Strangers on the train, boon or bane?

On asking, listening, and being open to have a 'moving' conversation with an absolute stranger

On the train from Nagpur to Bhopal, I wore two masks and a face shield. I was trying to smuggle a banana into my mouth without fully removing my safety gear. It was October 2020, and my sole focus on this train journey was avoiding the COVID-19 virus.

My childhood best friend’s parents had a love marriage. They met in a train. Aunty asked Uncle for some toothpaste. That little encounter by the railway sink led to my best friend’s life, and nice, shiny teeth.

Watching the film ‘Jab We Met’ had further intensified my desire to find fascinating people on the train. It wasn’t always a romantic quest. I didn’t want to meet a sad and handsome hero, Aditya Kashyap. I wanted to meet a bright Geet! Someone who will flush my life with joy.

The reality was dingy and depressing.

I was blessed with a host of grumpy uncles in my compartment, while neighbouring compartments chatted happily around shared food.

I gave up on the fantasy of having storyworthy train interactions. I put my earphones, ignored everyone, and focused on reading or writing. Or staring outside the window.

Clerkwell Tunnel - P. Broux

That’s what I was doing, when an uncle walked into my compartment. Tall, bald, wearing such dull colours that I don’t care to name them here. He was carrying a huge thailaa. Must be a shopkeeper, my quick-at-sorting-and-tagging brain said. I readjusted myself the way women do when men walk into the room. Keeping my bagpack in front of me. Averting my gaze. Drawing an invisible boundary.

Uncle got on a phone call. He was speaking about a student who needs extra help. It sounded like conversations I had with my co-teachers at the school. My ears were hooked, even as I stared at the setting sun outside.

Once he was done, I don’t know why but I turned to face him and cleared my throat. I asked the uncle where he was going. “Dilli mein invigilation ki duty hai,” he answered. “Aap teacher hai?” I asked. “Are you a teacher?”

He said, yes, a sports teacher. I told him I teach English. We started talking, our masks still on.

He was not a shopkeeper. He held a Ph.D. in Sports Education. Even more exciting fodder for our unexpected chat? He vehemently disagreed with how sports was taught in schools and colleges. He had his own vision of how sports education can transform lives. I listened and nodded, my hands resting on the pillow on my lap. I shared a bit about how reading and writing can also transform lives. He listened with his nodding head.

Our masks came off when we silently had our dinner. Parathas of two different shapes. Mango pickles of two different colours.

Later, I told him about my awful experience of sports in school. I connected it to the number of named and unnamed illnesses I carried. He listened, asked me questions, said it is still not too late to take up a sport. Eventually, he prescribed swimming or cycling to me. He said my body needs all round movement.

Imagine! Letting an unknown uncle tell me what my body needs!

I was moved by the care when he called me “beta”. I was struck by his passion while talking about his students who come from marginalised backgrounds. It was like we were two trains, our journeys intersecting in an actual train.

I did not catch COVID19 on that train. I caught something deadlier - the willingness to try a sport, and an openness to strangers.

People who look interesting aren’t always interesting. Sometimes, a Geet arrives into our lives in dull clothes.

Are we eager for our stereotypes to be destroyed?

Do we clear our throats and start a conversation?

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Earlier drafts of this essay emerged in the beloved writing group, Bavaal Writer’s Salon and the first Ochre Sky Writing Circle. 💜