An obese man sat on the berth across from me. He had a round face, and the fat was distributed evenly all over his body. His face, probably angular once, had lost all its angles now. A sparse growth of hair tried to cover his scalp. The third button of his half-sleeved shirt was open, and part of his vest was peeking out from under it. He seemed completely unconcerned about his attire. His wife, on the other hand, was one of those people whom one calls ‘born beautiful’. Two teenage sons sat between them, while a daughter sat on the opposite berth. They had probably wanted a girl child – and they’d managed to get one without violating the official rule of not having more than three children. The moment they sat down, the wife instructed the children to ‘sprawl out so that no one would have the chance to ask for space’.
Then the wife instructed her husband, as if he were the fourth child, to ‘sit properly’.
He laughed stupidly. The way he sat told me a lot about his status in the household. The way you can tell, from the very first act of a musical, the true singers from those who only hum during the chorus. The elder son looked like he was about fourteen, the younger one about twelve, and the girl around nine or so. In other words, the entire project had been completed within five years! The wife was looking outside the window and realized, a little too late, that someone had occupied the seat next to her husband. She barked at the stranger, ‘Hey, don’t sit here. This is a reserved seat.’
‘Madam, no one’s going to sit here forever.’
She ignored his comment and directed her anger at her husband.
‘Why did you allow him to sit here?’
He answered with an embarrassed smile.
Next in line was her son. ‘You’re the one who stood in line for four hours. Why didn’t you object when he sat?’
He answered in a mature fashion,
‘Aai*, this is what Baba* does all the time. What’s the point of shouting at him?’
The ticket checker arrived soon after. On seeing the younger son, he said,
‘You have to a buy a full ticket for him.’ He pulled out his receipt book.
‘Wait! We won’t pay anything extra. He’s eleven years old,’ the wife said.
‘He looks more like thirteen.’
‘And how’s that our fault, huh? You look like you’re over fifty yourself.’
That really hit the ticket checker where it hurt. He hadn’t expected such a retort. The other passengers’ sniggers added insult to the injury. Everyone expected a good argument now.
‘Madam, you have to pay.’
‘No. My son is eleven and I can show you the birth certificate if you come home.’
‘I won’t move from here until you pay.’
‘You can stand there your entire life for all I care.’ She turned away, indicating that the conversation was over. The ticket checker left in a huff. Then she turned towards her husband and said,
‘Couldn’t you have said something to support me?’
He stayed calm and didn’t bother to answer her question. At Karjat station, the elder son decided to get down and buy some snacks. The younger one said, ‘Don’t. Let Baba go. You’ll miss the train.’
Their mother said, ‘It’s better if he goes. At least he can run and board the train. Your Baba will only be able to watch helplessly.’
The elder one promptly got down.
At Dadar station, the wife and children took it upon themselves to find a coolie, while the husband just stood without a care in the world. I walked out of the station knowing I’d remember this character for the rest of my life.
When I mentioned the episode to my wife, she asked,
‘What would you have done if you’d got a wife as assertive as her?’
All women have the mistaken belief that they are timid, shy, simple souls who are taken for granted by the world around them, while their husbands are street smart. They wish for men to be saddled with women who can show them their place and keep them firmly under their thumbs. Every housewife manages her own household with a firm grip on the budget and other things, yet she also believes that every other wife is blunt, rude and tyrannical. She feels that other wives keep their husbands in check, and silently wishes such a wife upon her husband so that he’d learn to value her.
That explains my wife’s reaction to the man on the train. Rather than finding him shy and timid, she felt sympathetic towards his tolerant attitude.
Lele came to meet me a day before my leave was to end. He had probably come to find out whether I planned to extend my leave. I assured him I had no such plans.
‘Do you know? Someone special has joined our branch recently.’
‘Who is it?’
‘A head clerk by the name of Vaidya.’
‘What’s special about him?’
‘You’ll see for yourself.’
When I rejoined work, I was stunned to see the same character I had met on the train the other day. The shirt, as expected, was shabby. All the buttons were in place, though. The vest continued to peep from under the half sleeves. I pretended not to recognize him and introduced myself.
He sat there, legs folded comfortably on the chair. Heaps of files were piled up on the table in front of him. One of the drawers was half open, and I feared he would hurt himself while getting up.
Thick reading glasses added a finishing touch to this character. The glasses rested precariously on the edge of his nose. It reminded me of a pencil rolling down a table and stopping at the edge, dangling but not falling down.
I was itching to step forward and adjust his glasses but obviously didn’t do so.
If only a person could
