One morning's race against time

Once up, all I do is get ready and get out. My formal wear for the day is ironed out the previous night. There’s no time for, “What will you have for lunch,” or “What time will you be back?” The roles and their questions are reversed on days the wife goes to work. 

I leave at 8 AM with simultaneous mental calculations at play. It’s still a little cold today which makes the early start pleasant. After a short walk, I sit in the rickshaw, waiting for its third passenger. Once the set of passengers is complete he will drive like a race car driver and reach the station in record time. You tell them you’ve a train to catch, and they assume you’re a roadrunner who will sprint on a 45-stair bridge, as long as they drop you near the stairs. They won’t spare the 20 rupees per seat, just because madam has to reach office by 11. 

By now my atheist mind has started praying for the train to be delayed. Not by a lot; just five minutes  is enough for today. I interrupt my “prayers” to nudge the rickshaw dada, “Chalo na, agey se koi passenger baith jayega.” Let's go, you'll probably get a passenger on the way. But if there’s anything that’s common between rickshawalas in the city and villages is their ‘we know best’ attitude. So he doesn’t move. Now I have replaced the hope of the train being late and resorted to cursing him (in my mind of course). 

The air outside is no longer pleasant. I check my watch again. It’s 8.16 and all I care about is just reaching Platform No 2 of Asangaon station to board the 8.30 AM local. I peep into the other passenger’s phone to distract myself, and notice the many apps against Goddess Lakshmi's wallpaper. The time stamp changes to 8.17. I am not good at math, but I know I have less than 15 mins to reach the platform after climbing 45 stairs. 

An angel comes along. Today, he’s a man dressed in a light blue shirt and black trousers. He sits, the rickshaw dada pulls the lever and we finally head towards the station. It’s 8.20. The calculations resume. Since I am sitting in the middle, I am wondering which passenger will get down first so I can follow. I am ready with a 20 rupee note to pay and hit the ground running. 

There are one too many rickshaws plying from the station in the opposite direction. That's a sign that the train has arrived. But since this is the first stop it will wait for at least five minutes. Hope does wonderful things before it crashes because of lane discipline. We get caught in the usual traffic snarls accompanied by incessant honking. Everyone wants to reach first and the roads are narrow. 

Minutes later, I reach the station. I pay as I get down, pull out my backpack in the front and start sprinting on the stairs. Two steps at a time, breathing heavily by the time I reach halfway. I can see the train waiting at the station. I'm on the bridge, walking, and the train honks just as I step on to the escalators. I close my eyes tight. I know, I am not going to make it. 

I arrive on the platform, as the train moves out. The time is 8.31 AM. I hold on tight to my bag, my fingers curl tight around the hanging straps. I find myself a spot to sit for the next half an hour. 

The morning that started with fresh cool air feels uncomfortably warm now. I'm left with some me-time on a rather empty station. Because most of them left on the train a minute ago.