The Little Boy Who Loved Trains

“Stop putting your hand out of the window, Abhi!” his mother’s voice awoke him from his reverie.

Abhi looked at her, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Ma, I am always careful. Wasn’t I born on a train, after all?”

Ma sniffed in disapproval. “Yes, you were. But that does not give you immunity from hurting yourself, does it? What if a pole or a tree hits your hand? Accidents can happen.”

It was a short journey from Thrissur to Ernakulam, and it was after years that they were travelling by second class. Abhi had insisted on that.

“Ma, what is the point of being shut up in an air-conditioned compartment. It gets so stuffy inside. And remember that awful time when the bathrooms began leaking?” He wrinkled his nose at the memory. Ma put a firm finger on his mouth. “Enough!” she ordered. That was one memory they both hated, a train journey that had been pure hell.

It had started with water streaming into their compartment, wetting all their pieces of luggage. There was a peculiar metallic smell that wafted into their nostrils, the typical train smell that would stay on even after they had left the train behind. That day, Abhi suddenly found himself gagging at the smell. He had tried rushing to the bathroom, but before he could reach there, he had brought out his previous meal in one disgusting heave. There was complete pandemonium after that. The memory still made him blush.

However, now that Abhi had brought up the topic, he found that he could not shut the memory off. Wasn’t it strange that every time one shut a memory off, it re-emerged stronger than ever to haunt one?

Was that a Harry Potter influence, he wondered? He had devoured the books, waiting in impatience for every new title to come out in all its glory. He had pestered his mother to buy him the entire series, and she had given in to him. She was also a reader and understood the uniquely portable magic of books, as Abhi’s favourite author had put it. Abhi did not remember his father, but he had loved books too.

“Ma, do you know there is a platform named 9 ¾?  Harry had to push his luggage straight at the wall to reach the platform to Hogwarts.” Ma had smiled at his excitement, and ruffled his hair. “Don’t try it at home, OK?” she had said teasingly.

Abhi never got tired of hearing about his birth. When he was younger, his mother would embroider the tale, giving it a different twist every time.

“Oh, Abhi, it was such a terrifying time. You were in my stomach and I was going home to my parents. Suddenly, there was a jerk, and the train began jostling. We were all terrified, and without any warning, my stomach began to churn. In a couple of minutes, you came out; the sweetest little baby ever and everyone clucked over you.”

Abhi loved hearing the tales. Of course, he was always the hero, the little one who spread happiness around. There was another tale that went in a totally different direction. Ma’s face turned all smiley when she began her next narration.

“OK, here’s another one. It was a dark night and we were travelling to Bangalore. It was pouring and we could see nothing outside. Every now and then, a streak of thunder would zigzag its way across the window, followed by thunder. I could not sleep because as you know, I am terrified of thunderstorms. Every time a clap of thunder sounded, I would flinch. It was uncomfortable because I couldn’t even lie down properly as you were in my stomach.”

Ma stopped and looked at Abhi with a smile. “You, of course, were fast asleep inside. Once in a while, you would give me a kick as well.”

Abhi waited for her to continue. Ma’s eyes turned nostalgic as she mulled over the past. “Ma, don’t stop. Tell me the rest.” Abhi’s voice was impatient.

“Ah, where was I? Yes, I wrapped the rough railway blanket around me, hating the way it scratched my arms. But it had turned cold. A sudden clap of thunder, which shook me to my very core, and suddenly, there you were. The prettiest baby ever, according to all those who saw you.”

Abhi gave Ma an impulsive hug. No wonder he adored trains. They lived in a single house that lay close to the railway station. Every time a train trundled by, the whole house would vibrate. They had both got so used to the rumbling that they hardly noticed it any more, except when a chance visitor would shut his ears against the noise, asking in puzzlement, “How on earth do you put up with the constant noise?” Abhi would explain how they had always lived there. “We don’t even hear the noise. In fact, we miss it when we are not here.”

Abhi’s father, Vikram, had been a bank officer. He had fallen in love with Shalini, his gentle college mate, and had wooed her and swept her off her feet. The first few years had been blissful, and she recalled the exact moment when she had told Vikram that she was pregnant. He had been ecstatic, and had lifted her off her feet and swung her around in his excitement.

Whenever Abhi asked about his father, Ma would smile as she talked about him, but there was a sadness deep within her beautiful eyes that Abhi could fathom. He knew how much his parents had loved each other. Ma had told him so. “Your father was a wonderful person, Abhi,” she often told him. “You look so much like him. You have the same grey eyes and the same nature.”

Abhi would gaze at his father’s photograph, the black and white one that was on their bedroom wall. Ma had never put a garland around it, for she believed that he was still with her and Abhi. She would speak to him whenever she felt depressed, or when Abhi had done well in school, or when she needed some advice. Often, miraculously, she would find a solution to her problem, even as his eyes twinkled down at her.

“Ma, stop dreaming. Look at those monkeys running along the tracks.” Abhi’s excitement was infectious.

“Abhi, close that window now!” Ma’s voice held an inflection of fear. “Those monkeys could actually come in through an open window.”

“But, Ma... they are so cute, so playful!” He closed the window, pressing his nose against the dirty glass, his eyes never leaving the frisky little creatures.  The next moment, the aroma of hot vadas filled the compartment, and his attention was diverted.  Ma had already bought a couple for him along with the spicy coconut chutney that he loved.

The train pulled into the Ernakulam station, the wheels trundling along as they slowed down, till they stopped with a little jerk. Abhi picked up his rucksack, which had his book, his water bottle and a biscuit packet, in case he got hungry. Ma picked up her hand bag and her little overnight bag. “Come along, Abhi!” she smiled.

“Goodbye, train!” whispered Abhi, as they made their way to the exit. “We’ll soon be back.” He waved to the ticket collector, who waved back with a smile.

The auto rickshaw stopped in front of a pretty house in the heart of the city. The old couple were waiting outside for them. Abhi jumped out and rushed towards his grandparents. They held their arms out to him and gathered him in a bear hug. As Shalini made their way towards them, her mother-in-law enveloped her in a warm embrace as her father-in-law patted her on her head. “Bless you, child!” he said in a quavering voice. Shalini looked at them with warmth. How dear they were... Vikram’s parents who had been a constant support to her after he had passed away.

Once they had finished lunch, Abhi’s grandfather smiled at him. “Abhi, I have something for you. Come with me.” They walked, hand in hand, into the study. There was a gift-wrapped package on his grandfather’s desk.

“Thanks, Grandpa!” Abhi darted forward to pick up the packet. He loved presents, especially gift-wrapped ones. By its shape, he already knew that it was a book. He tore it open in excitement. It was a yellow-coloured book titled ‘The Boy Who Loved Trains’.

“Oh, I love it, Grandpa. This boy is just like me,” he exclaimed. Grandpa smiled as he nodded. He also loved surprising his little grandson. “I hope you enjoy it,” he said as he walked away. He was aware that Abhi would not waste a moment, and he was not mistaken. The boy had already made himself comfortable on the sofa with the book.

That night, the three adults sat in the lawn, looking up at the star-studded sky.

“He must be up there, looking at you and Abhi,” sighed Vikram’s mother. “He loved you both so much.”

Shalini looked up at one particular star that shone down on her. She merely nodded, as she strove to swallow the lump in her throat. It was a poignant moment, a moment where she felt that Vikram was around there, along with all the people he had loved most in the world.

“When will you tell Abhi?” the old gentleman asked. “Isn’t he old enough to know how his father died?”

Shalini nodded again. “Soon, Dad, soon!” she said softly. She knew for a certainty that it would break her son’s heart.

Her thoughts flew back to that night in the train when Abhi was born; that dreadful night when their train had derailed; that heartbreaking moment, the end of all her happiness, when her beloved Vikram who had been standing at the door, had fallen into the darkness.