Suburban lives survive in unison with only one network that keeps them connected – The Train. On a regular basis, we see innumerable faces. We know nothing about them and still try to draw a character sketch about them. Gradually we do get familiar with some of them during our regular course of journey. And then one day, when we discover about their unknown realities, we end up feeling so incomplete.
Bobby
He is dark. Always drunk and confused, he takes great pleasure in giving the trains a miss. His bloodshot eyes are unwatchable and his verbal abuses cross the permissible limits of indecency. Dark skinned, well built and dressed averagely; he is a hardcore hooch addict. He always travels by a first class compartment, which signifies the fact that he has a decent job and is an employee very much in demand. His telephonic conversations are often punctuated with irrelevant references to unimaginable events. Sometimes due to over consumption of alcohol, he salivates incessantly. I never even knew that he has got a name. Until one day, he boarded the train. Then jumped out of it and waived to his friends. They yelled, “Bobby, Don’t be lazy”.
Who and what is Bobby? A character, an alcoholic, a loser or a bad man? Like other human beings, he is made of blood and flesh. His lifestyle is different from us. He never takes the jokes cracked on him, seriously. I have been his observant for almost two years now. Disobeying his friends, cracking ugly jokes and verbal abuses seem to have become a routine of his. He continues missing the trains and he continues over consuming alcohol. One day he seemed to be in control and sat quietly, said nothing. For a single day he seemed to be out of his usual character. I was stunned. His regular group of friends barged in and cracked jokes as usual. Bobby stood up, grabbed his bag, stuffed his mouth with a packet of tobacco and stepped out of the train. I couldn’t hold back my curiosity and inquired with a friend of his who also happens to be my friend. I tried to probe into the psyche of this person called Bobby. The revelation made by this friend of his was startling, tragic and painful. The things he said contradicted the sketch I had drawn of Bobby in my mind. He was never the drunkard that he is now.
So once again I was eager to discover Bobby. I still don’t know to which caste or religion he belongs to. His lingo signifies his identity of being a native. His friend started talking and by the time he concluded, I turned blank.
He started, “We have known Bobby for over 6 years. He was never like this. He had a lovely wife and possibly has a daughter or son. Bobby loved his wife very much. Then one day, she fell ill. Visits to doctors, specialists, hospitals and health care centres did no good to her health. One day she succumbed to an unknown illness. The day she breathed her last, Bobby was by her side and saw her die in pain. He shook her dead body and pleaded her to open her eyes. He even asked her to talk to him. But dead bodies never speak. He stood up, called us to inform that his wife was no more. We gathered at his residence. He was still sitting there by her side with his head bent deep in his knees. After all the preparations were done to take her to the crematorium, Bobby didn’t want to let us take her body out of the home. We couldn’t believe what next he planned to do. Painstakingly we made him believe that she was dead and she was being taken away for the last rites to be performed. After the cremation, Bobby returned home speechless. In a week he turned into a sort of a recluse. And in the next ten days, he drowned himself in alcohol (hooch in particular). From then till now, he is yet to recover from that shock. On every new day, we are seeing Bobby mutilate his own self.”
I couldn’t believe what was just told to me. The train moved and by the sudden jerk, my thoughts were shaken up. I had always looked down on Bobby. I always considered him to be a drunkard who had by now mastered the art of travelling by first class. Though he is surrounded by friends, he knows no one is his well wisher. He is happy being the alcoholic he is. As the train moved, once again I saw Bobby jump out of the train. Once again his friends yelled, “Bobby, Don’t be lazy.” Only this time, I heard him reply in a loud and clear voice, “My wife just called on my cell. She is missing me, so I dropped the idea of going to office and am going to be with her”!
I stood their surprised again and stunned by the fact that his wife was long dead. His friend smiled at me and said, “He is not going back to his wife but he is going to the local bar to drain down his daily dose of hooch”. This image of Bobby contradicted the image of his, I held in my mind. It shattered the impression of him as a drunkard. Today when I look at him, I curse myself of being so foolishly unaware of the reality. This side of Bobby’s life would have always remained unknown to me, had I not taken keen interest in discovering who he was. Sometimes realities are left unknown and it works so negatively against one individual in particular.
Kshirsagar
Average built, six feet one inch tall, dressed formally, bespectacled; Mr. Kshirsagar always had this habit of hopping on to the train before it came to a halt. Though he always contemplated taking the window seat; luck didn’t favour him. Still he satisfied himself with the third seat position on the opposite side of the train’s momentum. Even though he worked as a Space Selling Executive with an afternoon tabloid, he dipped his head deep into a copy of a famous regional daily. The only time he raised his head was when we cracked jokes, spoke about creativity and discussed ads. I particularly tried to avoid him because of his repeated requests to meet the creative honcho of my ex agency, which was next to impossible. Though he claimed to have met him in the past, only I knew his version wasn’t completely true in form or in imagination. He still kept requesting for just one meeting. His wish remained unfulfilled and so did my never made promise.
Gradually, I left travelling by the same train. And after having discontinued with my regular schedule, I did make a come back. As lucky as I was, I occupied the same seat that I used to be a permanent member of. Once again I saw him sitting at his usual position. He was slightly puzzled. My revamp of image had left him confused to decide whether it was me or a look alike of mine. I still didn’t pay much attention. He found it even more difficult when I was greeted by the same set of friends I used to travel with. His only concern was why I was trying to ignore him in particular. I simply couldn’t blatantly ignore him any more. Some one also informed me that he was still finding it difficult to keep up with the pace of modern media selling practice. Without uttering a word, I disappeared in the crowd.
Almost three months passed away without the wink of an eyelid. I once again was back in the same train with the same group of friends/fellow travellers. I found it strange to see Kshirsagar gone missing. I jokingly inquired about the space seller. One of my close friends informed, “Kshirsagar passed away three months back following a massive heart attack. The day he passed away, he was with us. On the previous day of his demise he had finalised a deal with an FMCG company who in turn had agreed to advertise in the English daily, he was associated with. On the day of his demise, he was cordially dressed to attend the final round of meeting with the FMCG client. For the first ever time, lady luck had smiled on him that day by making available to him the window seat in the travelling direction. He was happy very happy. To celebrate the day of his achievement, he availed a half day. He was pleased to be home with his wife by 4 p.m. At around 4.55 p.m., I received a call from his wife. I was at my office. She informed Kshirsagar was no more.”
After my friend had finished narrating the reason behind Kshirsagar’s disappearance our eyes swelled with tears. An old friend of Kshirsagar told us how he had always remained a recluse in his professional arena. He also told us that Kshirsagar was never greedy for any thing. But he was too fond of people and the window seat in the train. Only that day I kept looking at the window seat, which remained vacant at least for three consecutive stations, the train passed. For a moment I thought, Kshirsagar would appear in no time. But he never came. All of us reached our destination. I couldn’t control my emotional thoughts of his. I was heartbroken. From within, I cursed myself for being so tight-fisted towards a man who just like me always remained a struggler in his life till the time he bid adieu to his life. Today I rarely take the train but whenever I travel by it, all that comes back to me are the unknown realities that I never knew about Kshirsagar. We and in particular me will miss him till the time we continue travelling by the same train.
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