Ramesh was sitting cross-legged on the carpet with the paper, while I read The New Yorker in my chair by the window. Suddenly he read out, "'Small Railway Stations to Close'." I looked up, and his face was full of insincere concern -- as when I say something childish like, "I hurt my finger."
I made the same face at him and said, "They won't close your railroad station - it was never really open." He said, "No, it's just a facility. They'll still need facilities." He has an imaginary village, with a small railroad station, not a regular stopping-place but available in case of need. He meets the station master, crosses a bridge over a nearby river, talks to people. It's a device he uses every day, when he lies down and tries to go to sleep.
He began singing a song by Tagore - "O, unfortunate one! If no one listens to you, go on alone" - adding his own verses: "O, unfortunate one! If small railway stations are closed, go alone! Go alone!"
No comments:
Post a Comment