The Girl at the Station

 

I was at Varanasi railway station waiting for my train. I had been there for the last half hour and the busy scenes of the railway station were now boring me. I remembered that my first long-distance trip where my parents allowed me to travel alone was to Varanasi only. I was 17 years old then. I am 25 now and a lot has changed in the city and me since the last time I was here. If you’d ever been to a train station and observed around you’ll notice that there’s a pattern to all the things that happen there. The arrival of a train would charge up the whole atmosphere and people would rush towards the train. The vendors would suddenly come alive and there would be chaos everywhere. As soon as the train left the vendors would return to their stalls and the chaos would descend into calmness. Also, you’d notice that there would always be two or three persons standing near the bookstall gazing through the books but would never buy them. Honestly, I have never seen anyone buying books from a station book-stall.

I was sitting on the bench of platform no.9 waiting for my train. I had a book titled ‘A collection of short stories’ in my hand and I was planning on reading it when suddenly I heard a voice.

‘Ae bhaiya, Ae book wale bhaiya’. I looked in the direction of the voice and saw a little girl standing on the stairs of the overbridge. She must have been 9 or 10 years old. She was dressed sharply; her hair was tied in pigtails with a blue ribbon. Her eyes were big and bright. A lady was standing on her left side, probably her mother. She was holding an infant in her arms and struggling to hold her bags at the same time. The little girl must have noticed the plight of her mother and asked for help.

‘Would you please help us with the bags?’, she asked with confidence. Her mother probably wanted not to ask for help but before she could say anything I stood up and took one of the bags and helped her down.

‘Do you want to sit down?’, I asked the lady.

She replied with a simple nod and I took her bag to the bench where I was sitting. The family settled down on the bench soon. I wanted to ask the lady where she was going but she looked tired. She was sitting on the bench with her head bend back and her eyes closed. She was relaxing. Her child was peacefully sleeping in her arms so I decided not to disturb them. I opened my book and engaged myself in reading.

A little time passed and I noticed that the little girl was bending down trying to see the cover of the book. Maybe she was trying to read the title of the book. Her eyes looked curious and she looked serious.

‘Do you know how to read?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I know. I know how to write a letter too. I learned it in my English class.’, she said with pride. The mother opened her eyes hearing her daughter’s voice. But then closed them soon too. I could understand that the girl was talkative and her mother knew that. It must have been a normal situation for her so she wasn’t worried and went back to relax.

‘Oh! You can write a letter. That’s good.’ I said praising her. She was wearing a frock and I could notice her ankles. The skin around her ankles looked dehydrated and cracked. She caught me staring at her ankles.

‘I have Ghungroo which I occasionally wear in my ankles when I dance.’, she said and lift her ankles to show me where she wears her anklet bells as if I didn’t know what she meant. She was excited to tell me all this and she wasn’t a bit ashamed to show me her dehydrated skin.

With immense curiosity, I said,’ You dance too! Where did you learn to dance?’

She replied instantly, ‘Veena ma’am teaches me. She says I dance very well and one day I would perform all over the world. In America, Japan, Britain, Italy….Umm...All over the world.’

‘You would, surely.’, I said. Her mother was listening to us. She opened her eyes. I looked at her and she smiled.

She said with a faint smile and sadness in her voice,’ This little girl talks so much. She loves dancing so I send her to a local teacher in our neighborhood. There she learned all these videshi names. I am not sure I would be able to afford her dancing anymore but for now, we are making our ends meet.’ And she moved her hand over her head in a loving gesture.

I am not sure whether the girl listened to us or not. She was busy with her thoughts. She was playing with her pigtails when she suddenly asked,’ Do u know how to dance?’

‘I don’t. I am bad at dancing.’, I said. ‘ Would you teach me?’

She thought hard and said,’ I can teach you but you’d have to put on ghungroo first.’

‘Dhatt…’, I said. ‘ Boys don’t put on ghungroo.’

‘ Then I won’t teach you.’ she said and moved his head away from me. She was, maybe, hurt with my refusal. I sensed her anger and said,’ okay! Would you teach me if I give you two chocolates?’

‘Ab hum nhi sikhayenge’, she replied angrily. She was furious.

 ‘Okay, Okay! I would put on ghungroo. Would you teach me now?’ I asked apologetically. For a moment I forgot that I am an adult talking to a kid. It almost felt like I was a kid too.

She again thought hard and said,’ Umm. All right. I will teach you.’ She paused for a while and then again said,’ Maybe we’ll both perform in America, Japan, Britain, Italy. But you have to dance well, just like me otherwise I won’t take you with me. Then you’ll cry but I still won’t take you.’ She was extremely serious when she spoke these words.

There was an authority in his voice. She spoke with command. ‘All right.’ That was all I could manage in my answer. I thought about how this little girl is so much passionate about her dream. Who knows, maybe she would have to drop out of her classes soon but she was unfazed. Maybe she didn’t even know about this, maybe she did. I don’t know. I wondered how she would react when she would have to stop dancing. Her whole world would come crashing down on her feet and unlike adults, she wouldn’t have any philosophical consolation to offer to herself. The world is cruel in this way. How it takes our innocence? I thought.

I lovingly said to her,’ If I couldn’t dance properly and don’t come with you to faraway places, would you remember me?’

She didn’t understand my emotions. How could she? She was just a kid. She didn’t reply. She didn’t know what to reply.

‘Would you write me a letter?’ I asked. ‘You know how to write’.

‘Sure’, she said.

‘ But you don’t know my address?’ I said mockingly.

She smiled and said,’ I will ask the postman.’

‘Postman, What postman?’ I enquired.

‘ A postman comes to our house to give us letters. He says he knows all the addresses in the world.’, she said innocently.

‘Oh! And what if he’s telling a lie?’

‘Why would he?’ she said.

This was such an innocent question. She thinks that the postman has no motive in telling her a lie. Why would anyone lie to anyone? What’s the need? I had no answer to this question. I just sat there silently.

‘You are a little Devi. Do you know what’s a Devi?’ I said after some time.

She was quick to answer,’ I know what’s a Devi. I become Devi once a year when my mom fasts. Then I get many eatables and rupees. I wish I could be Devi the whole  year.’

I wished too that people treat girls like Devi the whole year but I know it’s not possible. This little woman doesn’t need to know that for now.

Suddenly, a loud horn from the train caught our attention. People begin to move towards the train.

‘Chalo beta, it’s time.’, said the lady to the girl. They started to get ready to board. I offered to help them with their luggage. The girl held my hand so that she doesn’t get lost in the rush. The train arrived and they boarded. The girl let go off my hand and went inside the compartment. I felt a gush of emotions through my body. I sat down on the bench again. The girl sat near the window of the compartment. She was just in front of me. I could see her. She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back.

Suddenly I thought of something and pulled a paper from my bag. I immediately write down my address on the paper. At the bottom of the paper, I wrote my credentials ‘BOOK WALE BHAIYA’.  The train started moving. I ran down towards her and gave her the paper.

‘ Would you write me from America, Japan, Britain or Italy?’, I shouted.

She smiled at me and nodded.

I sat down at my bench thinking that maybe in some alternate universe some version of mine would have been courageous enough to stop her from going. I imagined that maybe in my future when the memory of this event would be long gone, I would receive some random letter from America, Japan, Britain or Italy. I would be so happy if it happens. I thought about the time when I was like that little girl; The 17-year-old me, full of energy and passion, ready to conquer the world. Now, I am sitting at the same place but with a lot of philosophical thoughts. Oh, Human! Why do u have to grow? Why do u have to be wise? I felt cheated. I traded my diamonds with iron. Growing up felt like a bad trade.

The rush around me settled. The voices of the vendors died down. I was immersed deep in my thoughts and I was, again, alone at the Varanasi railway station waiting for my train.