Waiting

 Waiting

 by Vaishnavi Rao Pernenkil

         All she could think about was the small bead of sweat trailing down her spine. She stood with the sun beating down her back, with her hair softly blowing in the wind, and judiciously checking her slim wristwatch. She stood there at the platform, wondering about the arrival of the train. The bustling movements of the koolis and the vendors kept distracting her mind. Frustrated and agitated, she waited.

         As she sat there, the soft rumble of the approaching train peaked her ears. She sat there as the train slowly inched its way to the platform. 

A gust of wind approached as she stood up and it rustled her mustard yellow kurta. She watched as families lugged their large loads of luggage into the trains, accompanied by the red turbaned koolis. She stood there transfixed, unsure how to maneuver her way past the mothers clutching their children’s hands, their faces scrunched with worry about the train’s departure.

         She lifted her small attaché case and slowly lifted her kurta to climb the small metal stairs onto the train. With a swift move of her arm she shifted her dupatta to her left shoulder as she boarded. She dodged the bustling movement and waded her way through the crowd, each step just as calculated as the last. 

She grasped the metal bar of the train as she adjusted her weight onto the dusty train compartment. She made her way past the families drinking tea, her shoulder and breasts uncomfortably grazing bystanders in the crowded passageway. She watched as the fathers adjusted luggage into the spaces below the seats, yelling remarks of discipline to their children. She simply walked past them clutching her attaché case and ticket tighter in her slender right hand. 

She finally made it to her assigned seat, and looked at the crowded compartment with a look of disappointment. She looked with indignation as the large robust family in her compartment were sharing a meal of roti and dal.

“Kao na beti,” said the plump woman to her daughter. The girl’s little face looked at her mother in fury as she said, “nahi.”

         She smiled quietly to herself as the roar of the family swarmed her ears. She sat there staring at the barred view of the soft sun shining on the wheat as the train slowly jolted to a start and moved along slowly. 

Footnotes:

Kooli: a carrier of bags on busy trains in India

“Kao na beti”: please eat my daughter in hindi.

“Nahi”: no in hindi.