake his head, the light from the aisle throwing in relief his features, through a chink in the curtains. She found herself staring at his hand splayed flat on the berth, with the stubby nails and little curly hairs on the knuckles, and wanted to hold it.

 “Where did you go for college?”

 His question came quickly, steering the conversation away from family.

 “Christ’s College, in Bangalore,” Nadira told him.

 “I have a friend who went there,” he said. “You know Dev Sharma? He passed out last year?”

 She nodded, recalling a short, stocky youth with rectangular glasses and a smattering of acne on his chin, constantly dressed in plaid shirts and flip flops. From what she remembered of Dev Sharma, he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would be friendly with Shreyas.

 “I remember him,” she said, smiling slightly and he did too because this slight overlap in their lives pleased them both.

 Shreyas smiled. None of them vocalized their thoughts, their irrational excitement at the way the other seemed to be growing more at ease as time passed. Soon they also realized that it wasn’t necessary.

~