Firm hands those were
An entire lifetime spent-
hardened by the passage of time
I was awake. It was my Ma.
5.15 A.M. I overslept.
My day began
Routine chores done with.
It’s 5.45 A.M,
I put on my sweater, etc.
5.50 A.M. I can hear
the shrill whistle.
Yes, I got to run.

It’s chilly, dark outside.
I run, cold breeze
whistling through my ears.
streetlights out, very dark
I stumble upon something
A dog starts howling.
Pathetic, as if I almost killed it.
Suddenly the entire atmosphere
is surcharged with barks.
The silence of the night is shattered
I move on.

Railway Godown, a series of brightness.
It’s golden-yellowish. Sodium lamps.
The guard whistles. Signal-yellow.
I hurry. The engine puffs,
So does my heart.
Two more whistles. Signal-green.
I jump on to the tracks.
Again I stumble, but manage
to break the fall.
I lunge towards the platform
The coaches move on.
I exhilarate.
Manage to get hold of the bars,
Those hands pull me in.
Familiar faces, the window-
is half open. My friends.
Biting wind gushes in.
We cringe and make conversation.
It seems difficult.
Later
The train whistles – once, twice
Slows down, stops
Saij Sertha.
Voices. Pessimism? Door banged open
With it comes the wind. Chilling.
And so does the pungent smell
of Ammonia. Fertilizer Plant.
People come in. some remotely
Familiar, others, just strangers.
The train gathers momentum
Cutting through the darkness,
Rattling on with a musical note
Twilight appears, so does
Visibility, a little foggy though.
Everything seems dull, impotent, grey.
Second stop Khodiyar.
And then appears the orange glow.
and it becomes brighter and brighter
A big ball of fire
Creeping up the horizon
And there seems life.
The faintness starts disappearing
Life begins.

The buffaloes are being washed
Some grazing
Maidens fetch water
And men, children
answering nature’s call
Graying brown semi concrete huts, houses.
Cow dung cakes lying in piles.
Earthen pots, cows being milked.
It becomes a little warmer
and so do the commuters.
Fields – castor, mustard seeds and sunflower.
Bright yellow flowers.
The heart becomes lighter
Honk! Honk! Parallel to the tracks
It’s the bus.
Suburbs, the race against time begins…
Fourth stop. Ours. We get down
and so do the others
and move on towards the road
Its 6.35 A.M.

Six more hours to go,
to get hold of that diesel train
Vijapur Express
To come back home.

Bags packed. Its 12.20 P.M.
Bell goes.
We run
We can see the train
And we run, run and run
It hasn’t got the signal yet
There goes the honk – its yellow.
Hearts thumping, lungs pumping
We run
Its green, two more honks.
We are almost over the gutter
One after the other
We get hold of the train
As if to dear life.
And it zooms through.