Years ago, I travelled from Delhi to Cochin by train. One of my co-travellers was a septuagenarian. He was a gregarious human being and conversed with me as if we had known each other for a long time. He had spent time with his son’s family in Delhi and was returning home. He proudly narrated the achievements of his grandchildren in school.
He had purchased a good amount of sweets and savouries from Delhi to distribute among relatives back home. He opened a box and asked me to taste the sweets. Those were the days when people had faith in each other. Drug-laced biscuits exchanged to steal valuables from co-passengers were not prevalent. Though I was not fond of sweets, out of reverence for the man’s kindness, I tasted some.
In the evening, when I returned from a trip to the bathroom, I found a paper plate with a few vadas on my seat. The kind co-passenger said a server from the pantry brought vadas and he had asked him to keep a plate of vadas for me. Because of my sociable companion, the long train journey proved pleasant.
When he got down at his station, I felt a tinge of sadness, missing him. Smartphones were not in vogue then and one never exchanged phone numbers on the go. Hence, the man remained only in my memory. That was rail sneham.
The other day, a couple rang my doorbell. When I opened the door, they asked for my wife. She came from the kitchen and invited them to be seated. They had come to invite us for their daughter’s wedding. After they left, the wife informed me that they lived in an apartment two blocks away and she had played badminton with the lady. I said that I had never seen them. The wife said that I was a reserved person and walked around without looking at people. I pleaded that the apartment complex had 50 flats and how was I to know all the people living there.
I hoped to get acquainted with the family when we went to the marriage hall. To my disappointment, loud music was played in the hall and hundreds of people jostled around. Standing in a serpentine queue to congratulate the couple took a long time. By the time we left, I realised that I failed to get familiar with the family. That was another kind of social distancing.
P Subramanian
Email: mailpsubramanian@gmail.com