Episode 70: The First-class Insult

Travel by first class is, more often than not, a tight-lipped affair. Not because you have to dress up that way to set foot into that compartment, but because many in there have their lips sewn tight. They never ever let the stitches loosen. They sit, stare, and bury themselves into a book or a newspaper. But never will so much as a sigh escape their lips.

Those who do let their mouths hang loose have the privilege of the tight-lipped fraternity staring at them in disgust. Of course, that's all they can do: Stare. If they have to voice their feelings, they will have to undo the stitches. That is tantamount to murder. And so fuming in silence they remain.

I, for one, am silent too. No, I am not British nor do I have a taste for stiff lips. It's just that I prefer to observe. So, as the train rocks to and fro and walks quite lazily to a halt alongside the platform, I close my book, walk into the compartment demarcated as Class 1, and - well - observe.

One fine day, as the morning realized it had to make me worry about work, I realized I was standing quite close to the door and had let my back rest against the partition. I also realized a couple had decided to station themselves right opposite me.

The girl was a caricature jewelry shops would have vied for. Her ears dripped with stones and chains that happened to collaborate and form earrings. A twisted set of winking stones suffocated her neck and her blouse was loud enough to give rock concerts a dark green envy.

As for the boy, he behaved as if he was hell bent on stressing the fact that the girl belonged to him. He stood facing her, put his arms around her, and, every now and then, threw acid looks at anyone who bothered to send a gaze towards them.

Of course the looks served no purpose at all. Hardly the girl nodded to say no to him, her earrings caught my eyes. By the time he saw me, I was quite sure her fingers were tired of the rings around them. And another five minutes later, as he dirtied his look, I was rather surprised to see the girl was none other than my ex-colleague Shobana.

"Shobana!" I said, "hi!"
"Hi hi Gary!" she said, walking towards me, bathed in sparkle, "Long time no?"
"I said yes, it's been a long time."
"You know him?" the boy asked, his face unsure how to react.
"Yes yes man. He's my ex-colleague. We had so much fun together no?"
His face now knew how to react and as it went back to dirtying itself, I asked, "Who's this?"
"Oh oh, this?!" she said excitedly, "is - Rushabh."

I extended my hand into what I thought was a menacing grip. "Glad to meet you," I said.
"Oh yes glad to meet you too."
"So er, when is the wedding?"
"Haha,"Shobana laughed,"There is no wedding. "
"No wedding!"
"Yes, we are living in."

Three newspapers folded themselves up and let their readers look at us. Another four books closed and I knew we had an audience that would never ever lose their attention.

"Living in?!," I asked, a little short on breath and tickled by scandal.
"Yes, much better than marrying no? I can walk out without any paperwork."
No wonder the fellow scowled at any potential candidate who would make her do so.
But that is not what I told her. Instead, "I see. I see," I said for I did not know what else to say and then added, "So the parents are surely against it then?"
"Well, his," she said as she dug a finger into his stomach, "are dead. Mine don't matter."
"I see."
"Besides, they don't even know about it." And she giggled as if she had let me and our audience in on a secret. I was rather taken aback. Shobana never was a girl who thought much about living dangerously, forget living in. The last time I spoke to her, she was this demure little lady all set to resign because she had to go look after her mother in some nondescript place in Kerala.

"How's your mother?"
"Who cares? She must be fine."
"So Shobana," I began, pretending to forget I was about to ask after her father, "when did you become like this?!"
"Haha," she giggled, her hands pulling the handles on the bar down with no success, "I knew you will ask me that."
"Well yes, this is quite a er.. radical change you know."
"Ahh, yes," Rushabh said, grim-faced, "very radical. It was her idea to live in."

My jaw dropped, bounced back, and decided it had better drop yet again.

"Shobana please tell me this is not true!"
"Haha," she laughed, her stones and chains yelling louder than the train, "It is!"
"What has gotten into you? Are you okay?"
"Well," she said, as she straightened her hair, "frankly Gary, I got fed up of being nice."
"Fed up?"

"Yes, you see when I was working with you, you remember how everyone bossed over me. Even you made me do your work remember?"
"I remember," I said as people around began to knife me with accusing looks.
"So when I went back home, I did some serious thinking. I realized no one bothered about what I felt about any situation. So why the hell should I care about what they think about me?"
I nodded.
"After all, how long could I just smile and be nice all the time? Well, so I said enough is enough and here I am - the new woman."
"The woman I really don't know!"

"Do you know I told my father to keep his hands off mother or else I'll show him his place?"
At that, two newspapers stopped listening and displayed themselves prominently.
"Oh I did not know that!" I said.
"Well yes, anyway, so that's that. I am happy. And so is this fellow." I looked at the happy fellow dirtying his looks yet again and was quite convinced to shut my mouth.

"Well good for you," I said, as the train began to slow down, "I wonder when I'll see you again."
"Oh you won't," she shot back, smiling.
"Why?"
"Well, two reasons: One - because I am here on vacation. I'll be gone to Dubai soon. We run a boutique there."
"And two?"
"Is because I did not like the way you made me do your work and walk away with the credit!"

The train stopped and I barely managed to get down gracefully. The grace I knew was no longer. It had made way for an honest version of practicality. Of course, her frank honest words slapped me hard on the cheek and scratched my neck. But I think it was good she did say what she had to. After all, a mouthful of honesty is better than a truckload of falsehood. And that I have begun to realize is for the better.