On December 27, I was visiting the Chennai Central Railway station. There was a hauntological echo around the red gothic-revival building as my cab reached the main gate. I waited outside, marvelling at its grandeur. My mother was visiting me. Her train was scheduled to arrive at 3.50 am but in my excitement I reached a tad bit earlier. As I entered the arched entrance, a pigeon flew over my head, a good omen.
I looked around at the empty steel chairs, arranged in neat rows and the first thought that struck my head was: Why have chairs and not beds instead? Almost every chair was empty but the station was not.
Most people waiting for their trains had made comfortable beds out of bedsheets or newspapers and were sleeping on the floor, some snoring gloriously. I had to navigate my way carefully over the sleeping bodies to reach an empty chair: they had formed a boundary around the seating space.
All this while I kept pondering as to why nobody was sitting on the chairs but then experience gave me an answer five minutes after I rested my back. I had a heavy leg exercise in trying to keep myself from slipping off the steel chair and the floor suddenly looked a more lucrative seating option. At this point a man walked up to me and asked if the newspaper on the seat beside me was mine. I said no! He picked it up, neatly opened the folds, placed it on the floor and dozed off. Alas! I could have done that and now I had to find another paper.
My back was beginning to hurt, so I got up, careful not to disturb the sleeping beauties and made my way to a coffee shop. I had glanced several times at the shut Higginbotham’s store to my left, hoping that someone would come and open its shutters. But then food and coffee were more important than books; they were the only services offered at that hour.
As I sipped on my filter coffee, I saw a bold red notice: ‘Defecation and littering in railway stations is a punishable offence and defaulters will be fined Rs 5,000.’ I pondered for a while: How in a place like I was in with a rule like the one I was reading, could the Railways ever incur a loss? But then I realised, newspapers and paper cups do not categorise as litter.
It was 4.30 am now and I heard the announcement I was waiting for. My mother’s train was here. As I was rushing to the platform I noticed a man walk by: He was wearing a lungi, walking by, as he brushed his teeth. Must be a station denizen I thought before the train finally arrived.
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