Chapter 2

I tottered towards the track that lay beyond the first platform and surveyed its length. On one side, in the distance, hung the illuminated walkway bridge, and on the other, a near complete darkness. Then I watched again, curiously this time, the portly man with his unwieldy satchel bound over the gravel on the tracks, his bald head glinting from the lights on the platform. There’s always a plan B with my folks.

As I watched from the threshold of the platform, he reached the other end and prepared to scale the crest. One dare-devil act and he was on platform 2.

No use playing chicken anymore. 

I lowered myself down to sit on the dirty edge of the platform, dangled my legs for just a moment in the dark in want of a footrest, and scooted forward. Maybe it was the rubble or my weight or my miscalculation of the depth, but the landing was a bit more jolting than I had expected. I went down momentarily, scrabbling for the earth to balance. Then I righted myself, blinking in the dark to make out the floor in the pooled murk of the depression. It was a territory the man-made lights could not conquer all too well and where shadows ruled all night long. I scurried across the track without sparing much thought in the way of caution. The edge at the other end came to a few inches below my neck, and that made fresh beads of sweat break out on my forehead. I was not sure if I could haul myself over, and in the normal course of events, it was not an experiment I would bring myself to attempt. I planted my palms on the dusty floor, heaved myself up, swung my leg up toward the lip, and, to my surprise, caught it. With a smile I was sure would have looked loony, I cleared the edge and trotted across the landing that housed the platforms two and three. The Chennai Express still awaited me without a ruffle.

I saw the baldie sinking into the next trench. He should be after the same train, I thought. I spared a moment to catch my breath and hitch my jeans up. There was no way I was going to miss the train anymore. Unless.. 

The realization brought with it a sharp intake of breath. I shuffled to the edge of the third platform and eyed to my left. A lone circle of light hung in the air at a faraway distance. This track was serving the purpose it was built for; a train was approaching.

I regarded it for a few seconds. It was too distant to warrant an alarm, and the circle of light expanded ever so slowly, as if the train was just chugging to a start. I quickly judged - no danger there. I sat down on the verge and dropped to the tracks. As I picked my way across, a booming whistle rolled out from my left. I started, and my right toe hit the cap of the track I was to step over. A stab of pain shot up my leg, and I let out an instinctive whimper. I staggered, took another step, held on to the edge of the platform where my train stood, and braced my forehead against the rocky side of the trench. I knew what happened down there in the gloom. I felt the impact well enough to know that the toenail there had peeled out. The one my mother always made a fuss about, the one I never cared to trim. A nice comeuppance. I brought my right hand down to inspect the damage. I felt a dangling flake of nail barely holding on, and when I touched it, as gingerly as I could, the pain flared again. I felt the clamminess of blood between my fingers and cursed aloud. My breath was coming in ragged gasps. I rolled my head against the side wall and took in the moon of light gaining, still from a safe distance. I swallowed and licked my chapped lips, then raised my head to check up on the Chennai Express. The windows and the faces peering out of them were not stationary anymore. They had started to inch away.

I steadied myself, took in a deep breath, and affixed my palms on the landing, like a person primed to start a workout session. I hoisted myself up, poised my weight on the straightened arms, and tried to fling my leg to catch the edge, just as I had done a few seconds back. My bloody leg arced, came up short and fumbled the rock wall for some purchase. There was a churn in my stomach, as if signalling the attempt was futile. My arms started shivering. With a thud, I dropped back down, and got rewarded with a renewed flash of pain.

I blinked and looked around. The baldie was nowhere to be seen. He must have boarded the train already. I swiped the sweat away from my forehead and closed my eyes briefly to shut down the stream of thoughts, each a gruesome image of what would transpire if I failed to clear the area soon enough. I nodded vigorously to myself, rubbed my palms, and started to maneuver up again when a thought flashed. The backpack! I wore it off quickly and hurled it onto the platform when a second bonk resounded, this time from the departing train. I took a moment to appreciate the lightness sans my heavy backpack, and supported my hands on the embankment again. The climb was quite smoother than I had expected, and it made me feel as if I had shed off a considerable amount of my flab. I rolled over onto the platform, collected my backpack and bolted towards the train.

I squinted at the red plaque sticking out of the entrance of the nearby carriage and found it to be S2. My seat was reserved on S4. I had no way of knowing if it had already gone by or was trailing this S2. The train was speeding up already, and I was afraid a moment slowed down to check on the number of the following coach would be a moment too long. I decided to board the S2 carriage and walk through the connections to reach S4. I sprung toward the far end of S2, caught the yellow handholds that flanked the entrance and hopped onto one of the withdrawn steps, careful not to hit my injured right toe at it. I allowed myself a few seconds to catch my breath and acclimate to the feel of my body in motion and smile victoriously before letting myself in.