The Trainspotter

“A skinny cat slinked in the shadows of the lane that ran by my small house. I was observing it one moment and then following it the next. It was too nimble for me but I kept chasing it. My only motive was to catch up with the cat, so that I could….I could do what? Why was I running behind the poor cat, I had no idea but I had no time to think, I had to catch up with the cat. Everything around me was a fuzzy mass of sepia and black. I had no idea where I was, I was just following the cat. Where was it headed? It did not matter. 

Wait for me, Mr. Cat. Was it a tomcat? How could I tell? It was too dark and the cat was too fast. The cat was now crawling, wait a minute, it was a baby crawling very fast and now the baby was growing up and it was running. Now I really couldn’t keep up, I was panting and I could feel a side stitch working up, I was going to lose the cat-baby. Suddenly, the baby started to hobble. Yes! I screamed and the blurry lines around me cleared. I was at a railway crossing. The cat-baby was on the tracks. 

Was it the neighbourhood of my childhood? I could smell the stagnant river flowing languidly below. And I could hear a familiar murmur which turned into the rhythm that I had grown up listening to. It was rumbling and thundering, faster and faster. But why was there no horn? I panicked. I wanted to shout at the cat-baby. What should I call it? I thought fervently. The rumble was getting stronger. I shouted something but the oncoming din drowned my voice. It was approaching. It was the first local of the day, it wouldn’t stop. No one was around, it was too early for the morning squatters. I shouted again as the deafening roar engulfed the air. The cat-baby turned to look at me, its emotionless face had whiskers, and those dark eyes looked straight at me just as the horn of the train shattered the moment…”

The horn of the train is what woke me up. I stayed motionless as I heard the rhythm fade away. It was a train headed to Mysore passing over the railway tracks that lay not faraway from my flat. My heart was racing. Sweat beads had formed on my brow and suddenly I felt cold. I had kicked away my sheets. I stared at the motionless blades of the fan, illuminated by the street light streaming in. The current had gone out, as it did ever so often in this part of town. 

I continued to lie down on the thin mattress which constituted my bed trying to sleep. The shadow of the grilled window bars created a pattern on the wall, which moved when vehicles passed by. But no vehicle passed that moment and I kept staring at the fan. It was a pleasant evening outside and yet I had worked up a sweat. I waited for my heartbeat to slow down but it was unrelenting. I tried to shut my eyes and imagine the cat-baby. I could not. I was soon forgetting everything. I tried to think and tire my mind but the mind was matching the beat of my heart. I was getting anxious now. But I tried to fight it. I could not. I felt thirsty. Where was the damn bottle of water? In the kitchen perhaps. I gave up and decided to live with my parched throat, beating heart and a twitching foot. 

I did not realise when I drifted off. This time there were no cats or babies or trains. The morning local to Tumkur must have passed but I did not wake up. Until the doorbell rang. I opened my eyes and looked around. The sun was up and the doorbell rang again. I muttered an unkind invocation to the mother of no one in particular and opened the door. The newspaper wallah, wanted his quarterly dues. I had all of seven ten rupee notes and one ten rupee coin (which no one accepted here). Here there was no need for cash, for the first time in my life I did not use cash as frequently anymore. I emptied the pockets of my jeans lying on my laundry chair and asked him to come tomorrow. I staggered back to my floor bed. 

But there was no point in sleeping. I staggered back out and headed to brush my teeth. The clock was ticking and calls from work would start coming in. Phones, damn it. Where was my phone? With my toothbrush hanging in my mouth, I looked around the house leaving specks of toothpaste foam on the floor. I finally found it lying hidden underneath the pile of clothes of my laundry chair. I checked it for any messages. There were 2 good morning texts and one forward praising the ruling party in my school group. I refreshed to see if there were any more. None. It was time to shit, shower and shave and be off. 

As soon as I started my longish walk to work, my phone started buzzing. Work. I knew it before I answered even without looking at the phone. "Yes… oh that.. Sorry I forgot.. And oh yes, that other thing.. Yes I sent you the mail, didn’t you check? Oh I should have done it? Why… Oh I was under the impression.. Wasn’t she supposed to do it?...What okay? Theek..theek hain. I am coming in sometime, I will do it..yes yes, today. Ohno, no..arrey no. Will be done. Okay, see you. Alright yes today...okay. Sigh" The underpass was nearing, there was no traffic jam and I breezed my way through it. And just as I emerged I heard the rumble, the rumble that I had dreamt of. I turned around and there in the morning light was another passenger train, making its way, shining gloriously, carrying workers like me. I stood watching it until the sun blinded me and I was sweating. Did I forget my deodorant at home? It did not matter, I continued on my trail. 

The cool recycled air at work felt clammy. Not refreshing. It wasn’t like the humid air that I was familiar with. The phone on my desk rang several times and I answered and replied almost automatically. I typed out emails admonishing a few and praising a few. I sat through the meetings that made some sense at times but other times did not. I was told that being an attentive listener is the key to everything at work so I pretended to listen by making exhaustive notes, without paying attention to what was being spoken. In this world that I did not want to belong, I increasingly found myself being unexpectedly welcomed. It did not make sense. But precious little does in the life of an average knowledge worker. The more I resisted the more I was falling within its embrace. It is what they tell you about quicksand, the more you struggle the lower are your chances of survival. I checked my phone a few times. No messages. I opened the app and began to type out something and then my phone rang. An email was required from my inbox, without which they could not proceed, yes right - my hand and seal necessary for the movement of goods on the grand trunk road as if it were. Sure, in a few I promised and got down to it. The text remain uncomposed. 

Lunch time came and went. The dal was bad. It seemed like all the salt from the salt marshes of Wadala had made their way into the lentil tragedy that I had for lunch. I chuckled at my own joke and fondly recalled the midnight rides on the freeway that overran the salt marshes. Sleep came knocking on my eyelids as if it were a recovery agent. The midnight cat-baby trail had stolen from my slumber ration. And it wanted its due. So inevitably I dragged my way to the touch-screen coffee machine. I fiddled with the LED and out came pouring a black liquid. I tasted it, not bad I thought as the coffee hit the bitter taste buds at the back of my tongue and I could truly taste the caffeine. But what I really needed was a good ginger infused cutting chai served in a dirty glass. It was time for round two and I repeated the morning cycle - meetings, calls, emails, coffee.  

Someone said the sunset was glorious and I thought how could there be a glorious sunset without the sea? I was just being unreasonable. I did not realise when darkness came over and I suddenly felt worn out. I got up and stretched myself and tried to touch my toes - something that I could never manage to do. And alas, I was unsuccessful. I picked up my bag and began my walk home. Traffic was heavy but it did not bother me but the underpass was clogged. A slushy puddle had formed and it was impossible to walk through to it. This happened when it rained or when the sewage pipe overflowed. The only way to the otherside was over the railway tracks. A snake like trail was visible and people were making their way through it. I tried to walk but my unnecessarily expensive leather shoes were useless for this trail. Stumbling, I somehow reached the tracks. They glinted under the moonlight. The moon was shining bright but it drowned out the stars, even Sirius - the brightest one. I got my cheap phone out to capture the sight but what do I do with the photo? I remembered the half composed text message. I better finish it once I got home I thought to myself. 

I took a step towards the tracks and heard the familiar rumble. And then I saw it approaching. The bright light shining. I felt a sense of deja-vu. I took a step back and felt the roar on my face as my unkempt hair ruffled in the breeze that followed. I looked at it in awe. I felt exhilarated, my tiredness had vanished and as if it were a miracle I had a spring in my step. I never really understood that phrase fully but I sure experienced it. I was walking down with a renewed vigour as if I had snorted some contraband up my nostrils. I looked around and the entire D’kundi seemed brighter than ever. I walked home faster than usual and a tune had come to my lips. An old tune that I had forgotten. But my high was short lived. My energy dissipated as soon as I unlocked my door and stepped inside. A pall of gloom came over and I ate my dinner in silence while the pigeons who lived in the balcony made purring noises. Dinner was Wadala Dal, again. I wondered what could I do to overthrow this veil of desolation spread all over the house. 

I stepped out without a thought, wearing my bathroom slippers. And I walked towards the underpass. I had no idea how I had made that decision but I knew it was the right one. I moved on without questioning myself further. I walked determinedly towards the railway tracks, up the snake trail. The moon was hidden by a cloud. It did not matter. I stood near the tracks. Mosquitoes feasted on my exposed shins. But I did not even as much flinch, my heart was beating with anticipation. I felt like mosquitoes were the daughters of Mara interrupting my meditation, and almost like the Buddha, I touched the ground not asking it to be my witness but to feel for any rumbling. And within moments, it did. I looked at the time on my trusted Titan, the clouds had moved and I made a mental note of the time, eleven fifty six. Within seconds, I could see the familiar sight approaching, My heart was not beating fast now, it had acquired a rhythm that matched the pistons working smoothly, carrying the heavy load towards me. I closed my eyes and yet saw the bright glow of the lights and the sound and the wind that rang through the air for those few seconds injected the same vigour in me once again. The miracle repeated itself. This time I walked slowly, with much deliberation. I did not ponder over the reasons of this railroad high but I only enjoyed it. I was, for once in my life, living in the moment. The door did not bring in more agony as I opened it. I entered my room, shut the curtains, lied down on the mattress and closed my eyes. The purpose of the baby was clear. It had introduced me to the drug I needed desperately. 

I was up before the sun rose. I rushed down to the ATM down the road and withdrew some cash for the newspaper wallah. He was happy. I left the change with him and started early for work. My heart was beating faster now. The underpass was free of traffic or water but I still took the route that morning squatters were taking. I hope they would not use my usual spot. I was right about that but the stench wafted through anyway, reminded me of the stretch between Mahim and Matunga. Open Defecation Free India, read the headlines last week, I sighed at the naivety of the reporter who had written eloquently about the government's initiative and thrust to eradicate India of this evil practice. But fact-finding against fake reports was not my objective this morning. It was something else I thought to myself as I waited in the morning sun. The squatters gave me strange looks as they passed me by carrying their Bisleri bottles in search of bushes lining the tracks. I ignored them and continued to wait. Sweat was now running down my brow and down my back. And suddenly the ground rumbled and the tracks seemed to glisten with purpose as the miracle on wheels made its way, hurtling down the tracks laid down by hand. I prepared for bliss. I do not know if I spread my hands out but it felt like I did. Two drongos flew overhead and I ignored them as the sound and wind show consumed me. I was exhilarated.

With that quick morning fix, I was off to a great start. I wished everyone a cheerful good morning and I forgot all about the half composed text. I wrote emails and answered calls and I continued to sip on black machine coffee. The sun was waning now and I felt myself getting increasingly eager. My heart raced as I thought about the impending encounter. The daily miracle that would set me free. Yes, life had acquired a purpose. I searched for the train schedule of this region but I quickly closed the window. There was more fun in not knowing when it would come hurtling down. As children, did we know when the helicopters would streak through the sky? But we ran outside onto the verandah to spot them each time we heard them fly overhead. 

I did not know if I was done for the day, I did not open my to-do list. A list that I habitually ignored anyway. I simply said my goodbyes and walked out. Was there time for coffee? Should I carry some coffee for the show? There was absolutely no need for any other stimulant. The sound, the reverberations, the scent of the diesel  - that was all that I needed. The moon look resplendent, a big shiny saucer in the sky washed clean with Vim soap. I waited with bated breath. I closed my eyes. I wanted every sensory organ to engage with this experience. First it would be my ears, which picked up the horn, my skin would feel the rumble and the wind that would roar, my eyes would be delighted with the fuzzy blur that would pass me by, my nose would take in the confusing scents and my tongue would taste freedom. There was no train that ran that route for another hour. I spent pacing up and down by the side of the tracks, avoiding the gifts of the squatters and looking up at the moon. I had never been so anxious and impatient in my life but the anticipation is what made the experience beautiful. 

When the train finally hurtled down the tracks, I did not even bother to see the time or attempt to read where it was headed or where it was coming from. These operational details did not have any impact on this miraculous experience. This high that I got wouldn’t change if it was a Shatabdi or the everyday passenger. This high which was so addictive that I found myself finishing up food and rushing back to the tracks the same evening to have my fill again. I slept blissfully that night. In the morning I woke up even before the paper wallah delivered the paper. I skipped my shower and wore the same shirt that I had worn the previous day and walked to the tracks to experience the first high of the day. At work, I could not focus at all and I kept imagining going back, which I did. Thrice in the day, which I am sure puzzled everyone around me. The to-do list was burgeoning today but I ignored it and left again. The high was short lived each time now. And the only way was to sustain it was to increase the frequency of my sightings, which is precisely what I did. The text remain half composed. 

The entire week I only obsessed over the sightings. The highs though short lived made life better. Or so it seemed. A scraggly beard had formed on my face and I had dark circles under my eyes. My appearance had turned shabby but I felt much the opposite. There was a spark in my eye when I looked at myself in the mirror and my coffee stained teeth seemed to shine brighter than the Colgate brand ambassador. I was happy or so I thought. Next day was a holiday at work, that evening the moon would look like a folded chapati. I found myself practically by the tracks all day. My heart was beating faster all day long as I kept making trips from my home, up the snaking trail to the tracks and back. My feet were aching but my will was getting stronger than ever. I ignored meals and I forgot to drink water. By night I was dehydrated and a loud thumping in my head forced me to lie in the darkness. I kept observing the shadows which seemed to be leaping from the walls. It did not make sense, but little did anyway. I tried to get up to go back to the tracks, that would definitely cure this stupid headache I concluded. But as soon as I got up, I felt dizzy and I collapsed onto the mattress. I groaned and let darkness take over. 

“I did not realise when I drifted off but I woke up to see the cat-baby sitting quietly next to me. I should have been startled but I reached out to pet it. But it moved away, I tried to reach it again but it was moving away now. Here we go, I thought to myself and I staggered up. The cat-baby flicked its tail playfully at me and I made a quick jump for it but it escaped out of the main door. The door was open, did I not lock it before sleeping? I wondered while I ran behind it, down the flight of stairs and onto the mainroad. I could see its silhouette in the distance and I ran faster. Where did I get the energy from? There was no food or water inside of me but I felt alive. I kept running after the hobbling creature. What was that. What is a cat-baby anyway? A humanoid with whiskers and a tail? And that coat of fur? Who would believe me if I told them how I dreamt about it at first and then actually saw it in person. No one, unless of course I catch it. That would be something and I began running faster. What about the half composed text I thought to myself in my delirious state. I would send it once I had caught the cat-baby I resolved. 

The familiar sight of the snaking trail appeared and I saw the cat-baby hobble up. Yes, I would catch it now. I was painting heavily as I made my way up the snaking trail only to find the cat-baby seated daintily in between the tracks. I looked deep into those lifeless eyes which eerily reflected the street lights and shone in the moonlit darkness. I was close now and I took a step over the metal, extending my right hand as if offering it a treat. It looked at my hand disinterestedly but it did not move. I crouched close to it and moved deliberately, marvelling at how hideous it was.” 

A rumble sounded in my ears and I opened my eyes. In the distance, a bright light shone. I turned to look at the cat-baby but it was gone. There was no sign of it anywhere. It seemed different. I was not in my bed. I was on the tracks. My head hurt and I felt tired and thirsty. I was panting and sweating. I heard the rumble clearly now, felt the ground vibrate and felt my heart thump with anticipation of the impending high. I stood up straight and turned to face the magic on wheels. The headlights were blinding and I did not hear the sleepy driver's warning horn, I could only hear the deafening roar of the beastly machine that he was operating. I stood there looking in awe, while a large cloud drifted in and blocked out the chapati-moon as the train went about its journey. When it had passed, the cloud moved and I saw the chapati-moon shine bright before everything went dark again. 


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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.