Kalyan. 16:55. Its June. I have just had a harrowing, thirty hours journey on a waiting ticket.(Most of my train journeys have an amazing knack of becoming eventful enough for an anecdote. Only a few days back my train got delayed by...wait for it... 27 hours! But that was still bearable. This one stood out for its sheer boredom and discomfort).I get down from the train. The open albeit filthy platform looks inviting. My limbs seem to be crying with relief as i stretch around and almost break into a jog. I crave for a cold shower, a meal at the subway and a dip in the pool.
I snake my way through the crowd to the ticket counters. Long queues await me here too. I forage through my bag. I have some local train coupons left. The day is improving for me i guess. I put one of them in the slot machine. It momentarily whirs into action and then suddenly goes kaput. There's been a power failure. The entire station is enveloped in darkness...too dark for the evening. The lights come back on. I put another coupon in but as if on cue the lights go out again. This game of cat and mouse is getting on me. I have half a mind to bang the stupid tin box.
I somehow manage to stamp the little scraps and come out on the platform. The wind has picked up and rather swiftly. A storms approaching. I shield my eyes against the dirt. Out on the platform, everyone's running about. I stand still. The wind has brought some respite. Its cooler now. By the time i cross the bridge, the pitter patter has begun. The wind is howling now.
And then without any warning, the clouds burst open. Its raining in torrents. A deafening roar rises up as sheets of rain crash against the corrugated top of the platform. The cacophony seems musical. The announcements have died down. The bustle has stopped. The locals are grounded. People are no more running about like zombies. The haggard, glazed look is gone. Its as if a switch has been thrown off. People just stand and stare, with childish wonder, amazed at the show nature has put up for them. Suddenly, the ticking hands of the clock don't matter. The deadlines, the appointments, the worries, the mad rush...all washed away in one bold stroke. The canvas is bare again.
People huddle together as rain swishes in. Small conversations pick up. Minutes trickle away. The long drawn faces have lit up. Little urchins are out, dancing on the tracks. A group of school girls shrieks past as the rain lashes on. I'm still halfway down the stairs. Something's amiss and i realize its dry up here. I move down. The drops sting. Each one more pleasing than the last. The downpour slowly ebbs. The reverie is breaking. The vada-pav vendors get busy.
As the skies clear, the city seems to have found a new lease of life. A shot in the arm. Little puddles have formed all over the station. I slosh my way through one, befuddled at those who skirt around. A local rambles in. As I get on to it, a reflection stares back from a wet metal board. I find myself smiling. Bombay's love affair with the rains continues...
