Arriving on Platform No 7

Mysore – Chennai shatabdi express rolls in hauled by a handsome and ageing WAP5 loco from Erode’s electric loco shed. It is a five minute stop at KSR Bengaluru Junction. Indian Railways is going berserk with renaming stations.

Loco pilot gets off his cabin and walks down to the first coach, an executive chair car, presumably for a piss. By the time he walks back there’s a minute left for green flag. Assistant loco pilot presses the horn lever for two medium hoots. A passenger comes running, tailing his porter, to want to get on the train. The horn makes his pace faster. Train begins to roll. Assistant Loco pilot waves the green flag and is acknowledged by the station manager. The running man has managed to board the first coach while the train was in a slow roll.

Life would come to a standstill in this country if the doors closed automatically. In this country of stretchable, flexible, negotiable time… Any attempts at hardstops will mean a civilisational change. The country runs on exemptions.

The Shatabdi Express has rolled off the platform. There’s another last minute confuesed looking man making a boarding attempt. It is a high risk move. But he boards. In the pantry car.

Next stop is Katpadi Junction in Tamil Nadu, three hours away.

Malleshwaram Sunday

28/05/2023

Wake up to a locomotive horn as it arrives into Cantt railway station. Besides that brief rumble Sunday mornings are quiet. A late breakfast and slow ride on Sampige road. Malleshwaram breathes easy on Sundays.

Slow cups of coffee by the pavement. Fresh vegetables in a bylane.

The bonds with the city get refined over time. Leaving is okay. Necessary often. Resuming, if you’re returning, is to realise it’s unique character and rhythms. Every time.

Summer

26/03/2023

A brief dip into the city after several weeks. A burst of yellow on the terrace. The copper pod blooms are filling up the canopy.

At GKVK the main avenue has begun filling up with Jacaranda blooms.

Some sights are reassuring. They anchor life and living.

Park days again

Christmas Day

Cubbon Park

Ran a 13k this evening. The same big loop of park’s perimeter. Remembered how the month and the season felt in all the earlier years. All of them, satisfying in retrospect. Happy as they happened.

Every year saw running pace get better. Physical fitness get stronger. By January it would be the marathon on Mumbai. An attempt, the only one at that, of a better finish time. And then, to all the other outdoor sports for the remaining year.

This month is a re-start for running. Learning the strides again. Gathering paces again. Trying to get better again.

Life is probably about these repeat attempts that one is led to by a variety of reasons.

Re-opening

28/05/2020

Bangalore

6 AM

Airport this morning. A handful of us. Plane to Kolkata has pushed back. It is on nearly full capacity. We line up next.

On the way here, the cabbie pinched off platform’s commission by asking me to cancel the ride. He ducked paying for toll as well by taking advantage of a break in the median at one of the checkout gates. He managed to keep the entire fare, without paying the due to the platform and toll. I joined him in this. Cancelled the ride with as best an enthusiasm that one can have in these days.

Terminal 2 stands like a ghost town. Thousands of workers were busy constructing and upgrading a large airport terminal for this city. When the lockdown began they starved in their worker camps. By now, everyone has left, the cab driver says as we drove past the site.

At the gate, bought myself a cup of coffee. Almost ritualistic on most mornings of flying out from here. Looked around for the usual staff at Tiffin Express. Was glad to see familiar faces. They are serving only two items on breakfast. This airport’s 6 AM look and sound was never this. The conditioning blows cold.

On a large TV I watch a muted news bulletin. News tape reads ‘masks become the new political divide’ (in the US).

Can’t spot the sparrows. There is a row of parked and cordoned of airplanes in bays that would usually see high activity at this hour. Seating at the gates have alternate chairs marked with ‘please avoid sitting here’. A few families with kids. A few elderly couples. Plenty of single men. A kid sits wearing adult sized latex gloves on his tiny palms.

The men at security peer through their shields into identity cards that passengers stand holding in display.

FabIndia, HiDesign, Relay and all other stores stand frozen.

I look up again. The news tape reads ‘WHO steps up funding efforts’ and the organisation is busy raising ‘significant new funding’.

The plane for Kolkata begins moving to the runway.

The airport stands frozen as a poster with intermittent queues of passengers.

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