Platform no. 1

Every time I go home for my holidays, I take the Ernakulam – Tiruchirapalli Tea Garden Express which after 14 hours of travelling, arrives at the busiest and the biggest railway station in Kerala, Ernakulam South at half past six in the morning. My house is another two hour travel from Ernakulam and my preferred mode of transport from Ernakulam is a connection train that departs within the next half hour.
Mornings at Ernakulam South railway station are the busiest hours, as this station is a hub for commuters that travel to work from nearby districts to this commercial capital of Kerala. Having nothing to do for the next 30 minutes till my train arrives, it has become my routine to sit on one of the concrete benches adorned by campaign posters of local political parties and watch the busy commuters walk by in a hurry to either get to their offices or to catch the next local train to nearby stations.
It is during these 30 minutes of waiting that I see her. For the past two years, the thirty minutes that I spend waiting for the same train, on the same bench, I have been seeing her. She must be easily over 18. Or maybe it’s the touch of poverty that’s making her look older. But the innocence of childhood is still clear deep within her eyes. The innocence of a child stuck within the thick walls of a mind that refuses to grow up. A mind that refuses to age in accordance with the physical world outside of it. A mind that refuses to believe that the reality is not so comforting as the blissful innocence of childhood. A mind that has not yet learnt that innocence need to be protected. A mind that is always unaware that it is alone. Unaware that the protection it once had, does not exist anymore.
It was when I saw her shouting at a man for throwing a stone at a nearby stray dog that I noticed her for the first time. At one glance she is just another beggar on the platform. Surviving on the meager charity of the compassionate people travelling by that station with no one except those stray diseased dogs for company and love. Occasionally the lady who cleans the waiting room provides her with little food just enough to make her survive the day. Just like any other beggar on that platform, she walks barefoot, cracked swollen heels, dirty ragged piece of cloth around her. In one word, she is an eyesore to any well to do corporate slave in this metropolitan city.
She always carried around with her a small colourful box. Made of tin, that box and its contents inside were of great value to her. All that the box contained were some colourful beads. Many a times I have noticed her playing with those beads. Like a child playing with her toys, she was completely absorbed in her fantasy world which involved nothing else but just her and her beads. I always thought that maybe those beads came to life in her little mind. They spoke to her in a language that only they understood. They were her only companions in this entire world. They were her reality.
What’s her story?
Was she a victim of the atrocities of a cruel and selfish world? Was she abandoned by her own family members due to the added burden of her illness? Where are her parents? Or anyone who is supposed to provide a little bit of care for her? Why is she living alone in the bitterness of the cold that this platform has to provide?

****

“Passengers, your attention please. Train number 6866, Chennai Trivandrum Superfast Mail from Chennai Central to Tiruvandapuram will arrive shortly on Platform no. 1.”
My train arrived. I haven’t seen her yet. The cacophony of travellers rushing towards the platform in the anticipation of catching a seat made me painfully realise that it was time for me to board the train. Settling on to an empty seat by the window, waiting for the T.T.R to check my ticket, my mind was still bothered by her absence. It could have been the unsettling change in my routine that was bothering me. A link missing from the regular chain of events that always followed before the arrival of my train. Or maybe it’s the unknowing concern that I developed for her over the years of distant acquaintance. She was not there today on the station platform playing with her colourful beads. Nor was she there protecting the stray dogs from the abuse of passersby.
Where could she have gone? What could have happened to her? Has she found a better future? Or has she been doomed forever to be stuck in the powerful grab of poverty? Whatever might be the case, it wouldn’t make a difference to anyone. Everyone moves on into the busy world while she fades slowly into the unknown background of a distant and bygone time. All she was to me was an unknown soul on platform no. 1.