I am sitting, quite at ease, at Merta Railway Station. The station is not really as obscure as it looks. One can easily locate it on the map of Rajasthan. One can easily comfortably choose it as one of the better access points to Jodhpur.
As I sit on a clean, broad bench wanting a cup of tea… I find my mental image of a ‘railway station’ slowly being recreated. This is no place throbbing with contrasting sounds of typically accented, rhythmic announcements and hurried, incoherent goodbye advices. There is no constant chugging of trains against metal tracks, no engine whistling the final warning either. No porters eagerly seeking to carry my meager baggage.
The only semblance of character is bandhini turbans smoking beedi, or white-bangled arms pushing to reach the ticket counter. This is also the only colour there is.
Yes, there are a dozen A-1 tea-stalls that are quietly going about their business. And yet again, the quiet transactions are rebels against the railway station’s identity of confused noise.
This very ‘quiet’ would be poetic to me if it were an abandoned station in the middle of a barren place, seldom used by anyone but the regular village-folk or the rare traveler trying to explore. But that is not what it is: well-lit, concrete platforms, a decently furnished waiting room, more than countable people. And yet, Quiet!
Now, it is not like I observe stations at a regular basis. Neither do I want to offer any insights. How could I possibly know?
Maybe this station is looking like it is, only today, only to me? Maybe it is my ninety-minute wait for the train. Transferring its boredom onto the platform? Maybe all stations in Rajasthan are this way… And the bustling stations with their recognizable chaos. Those exist in other cities. Or in studios!
Maybe.
I don’t know.
I don’t even know what it is I am feeling at this point. Am I shocked, confused or plain disappointed?
I know this:
I better get my cup of tea from across. Now.
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