love, actually

The first thing I notice is the look on the woman's face: she is trying very hard not to cry.

They must be newly married, I think, although the lines on his face betrays his age. He is no longer young, and neither is she. The young man who is consoling her must be her younger brother, come to see off his brother-in-law.

The train horn sounds, and it begins to move. The man turns away from the group and clambers aboard. The young man grips the woman's hand, restraining her as she tries to follow the train.

The duo pass out of my line of sight through the row of windows as the train picks up speed, leaving the platform behind. The man stands at the door, waving at them until they are out of his sight too. He stays there, looking towards the station long after it has gone out of view.

The scenery outside slowly changes. Green fields and distant hills tell me that the train has left the town at which it had stopped far behind. The man navigates his way across the aisle and quietly comes and sits on the empty seat beside me.

The other passengers continue their chatter, sharing their snacks and their stories, their laughter and their complaints. Their bonhomie excludes this silent stranger, who looks different and obviously doesn't speak their language.

"Going to Kolkata?" I ask him in English, trying to meliorate the terrible loneliness I see on his face.

His expression changes instantly, a wide smile spreading across the deeply tanned features.

"Yes," he says. His eyes shine with relief and gratitude at my small offering of companionship.

From our conversation made up of broken fragments of three different languages, I draw out his story. He has been married for almost twenty years and the young man at the station was his son, now in college. Seeing the surprised expression on my face, he explains that he was married when he and his wife were both teenagers.

He used to work in the docks in his hometown, and has recently been transferred to the Navy Dockyard in Kolkata. He comes home every few months to spend some days with his wife and son. His economic situation and limited education prevents him from quitting his job and trying to find work closer to his home.

I comment about how I mistook him to be newly married because of the unmistakeably noticeable love he shares with his wife. He blushes and says that it has always been that way.

My heart grows warm and I smile inwardly, thinking how many people would give away everything they had in exchange for a love like that.

songs of innocence (part 1)

A shudder passes through his body, and she hugs him harder.

"Let's stop and take shelter somewhere, or you'll catch a cold."

"Hah! I've ridden in far heavier downpours than this. This is nothing."

False bravado, and he knows it. It's getting icy cold, and they've been riding too long in the rain. His hands are frozen and the shivering becomes uncontrollable until he can no longer hide it.

"Please let's stop. Look, there's a tree. We can stand under that."

The worry in her voice makes him stop the bike. He parks it at the edge of the road, and they stand under the tree, drenched to the skin, dripping wet. The foliage above doesn't offer much protection, but it's better than being out in the cold rain.

"Here, let me warm you."

He laughs involuntarily, because it is he who usually says these words. They huddle together, rubbing each other's hands. But the wind is cruel, and chills him to the bone. The shivering gets worse.

"Come closer, my dupatta will protect you."

"This?" he says, looking incredulously at the thin piece of cloth made transparent by the rain water. He throws his head back and starts to laugh loudly, but stops almost immediately, noticing the hurt in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. But how do you expect to protect us with THIS?"

"It is said that if one loves a person enough, even the flimsiest garment can offer warmth."

The wind is freezing, the rain unrelenting and incessant. They stand there, water dripping over their heads from the leaves above, trickling down their wet clothes and merging into the mud under their feet.

But they are as cosy as a pair of pigeons in a warm nest.