The Boy Alone.
By Dinesh K Kapila
This refuses to go away from my
mind. I thought perhaps writing it down would help me move on. Its nearly a
month since we travelled on the Sapsan
Train from Saint Petersburg to Moscow. The train (Sapsan – a Russian word - is
a type of Falcon which flies the fastest) covers the distance of 700 kms in
nearly four hours. We, my wife and I,
were ushered in most politely though I was surprised that the luggage of all
passengers was passed through the baggage check machines twice.
As we settled down, we got chatting
and watching the passengers coming in. This particular compartment had seats
both ways, starting from each end, at the centre there was a common table with
four seats around it, two seats on each side facing each other across the
table. We were seated just on the row behind, on the opposite side and could
see the table clearly. A young boy walked in, cap pulled tightly over his head,
looking for his seat. He realised he had the side seat, towards the aisle. He
quietly pulled off his rucksack, settled down, quietly looking around. He was
dressed in simple clothes, with a light jacket thrown on. I noticed he was all
alone and was feeling it. He sat
quietly, waiting for the train to pull out. Another family walked in, husband,
wife and a young boy, and made their way to the three vacant seats. The young
couple were on the quiet side, as it seems are all Russians, but the young boy
or rather kid would be loud all the way through, whether eating or sketching or
talking.
The luggage settled on the racks above,
the family sat down and pulled out a range of eats and salads. The young boy
had nodded his greetings to them as they moved in, buy was ignored by the
adults and the young kid also understood that. As the family sat around their
eats, sampling from each packet and box, the young man pulled out a can of a
drink from his rucksack. I could not read the words in Russian it could have
been a juice or a cola. Then he carefully placed it on the table, sort of
staking his claim on the table too. He nursed the can this way for over an
hour. The family continued to polish off the food as he then proceeded to sink
into his chair and close his eyes. But I could make out he was opening them
just a bit to watch the family, specially the kid.
By this time the train was
speeding along and we were watching the city fade out past us. We enjoyed the
way Saint Petersburg has preserved the tree cover and integrated it into the
city all over. After some time, somewhat satiated with the endless birch trees
and greenery, I looked at the young boy again. He was looking at the family and
when the small kid said something apparently funny, as the father smiled (the
mother was partially hidden from view), he too threw in a few words. The young
kid smiled and looked at him, but the two adults again froze him out. I
actually felt for him at that moment. The young boy thereafter took out a thick
bag and commenced to read it, though I did notice the turning of pages was
rather on the slower side.
As the family accepted the tea
and a light snack being served, they also took out another box of eats. The
young boy then took out another three cans from his rucksack as also four small
jars of what could be a jam or maybe eats. These were placed on the table with
deliberation but would remain untouched all the way through. The endless birch
trees, forests and lakes, large and small, flashed by, as did a couple of
cities. Each city, they were evidently industry oriented, seemed full of
traffic and good sized buildings. The greenery fascinated me, as did the farms.
Not a soul to be seen on the farms, hay in bales evidently for the winters, but
hardly any farm machinery or farm animals. Perhaps not the season for the same.
As we moved on, I again studied
the young man. He wanted to go the washroom and sort of tried to catch the eye
of the family. They looked away. He then proceeded to go anyway, leaving his
rucksack under his seat but the cans and jars remained on the table. When he
returned, the young kid tried to engage him once more, saw the reproof in his
father’s eyes and went back to his sketching. And talking. And eating energy
bars or something like them. The young
boy, well he pulled down his cap a bit more after the latest snub and after
looking at his book for some time, started looking out of the window aimlessly.
I wondered who he was, where was he going and why was he so alone. Part of me
was angry with the young mother of the small kid but then I reasoned each one
of us reacts differently to each situation.
By this time Moscow was near.
Passengers were using the bathroom and getting ready to detrain. I noticed the
young man was in possession of a mobile phone, all along it was in his jacket.
He was calling frequently as I could see from his fingers but the calls were
unanswered. He then evidently tried another number, tried to talk very slowly
but then knowing fully well that people were listening, he went to the doors
and spoke from there. He looked distressed. At least to me. He sat down and
quietly started placing all the cans and jars and last of all the thick book
into the rucksack. He was impatient as he tried to fit in the tome. He was in
between dialling a number but not getting through.
We were now steaming or rather
gliding onto the platform. And the young boy was finally through on his phone,
his voice sounded ever so plaintive and slightly shrill and loud. It was clear
he was protesting or maybe remonstrating, with whom, I could only wonder. The
threesome around him quickly got up as the train halted and walked away without
a glance at him. He followed suit,
slowly, head down and hunched. We waited till the passengers with the lighter
luggage exited and then made our way to the door. He was there at the door, all
alone, looking at the floor, silently standing and looking at his phone, as
other passengers went past him. If only I knew Russian at that stage. In any
case we got down, I looked back to see if he had exited the train but till the
end of the platform I was looking back at times and I doubt he had done so.
Near the exit from the platform,
I saw a young dishevelled man run towards the train we had detrained from,
shouting what I can remember as Sasha repeatedly. I hoped in my mind as we
trundled along our baggage that he was headed for the young man we left on the
train. I really hoped and prayed for this. That is my last memory of this as by
then we exited the station at Moscow. But this incident has stayed with me. I
do hope it fades out now. Life does normally accord happy endings ultimately
and I am sure it was to happen here too.
PS – Just had to say. Russia is
beautiful. As Julia, the guide at Moscow
told us, watch a little less of CNN and BBC and you will come a little less
with preconceived notions to the country ! They are a proud people with a huge
sense of history and pride. And painfully aware of the cost of war.
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