Three Seconds

I woke up with a startle. No. It was not the train. It was another plane taking off. Sleeping at a railway station wasn’t exactly my idea of starting a weekend break. Adjusting my bag under my head, I went back to sleep. A few minutes later, the PA system went off, “The next train to Chengalpattu will shortly arrive on platform number two.” Lifting my head slightly, I peered into the darkness. The train was on its way.

There were not many people in the train. Most of the passengers were those who were heading home to the suburbs after getting down at Central. Some were students heading to their coaching classes and there were a few workers too. And at this hour, there were no beggars, peddlers, artisans or acrobats. Since, I was getting down at the next stop, I leaned against the steel partition at a safe distance from the door. A very young boy, probably about five years old stood opposite to me with another boy who looked like his elder brother. The older one looked about twelve or thirteen. Another man stood at the door.

As the train began to move, the young boy reached for the steel bar at the door. His elder brother pulled him back immediately. The man who had half his body outside the train, took a step back inside, turned around and told the boy, “You can stand near the door when you grow up.” The idiocy almost swept me off my feet as the train picked up speed with a shudder. It amuses me on how stupid people can be. 

What is with foot board travel in trains and buses? In spite of the horrendous deaths that happen almost every month, people still continue to stand near the door or hang on to it. Most of the time, this happens even when there is enough space for everybody inside the bogie. The government does try its best – stickers plastered around the doors warning about the dangers, the occasional fines and there also media campaigns. But somehow, people just don’t get it!

A year back, a classmate had lost his life. He was hanging on to the steel bar near the door and made a slight move to make himself more comfortable. He lost his grip, fell down and hit his head on a traction pillar. There was not a single drop of blood on the scene. He died from a massive head trauma and internal bleeding. I couldn’t bring myself to grieve at his funeral. “What a complete idiot!?” was all I could think of. His loss changed nothing. My classmates were back to footboard travel within a few weeks.

The train slowed down as the walls of MIT came into view. I turned to the young lad and said, “Even when you grow up, don’t stand near the door.” The brother and the man turned to look at me. “Unless you want to die soon” The train came to a complete stop as I finished my sentence. I stepped out and walked away without catching a glimpse of the look on their faces. The one on the man’s must have been interesting.

The eastern exit of the overhead pedestrian walkway ended in a dirty alleyway adjoining the station. Cows rummaged through the vegetable waste lying around while littering the street with fresh gobar. Except for a lamp at the far end of alleyway, there wasn’t much light too. On the other hand, the main road at the northern end of the platform was well lit and tolerably clean. I simply had to walk along the track for a few yards and then cross three tracks to be on that road.

A horn sounded in the distance as I walked to the end of the platform. Pandian Express was on its way. I paused at the first track and turned to my left. There was no train approaching as far as I could see. I turned to my right. Pandian was approaching fast on the second track. In the three seconds that I took to cross the first track, my brain processed a series of questions: Should I wait for the train to pass?  Should I save the fifteen seconds it takes to pass? Would I be able to cross in time? 

The answers to all three questions were wrong.