The Passing Train

It is about the times when Rhea was in her late teens. School days had bid her a memorable farewell. In the gush of over- piled strategies for a full fledged future, she affirmed to H.R.College of Mumbai for herself. The college being located at Churchgate, she gave mobility to her mornings like every second Mumbai-ite. Early mornings, hushy chores, growling trains revolved around her life.

Aha! When I talk about trains, they are a mystery in themselves. A passing train sings its tales of gallantry as it approaches. A whistling train signals the vanity of a roaring tiger. These ferocious trains can scare the hell out of kids, soar our imaginations along and take us afar. Somehow, these vehement wheels of trains ripped Rhea off.

“A day like this” didn't spread its blaze ever again. Sheeting rains were blanketing the huge buildings of Mumbai. Rhea awaited her train at platform no.5 whilst a charming lad stood at the opposite platform. She observed the tea stalls, book sellers, hustle bustle of people waiting.

Alarmed! Her gaze couldn't escape the distant charm. ‘Love happens at first sight’ was just an absurd notion for her before this very moment. ‘The violin whirling its magical saga, two souls dancing away to paradise’ was only seen in romantic Bollywood flicks by Rhea. Who knew she would get sizzled with the same!!

As fire makes its presence feel through heat, a subtle flame from Rhea burnt this young chap too. “Look before you leap” is a saying for all ‘but’ for the lovers. He leaped enchantingly (without even realizing), in the smoke of ‘love’.

Moment paused, allowing the train to reign over it. Whistling with joy, it stood between them ruining the poor moment. Alas! Why this sweeping moment had to end, blurring the astonishing day with only the remnants.

It was cupid’s day for the silent lovers. A roster of such days embraced them. Every time they shared a melody, this unwanted freaking train marred the silence.

The finest morning it may be called, droplets evolved into the drizzle and there stood this ‘Adam and Eve’ couple waiting for their evolution in the pool of love. In the midst of water logs on railway tracks, they sensed a miracle popping. The grey eyed guy aroused in victory as he quickly gave her a white sunflower. Who knows the significance these flowers hold?? “Each sunrise raises my love for you”, whispered the gorgeous flower!! In a rush to catch their respective trains as they had changed their tracks, the hearts were left fretted in separation once again.

Love stories are not always wrapped in glee. Even the Phantom loved and so did Cyrano de Bergerac. The “Day of judgement” whisked away the holy spirits. The tints of this morning somehow didn’t appeal and Rhea seemed in her somber moods. Who says “Love is blind”?? Rather, “Love is the only one that sees”. The sorrow on Rhea’s face sank her distant admirer and forced him to break free, for the first time. Irrespective of the chaos around, he stepped the railway tracks to reach her. Her pain blinded him to the voracious train spreading its death web and ‘aghast’, smashed him into pieces. Love lost its breath to flesh and blood. Love cried out pleading the God of Death, but in vain.

The world stood still. Fragrant love of the souls soiled and shattered. The long silence fell prey to an everlasting one.

Rhea was dumped in the valleys of depression and agony. Such a sparkling girl lost her identity, strangled in her own prison of guilt. She caged herself from the world and her courage strayed.

The passing train still looks in her eyes and celebrates its victory. The shrieking train.. Can anyone escape?

Reviews

[Ahmad Cox]

You have an amazing talent to tell a story. I was gripped from the beginning

[Stonz P.]

As I anticipated, brilliant.
This kind of sadness while reading a short story of love was last when I was studying Ruskin Bond's 'The Night Train At Deoli' in class XII.
Though it did not portray death, it left a question in the reader's mind what had happened. If you have read the story, you will get my point.

Your description of the passing and whistling trains is darned good. I was quite delighted at the detail, which is quite true.
And another point.. Maintaining the 'Indianness'. One should never leave their roots out of their work.

Kudos from Lucknow.
-PeterB

[Marie]

This is a fine, though sad, love story. You have a magnificent style of writing, and this could almosst have been a poem.

[Kajal Gulabani]

Thank you so much Marie.. I will definitely try to frame it as a poem too. Rather, will certainly do :)

[Clayton Bardwell]

Am ill fated love that could never be.
Another glimps into life in India.
I like it. Nice twist.

[Kajal Gulabani]

Morning Clayton.. Thanks for appreciating it.

[Clayton Bardwell]

My pleasure.