Trivandrum Mail

1999

 1999.

 The Trivandrum Mail was to arrive at Chennai around seven in the morning.

 At one am, Nadira had fallen asleep on Shreyas’ shoulder. Somewhere during the course of their nocturnal talk they had migrated closer, and somehow Shreyas found himself laying her limp body down on the sheets, pulling the quilt over to cover her, being careful so he didn’t bump his head on the ceiling. She settled in an uncomfortable position, on her side, arms spread out, head flat against the pillow, but Shreyas could do nothing to make her more comfortable. He quickly crossed over to his own berth and settled in. He looked across and watched for a few minutes the way the strips of neon light from passing cities outside flashed across her sleeping face. Then he crossed his arms under his head and stared up at the ceiling of the train, wondering if the next morning would be the last time he ever saw Nadira Kurian and her steely eyes.

 When dawn came he had been asleep only for two hours. Someone got into their compartment at five in the morning – through sleep-blurred vision he noticed a middle-aged oversized woman who pushed her suitcase under the seat and fell asleep on her seat without making the bed.

 At six, he decided to wake up. Nadira had by now turned on her side, her back to him, quilt drawn to her chin, hair loose from her braid and spread out all around her head in a dark mass of tangles, the pink soles of her feet exposed. He clambered down the ladder, ignoring the sleeping fat woman, and took out his toothbrush and toothpaste from his bag. Early morning light filled the compartment and the train was still drowsy. He brushed his teeth quickly, in the same spot Nadira had washed her face with him standing beside her the night before. He too stared at the little ballpoint-pen heart in the corner of the mirror as he washed out the morning breath from his mouth. When he went back to the compartment Nadira was sitting up in the middle of the berth, cross legged, her hair falling about her shoulders, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand like a child. When Shreyas walked in she looked at him through one puffy eye and smiled.

 “Good morning,” he said, standing in front of her, his face level with her knees. “Did you sleep well?”

 She nodded and her answer was preceded with a yawn. She stifled it quickly, blushing. “Yes. You?”

 “I did,” he lied. She removed her hand from her eyes, blinking at the dimly lit compartment. She didn’t feel conscious of the way she looked, although she knew she looked more than unsavoury in the mornings, especially on trains. The little eyeliner she had applied the day before was smudged under her eyes in charcoal patches, her lipstick gone long ago, her eyes puffy, hair a tangled mess. Shreyas simply looked at her, his laugh lined eyes perpetually smiling, a smidgen of green toothpaste smeared near the corner of his mouth. She noticed, and gestured to it, pointing to the corner of her own mouth. His hand shot up and quickly rubbed it off. Nadira noticed the morning stubble dotting his jawline. His hair looked the same, a mass of curls upon his head – she wondered if he ever combed it at all.

 “Where are we?” she mumbled, craning her neck and trying to look out of the window.

 “Almost at Chennai,” Shreyas told her, putting his toothbrush and paste back. “We should reach in an hour.”

 She pulled the quilt off her and quickly retrieved her dupatta from where it was lying in the corner of the berth and draped it around her shoulders again. Quickly, she descended from the berth and took out her own toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste from the front pocket of her bag. Shreyas caught her eye, grinning.

 “Do you want me to come with you?”

 She giggled, something she did so rarely she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done it. “No, I’m fine in the daytime.”

 He chuckled, sitting back in the lower berth. “If you say so.”

 She didn’t take long – she was back in five minutes, looking refreshed, smudged eyeliner wiped off, hair tamed back, this time in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, a few drops of water clinging to the base of her throat. As she got busy with her bag, putting her things back in order, Shreyas found himself staring at her, almost overwhelmed by her beauty, even then, at six in the morning when she had nothing on her face and her hair was uncombed. He found it a little hard to look away when he realized that the time he was spending with his eyes on her was inappropriate and could have made her uncomfortable. He didn’t know that when he wasn’t looking, Nadira found herself wondering about the laughter in his eyes, or the curls in his hair, and his hooked nose.

 Nadira sat next to him because the other lower berth was occupied by the sleeping lady. The train rocked them gently, their shoulders bumping occasionally. Shreyas was still in his cotton drawstring pants – Nadira guessed that he didn’t really mind walking through a crowded railway station in his pyjamas and the thought amused her, so she smiled to herself, staring down at her hands.

 They were both wondering if they would part ways permanently at the station. Neither of them said anything about it. Nadira took out the folded pamphlet advertising the furniture sale at some store, on the back of which her aunt’s address was written in the familiar loopy hand of her mother, and scrutinized it again. The apartment was located on Cenotaph Road, and she hadn’t the faintest clue where that was – she was banking on the auto drivers of Chennai to take her there. She checked that she had her wallet in her purse, and then tucked the paper carefully into the wallet. She wondered whether she should ask Shreyas where exactly Cenotaph Road was, but then decided against it.

 Outside their window, the text on painted advertisements had changed from Malayali to Tamil, landscape had changed from coconut trees and paddy fields to scrubs and messily intertwined roads. They were speeding through the outskirts of Chennai. It looked dry as compared to rain-soaked Kerala; Nadira knew that Tamil Nadu only got rain in November – still four months to go.

 They slowed down in a rail yard. Nadira saw a station approaching, a large red sandstone building in the distance. A yellow sign outside announced CHENNAI CENTRAL in bold black letters. The train hissed and came to a halt. The other lady in their compartment woke up. Other passengers starting moving, hauling out their suitcases, voices raised as the doors opened and closed and coolies got onto the train. Shreyas helped Nadira with her suitcase, getting it off the train for her. She clutched her jute purse with both her hands, stepping off the train with him. He handed her the bar of the suitcase and then for a moment they just stood, Nadira holding her suitcase and Shreyas adjusting the straps of his overnight bag on his shoulders. People were streaming out of the train as it stood still after a long journey, and these people moved around the two young people standing still on platform five of Chennai Central.

 Nadira looked up at Shreyas, Shreyas looked down at Nadira.

 She didn’t know what she felt for the curly haired police officer, but she knew that she felt something and that she did not want that moment on the bustling platform to be the last time she saw him.

 “Do you know where Cenotaph Road is?”

 The question spilled out of her like a desperate impulse. And then Shreyas’ laugh lined eyes crinkled as he smiled at her, still dressed in his drawstring pants and loose, crumpled t-shirt, his hairy feet showing in his rubber chappals, looking so out of place and yet blending in so perfectly, in way that made Nadira smile too.

 “Of course I do, Nadira. I can get you there, if you want.”

 It was the second time he was saying her name. And this time it felt right, like something he should be doing. She realised that she had never said his name out loud. She wondered how the syllables would taste on her tongue.

 “Thank you, Shreyas.”

 And they smiled again, because they liked the way it sounded. Shreyas hitched his bag higher on his shoulders and took Nadira’s suitcase. Then he gestured with his head for her to follow him. And she felt something, not quite excitement, but more like a subtle, pleasant anticipation, because she felt something around him, something that could be nothing but good. So she shouldered her bag, smiled at him, and they started walking.

 As they walked off the platform, entering the crowd of the Chennai central, both of them turned back once, sparing one last glance for the Trivandrum Mail. Then they wove through the crowd together, and left the station.

~