Platforms



Waits for trains can be lazy or anxious. If the train is late and you are in a hurry, you may want to contract the time of wait that is inevitable. Worrying about whether you will get to your destination at the stipulated time or no. If the train is early, and you are late, you will dash across, trying to expand the pre-determined span of time that the train means to halt for. If the train is yet to arrive and you are not in any hurry to get on it, you will bide this time leisurely. Speaking to the timespace created by the elevated concrete dias called Platform. Plastic watches and fruit juice and urine will dance in front of you. Making you inhale time through the concatenation of thing and being that make space. You might also use this time to pull out of your pocket your own peculiar worries, pleasures and exhibits. Your prominent double chin or a lost lover will resurface at this point. It might mingle in the mixed company of urine and potato chips. The beggar might enter your personal thicket of worry and joy. A wafting tune of a B-grade film might entertain your wait. I am presuming that you, like me, are shy of talking to strangers. If you're not, then, you will probably make small talk about the declining state of the railways with a neighboring office - goer. I do not understand the lot of you chitchatters on platforms. I watch the peaceful sweat on fatty arms from a distance.

In a different timspace, platforms stage struggles with the harsh north wind. That one would have to pull one's wool collars up against. One might run into the glass cabins for waiting passengers. But I always found those nauseating. Grey residue of snow collected on the tracks. Grim, stout railway guards nodded as they passed you. You wondered if they liked their job. From the hazy grey, a pale light sharpened as your train approached. The drama of the cold ended, leading you into the respite of heated nausea.

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