Glimpses Stolen.

Dinesh K Kapila
I saw him as he entered the coach. Tall, well built, close cropped hair. Wearing a
blue shirt tucked into well fitting trousers. After placing his medium size tan
coloured suitcase and bag on the luggage rack, he happily helped two couples
and a lady place their luggage also on the rack. To their profuse thanks, he just
nodded shyly. Then he looked outside the window as though looking for
someone. I was seated atleast six to eight rows away, on the side opposite to
where he sat. I just followed his glance. A middle aged lady stood on the
platform, leaning against a pole. She looked alone and tired, saw him and
started waving to him. He waved to her, as if to say, I am OK, then nodded
quietly to her to go. She just stood there, all alone, touched her eyes for a
moment with her duppatta, and beckoned him to come out.
The young man looked at his watch, saw there was still a minute or so to go and
quickly moved out. He went to her and embraced her, then swiftly touched her
feet and placed her hand on his head, evidently seeking her blessings. Then
again embracing her, he said something to her and moved towards the train, the
lady still with her hands towards him, as if unwilling to let him go. I just watched
quietly, lost in the mother son moment. The world was moving around them,
passengers hurrying to their coaches, youngsters chatting away on phones, pot
bellied middle aged men barking business orders on phones and here were two
lives playing out an emotion of their own. The young man bounded into the
coach and moved towards his seat.
His face betrayed his emotions ever so
slightly but his body betrayed his emotions as he slumped into his chair. He
again nodded to his mother to go. She gestured as if to say let the train move
and I will go. She clutched a thermos tightly to her, as if clutching her son and
unwilling to let him go.
I looked at her, her clothes were not expensive but certainly reflected a certain
taste in colours and cut. She was certainly a little dishevelled but that could be
due to travelling or the slightly warmed up weather. Why was she alone, I
wondered or maybe the father could not come or what. I looked at the son, he
pretended not to look at her, but was casting quick glances at her. He appeared
engrossed in himself. I wondered who he was, perhaps a fauji returning to his
base or a banker travelling to his branch in some small town. The train sounded
the horn and then again, the guard blew his whistle. The last minute commotion
scenes started playing out as relatives and friends got down or jumped in with
swift good byes.
The young man looked at his mother as the train slowly jerked into motion. She
smiled bravely, waved and started moving along the train. She was waving
away, the young man gestured just once, a brief acknowledgement. But he was
looking at her only. Around him the families chatted away, totally oblivious to the
emotional storm playing around them. The train gathered momentum and the
ladys composure broke, first it was one dab at her eyes with the edge of the
duppatta, then more dabs, then she just let the tears flow. The young man made

as if to get up and then sat back with a gesture of being helpless. My last
glimpse of her was standing, waving forlornly, tears still on her face, alone in the
crowd in the shadows cast by the setting sun. The young man sat still for quite
some time after that, hands over his eyes and it seemed he was sleeping. But I
knew he was caught in a storm of emotions and was simply regaining
composure. This byplay sort of haunted me all through the journey. As we
reached our destination, I looked for the young man, but he seemed all action.
He helped an old couple remove their luggage, picked up his own in one strong
movement and was amongst the first to move out. As I got down, I saw him
moving swiftly towards the exit gates in long self assured strides.
This then is life. Its series of journeys, people come and go, some partner you a
long way, some briefly. Pass and enjoy the time happily, remember these happy
moments wherever you go. The heart may ache but it also knows when its time
to move on.
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