Author: Pandian Ramaiah

Recap: Jayanthan, Mrs. Mangalam etc. are all passengers on a morning train bound for Trichy, their workplace. They encounter Jyoti, a friendly and talkative vendor, at Poongudi station, on the way. Jayanthan’s sarcastic remark about Jyoti’s cooking offended her.

Part 1: Coupling Signals

Chapter 5: Early Bird Delights

The next morning, as Mrs. Mangalam and I began our walk along the platform, Ahmed caught up to us. It felt awkward. Mrs. Mangalam shot me a questioning look, her eyebrows raised high. I shrugged helplessly.

Suddenly, we saw a flash of something shiny. Tucked into Ahmed’s belt was a brand-new Walkman. With a flourish, he adjusted the headphones, wrapping them around his head before plugging the jack into the stereo slot.

“Hey, nice new Walkman, buddy!” I exclaimed, unable to contain my curiosity.

Rajan, puffing on a cigarette nearby, chuckled. “The fox coming to town is bad enough, but to howl on top of it?” His comment was laced with good-natured teasing.

Mrs. Mangalam burst into laughter, the sound echoing across the platform. “Now we know why you were so eager to join our walk,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

Ahmed, feigning hurt, protested, “Ma, no! It’s not showing off, really. It’s just like…” he stammered, searching for the right words.

“Mm hmm, okay, okay,” Mrs. Mangalam conceded with a playful smile. “A new toy. You want to enjoy it. Like a curious child, I understand.”

It was an AIWA Walkman, a treasure Ahmed likely captured it from Burma Bazaar in Trichy, a place known for its smuggled goods from Malaysia and Singapore. I tried it as we commenced our walk. The first listen was pure bliss. Ilayaraja’s melody poured through the headphones, rich and clear. The 3-band equalizer worked its magic, enriching the sound to a whole new level. In that moment, I knew I had to get one myself, if I could save up enough.

When we return to our seats, a surprise awaited me. A steaming idly packet adorned with a single, glittering jasmine bud sat on my seat. “Special idlis,” Jyoti announced, a playful glint in her eyes. “For someone who appreciates good sambar, especially after a bad breakfast yesterday.”

My cheeks felt warm under her gaze. “Thank you,” I stammered, the words tumbling out clumsily. “These look amazing, and with that fancy jasmine on top… I feel special.”

Jyoti chuckled, a melody that danced through the bustling compartment. “Well, someone had to appreciate my culinary skills after yesterday’s disaster,” she winked. “Watery sambar might sound strange, but it lets me offer delicious idly-s at a price everyone can enjoy. Win-win, Isn’t it?”

A playful question mark materialized between my brows. “Does that mean you’re planning to charge me double for this privilege?”

Her laughter erupted, as sunshine streaming through our house’s eastern door. It was a sound that could chase away any monsoon grumpiness, and I couldn’t help but grin. “Oh no, Mr. High Standards,” she teased, tapping my shoulder with mock sternness. “For you, it’s always complimentary watery sambar. Consider it a special discount for early risers with sophisticated taste buds.”

The light tap, though playful, sent a lovable warmth through me, a warmth that lingered long after the semaphore clanged, signaling the train’s departure.

(To be continued)

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Recap: Jayanthan, Rajan, Ahmed, and Mrs. Mangalam are all passengers on a morning train bound for Trichy, their workplace. They encounter Jyoti, a friendly and talkative vendor, at Poongudi station, where the train is usually delayed as it waits for another one.

Part 1: Coupling Signals

Chapter 4: Downpour Disappointment

One monsoon morning, the rain came down hard above our town. Heavy rain lashed down, getting me completely wet before I could even reach the train. My packed-breakfast, sadly, became a mushy, unappetitable casualty of the downpour.

As the train reached Poongudi, hunger haunted me. With a sheepish nod, I approached Jyoti, her presence momentarily erasing the rain’s gloom.

“One idly packet, please,” I mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

“Morning rough?” she asked, her voice surprisingly gentle.

My stomach gurgled in response. As I paid, I stole a peek – her hands danced expertly, flipping idly packets inside the basket, her eyes sparkling with mischief even as she chatted with customers.

Unwrapping the idly, I expected the usual burst of flavor. The sambar was like a watery soup, lacking the usual depth and complexity. Disappointment welled up, and I turned to Mrs. Mangalam, forgetting Jyoti stood right behind me. “Perhaps,” I made a wit, unable to resist a sarcastic comment, “the downpour was heavy inside the sambar and chutney pot too.”

A worried note crept into her voice as she asked from behind, “Is something wrong?”

The blood drained on my face. Jyoti stood as a silent witness to my complaint. I hadn’t meant to involve her, especially not after her kindness that morning. Swallowing my disappointment, I mumbled to Mrs. Mangalam, “Actually, it’s alright. Maybe I just need some…” I trailed off, searching for an alternative that wouldn’t hurt Jyoti’s feelings.

The silence stretched, heavy with the rain pounding on the roof.

(To be continued)

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Recap: Jayanthan, Rajan, Ahmed, and Mrs. Mangalam are all passengers on a morning train bound for Trichy, their workplace. Their train stops for an extended period at Poongudi station every day to allow another train to cross.

Part 1: Coupling Signals

Chapter 3: Comfort in Chaos

The Poongudi station was my familiar pause, a chance to stretch my legs and exchange the rhythmic lull of the passenger train for the melodic chaos of the platform. The breeze from the river, nearby, convinced us to forgive the delay of the Indian railway and its crossing.

Mrs Mangalam used that waiting period to do a walking on the railway platform. I used to accompany her to enjoy the breeze and give ears to my mentor. I used to share the challenges I face while working a temporary job at a small spare parts supplier of BHEL. She used to insist to leverage my diploma and seek better prospects in other cities. Whether I obey or not, she kept me motivated whenever I was down.

That day unfolded with the usual vendors sell their goods in a buzzing voice. The fellow passengers murmured among themselves. The wind blew gently, carrying the scent of the paddy fields and river.

Amidst the quietude, a familiar sight emerged – Jyoti, a burst of sunshine in a sea of grey, her smile cutting through the glooms like a ray of warmth. Unlike the other stall owners hawking their items, she stormed through the carriages, with a basket with freshly steamed idli-s and a jasmine blossom tucked behind her neatly combed and braided hair.

Her presence, as always, chased away the remnants of the morning chill, now accompanied by the soft chirping of sunbirds. Her smile was as warm as the rising sun, and her laughter as sharp as the pennies in her cash box.

Though tempted by her idli-s and its aroma sang a siren song to my grumbling stomach, I usually hold onto my packed breakfast. She greeted me with a mischievous glint in her eyes, her voice dripping with mock disappointment, “Home food today also, huh? If you’re such a mama’s boy, how will us get rich, eh?”. Her voice dripped with playful honey, a stark contrast to the fishhook that followed. She turned to Mrs. Mangalam, “Amma, here you are, cleaning your spectacles again? Winter dryness, my dear, not your bad eyesight!” Her laughter, warm and infectious, filled the air. Then, she moved on to the next carriage, leaving a silence, like the hush that follows a downpour.

(To be continued)

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Recap: Jayanthan, Rajan, Ahmed, and Mrs. Mangalam are all passengers on a morning train bound for Trichy, their workplace. As they wait for the train to arrive at their destination, they like to chit-chat on the platform.

Part 1: Coupling Signals

Chapter 2: Broke by the Crossing

As the train arrived, we usually board the first compartment, after the ladies’ coach for a quicker exit at Trichy. Mrs. Mangalam and Rajan preferred the front seats, while Ahmed and I sat opposite, continuing our lively banter, as the train transitioned from the platform to the main track with the gentle sway of a bamboo branch dancing in a breeze.

“For this short trip, we’re stuck on this train for two hours?” Ahmed muttered, starting a new topic.

“Take the bus, then,” I retorted playfully. “But triple the cost of your railway pass, mind you.”

“This train usually flies, Jayanthan.” Mrs. Mangalam interjected me, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “But the crossing at Poongudi takes forever. Which train waits for forty minutes for another, tell me? We could be in Trichy by then!”

The train whistled, entering Poongudi station. “See,” Mrs. Mangalam sighed, “Sidelined again. Looks like we’re waiting today also.” As Ahmed and Rajan rose to stretch their legs, and getting ready to get down, the train came to a halt.

(To be continued)

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Part 1: Coupling Signals

Chapter 1: Amber Embrace and Emerald Fields

The rhythmic beats of the passenger train was my daily lullaby, carrying me to Trichy at each sunrise and dropping me back after every sunset. On those foggy mornings, it slowly sliced through the mist like a baby millipede, revealing the lush green and emerald embrace of the paddy fields that looks to the sky. During winter, the sunlight struggled to pierce the dense fog, casting a fresh-lemon glow on the fields divided by a bund full of palm trees with rusted-iron-like trunk. In the distance, where the fields met the horizon, a glimmer of water danced in the sunlight.

But my daily lullaby didn’t just lull me to sleep; it also woke me up, its steady grumble serving as my alarm clock as I stood on the platform of that small station. The paddy fields, so serene in the distance, their earthy scent mingling with the aroma of coffee nuts brewing in a nearby stall.

A seasoned poster advertising Reliance Mobile’s ‘Connecting India‘ swayed on the platform. “Land lines and PCO booths are fading away. Imagine everyone with these little gadgets in a few years, But Nokia is the leader of the Indian market. How this Dhirubhai Ambani will win it with his LG phone?” I mused, pointing at the sleek phone in the poster. The inflowing clatter of the train echoed our conversation as we waited to board.

Ahmed made fun playfully, “Hoy Jayanthan! Fancy that? But who can afford them? Rumor says their bills are sky-high!”

Rajan, usually quiet, piped up, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “High bills? Why worry when ‘Taal‘ movie costs 300 bucks in the black market, and you don’t hesitate to pay! Aishwarya Rai is a sight for sore eyes, I hear.” He giggled at Ahmed – a hardcore Aishwarya Rai fan – who watched the ‘Taal‘ movie on first-day-first-show, the previous day.

Mrs. Mangalam, her wisdom radiating through the warm smile playing on her lips, chuckled, “Woah, woah, easy there, young man. We all know you’ve got Aishwarya posters plastered all over your room. But seriously, black market tickets? And talk about sky-high cell phone bills, ah? Wait a bit, Ahmed. The price might drop faster”. She tried to defend Ahmed to Rajan “But you see, Rajan! Besides, haven’t you watch ‘Hum Dil Se Chuki Sanam‘ yet? It was a masterpiece, and Aishwarya stole the show, no doubt.”

(To be continued)

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