Hello Friends,
hope you all are enjoying in this wonderful festive season. This story is a small Diwali gift from me to my lovely readers. I hope you all like it. Till then see ya folks!
Language of the soul
It
was noon. The midday blazing sun was high on the cloudless sky, as if glaring
at every living, breathing creature. The underground metro station was buzzing
with the humdrum of office goers, school students, home makers, college-goers.
Popular Bollywood masala songs played incessantly on the suspended flat screens
of the station. As an air conditioned train approached, everyone hurriedly
jostled with each other to move forward, eager to have a seat in the comfort of
the AC; it was after all a blessing for the middle class, a temporary relief in
their hand-to-mouth existence. Everyone entered as fast as possible, most of
them had to stand-it was still a relief to find some foothold, some space. They
complained in their own way- some cringed up their noses at an odour; some
stamped other’s feet while adjusting to be more comfortable; some elbowed their
neighbours; some pushed; others uttered noises of irritation arghh, ahh,
ughh......evident sounds of discomfort.
As
station after station passed more and more passengers came aboard. In spite of
the Air conditioner the train was literally a pressure cooker, brimming to its
full. It smelled of sweat, grease and heat had its own unique smell.
In
a particular coach, the ladies section was especially in a very bad shape. A
few of them had even resorted to tactfully verbally abusing each other. As the
busy women sweated profusely, their impending doom of household chores at the
end of the day loomed at large, in front of them. They are always
‘double-burdened’. They were, after all, tired, edgy, after a hard day’s work.
“Please keep your feet off my sandal madam, in case you don’t know, it hurts”
screeched a lady, irritated clad in a pink chiffon with a black leather bag,
her golden danglers sparkling as she moved her head in rage. “Oh in case you
haven’t noticed there’s not an inch to move, so just feel free to move away
your sandal clad, delicate feet instead”, retorted back her neighbour, a middle
aged woman in a white salwar-kameez. She dabbed her head with her kerchief
quite frequently. Three sitting college girls, giggled out loudly at some
joke-some of the standing women glared. An old lady, eyes closed, went on
silently praying, her rosary beads in hand. Few lucky women, sitting, tried to
rest awhile. Ne even snored softly, her mouth half-opened, drool lacing her
parched lips- someone quipped ‘bloody disgusting’.
Suddenly
a baby from a corner seat bawled out loudly. The incessant crying went on for a
few minutes. Then, quite astonishingly he gave out a wide toothless grin and
then with a peal of laughter ending only with a loud belch. Everyone’s
attention quickly, shifted to that one tiny mite, about a year old, in the
corner clad in a pretty blue dungaree. His mother, sitting beside him, tried to
feed him a bottle of milk which he vehemently refused. As the delightful
creature squealed in evident pleasure of catching a lock of hair in his hands
from his neighbour, a smile appeared on the women’s tired faces. Everyone
became engrossed in watching the little adorable child, his frolics, antics,
forgetting for some time their pain, their desperation, their daily monotonous
existence, the same crowded metro-train ride, the same struggle for a little
footing-without speaking yet in a common language, that little life, united
them all. Or perhaps, it’s the unspoken language of the soul.
