The warm window pane gently touching my feet has a melancholy evening framed in it. The sight didn’t change in the last fifteen minutes – only a tremendous red sky and an endless expanse of arid land. Very beautiful and very intimidating. So intimidating that even the moon has become like a faint sickle and escaped to a corner of the frame. There are apparently no living things on the other side of the window. Or, may be, only this melancholy is alive. I can almost touch it as it percolates through the window pane. Guess it will just devour the entire train if it remains at this station long enough.
The two middle-aged men on the side-seats have started a game of chess. They are saying the moves out loud as they write them down. I could hear e4-e5, Nf3-Nc6. The Ruy Lopez opening. I’d love to watch the game. I’ve a feeling that Black will play ultra defensive and will eventually lose. The scientist lady is giving the chess players a strange look (I’d say the first look was for “what a stupid game”, and the most recent one was for “at least it keeps them quiet. The chaps sitting near the toilet are playing cards and making so much noise”). Whenever the lady is looking at them, the old man sitting next to her is also rotating his head and giving them a void glance, as if it is mandatory to look in the direction the lady is looking. I don’t know what the old man does. He had finished his introduction by the time I came to my seat.
The burning-hot daughter of the scientist lady is on the upper birth diagonal to me. In spite of a lot of conscious efforts for not looking at her, I’m looking at her once in approximately 30 seconds (or may be 15, even though it seems like 30). It’s hard not to look at her and explore the possibilities of getting a prized glance some time, given the way she’s dressed and the way she’s sitting there. Our eyes met a couple of times. I tried to hide the lust in my eyes and make it look like affection. May be I was not entirely successful for she gave me a glance that has an inexplicable mix of pity, mercy, hatred and surprise thrown in random proportions. Who cares! She’s not my relative, and she’s not a minor!
“Yes, even though my research and profession need me to somewhat believe in evolution, I am a creationist”, said the lady. I was so engrossed with anatomy that I missed a good part of the ‘highly philosophical’ debate between the lady and the old man. “Do you think”, the lady continued, “it is necessary to believe in everything that you teach your students?”
“Not exactly”, said the old man, “the less you believe in what you teach/preach, the better it is for you.” His voice said it was sarcasm, but his face said it was just meek surrender.
“I didn’t get you exactly”, she said; and she seemed not much interested in getting him, either. “Ok, let me put it this way. Do you believe that whatever exists had been created some time?”
“In that case, if you say that since god exists ………..”
“No no, let me explain again, suppose ….”, as soon as she started her arguments for her client (god) in a commanding tone, the Black player excitedly said “Nxe4”, and the debaters looked at the chess players. Black is making his position worse. I think I know what white is up to.
I felt the pain again now. I’m so familiar with it by now that I almost started liking it. It’s like an addiction. The pain is as if someone is piercing my heart with an infinitely sharp needle – I mean, sometimes it’s just one needle, sometimes it’s a million of them. And sometimes the needles make way for a little hammer. I like to play little games of prediction with them – who’s going to attack the heart next – the needle or the hammer! Kind of fun. But today I am getting a new thing, too. A faint buzz in the ears. Or, may be it’s just a bee. Or, may be I’m just making things up.
The sex bomb has turned the reading light on. She looks all the more desirable now. The debaters are still continuing. God’s existence remained as questionable as that of a yeti. The lady used her authoritative voice to suppress that discussion. The old man supported her with his weak personality. They are dealing with life and death now.
“There can not be a sudden end to anything. Can it? You can calculate how much was the total mass and energy in the body prior to death, and exactly what happened to them after the death.” The lady seems all excited now, apparently because she has found something to make the old man puzzle with. “But what about the intangible things – hope, ambition, lust?”
For a moment I felt like she is talking about me, hinting at the fact that I have been devouring her daughter with my eyes for quite some time now.
The old man said with a mystical smile, “They were never there.”
I don’t think I got it what he said. I’m sure the lady didn’t either. But the debate was again interrupted by the excitement of the chess players. Seems that the Black King is about to die.
I can feel the pain again. It’s not just one million needles now; it’s trillions of them. I don’t like this uncalled for prank by the needles. Seriously, I don’t. And the buzz is getting louder and louder. I can barely hear what the people around me are saying. But why can’t I see my sex bomb up there? Is it so dark now, and no one cared to switch on the lights? Why can’t I see anything, and can’t hear anything other than the buzz? I’d still like to know what happened to the chess game! I’d still like to follow the debate and see the old man win! I’d still like to see the private parts of the sex bomb, even for a second! I’d still like to reach my destination and meet ‘her’.
I can hear some broken words amidst the buzz. Something that tells me that the Black King is just moments away from losing the battle. And then, may be after a few seconds (or a few years, or a few centuries. I just don’t know after how much time!), something like an announcement on the radio, “……. any doctor …….. rush to ……”.