The Fourth Seat

The eleven-ten BO slow pulled into Platform No. 1 of the Kandivali Station by 2315. Not bad, I thought to myself while I made my way to the northernmost exit. Rolling down my sleeves, a feeble attempt to keep me warm, I climbed down the uneven stairs as I passed the blacked out stores which lined this exit on both sides. Some sold pirated computer games while others sold Chinese bhel and garrish red manchurian balls, which off late have become such a rage on the streets. And of course there's Sugarcane Juice, even Nira in plastic sachets and Bhajiyas all equipped for the thirsty and hunrgy. And there are two temples too. But all the shops were shut. The exit wore a lonely, deserted look. Autorickshaws stood in a long line, awaiting passengers in the cold evening. The ones towards the front, turned you down upfront. Since I stay only 1.4km(wonders of the e-meter) away from the station, I am not the best bakra for them. So I moved a little ahead and asked a fellow clad in full ...

The school building rose high amongst the smaller buildings in its vicinity. Enclosed in the security akin to a prison, it sometimes belied the atmosphere of a place where children gathered to play, make mischief and well, study. The bell rang and the kids reacted with joy, just like Pavlov’s Dogs they were conditioned to expect freedom which was as good as food, after a dreary day at school. Hordes of children began to stream out of all the gates of the building. There is something electric during these few minutes. Pent up energy is being released onto the hapless looking peons and guards. Children bounding with enthusiasm rush to the gate, in spite of their heavy bags, they make a dash. The innocence of childhood is magical, when information hasn’t been overloaded in our minds and every little thing matters. The dash more often ends in the arms of a parent, beaming with pride and relieved to see their child in onepiece as they say. And then after the last child has left, everythi...