Run.
The two bikes stop as the whir of their engines die. It's passengers disembark after the riders kick the bike stands with their left heels and tilt their vehicles to strike a pose. One of the riders is me and behind me sits a round man sporting a black T-shirt with army printed pants. The other bike that is parked in front of mine has as its rider a bald man who drags his feet as he makes his way towards us and behind me follows his pillion who carries with him a travel bag.
The clock at the entrance indicates that there is still time to kill. The pillion with the travel bag takes out a bottle from his bag and smiles mischieviously. He tilts his head back while he takes a swig from it and holds the bottle out to me, gesturing for me to do the same. The liquid rushes down my throat making my voice and my mood smoother. The bottle is then pushed onto the next person in the circle of four that we had created around each other and conversations of escaping the mundane routines ensue. One in the group leaves the huddle we've made to buy us platform tickets and suddenly the environment seems small and incomplete, a gaping hole stares from within the circle, breaking it.
I motion for another quick gulp from the bottle that had stopped its rounds at the foot of the hole. It seems a lot less now. Infact, it seems rationally much lesser than it should have been. Evidence of the culprit is seen in the round man with the army printed pants. He seems to have had too much too soon and is bobbing his head about in inconclusive thoughlessness. He then proceeds to blow out smoke rings and tries to catch them again in his mouth, like a dog trying to shoo away flies by biting into the air. He grins satisfactorily as he swallows wind, almost convinced for his sake that he was successful in his endeavour. He then points to the sky, motioning for us to look and says 'Plane!' in a low and endearing kind of voice, like it was his moment of pride. We all know it is there but look up at the sky anyways for his sake and smile as we locate the flying object. It was a game we played. He would point and say 'plane' and the rest of us would acknowledge it. I laughed lovingly under my breath. How unaware the passengers on board that plane are of us, who stupidly find joy in their mode of travel. I laugh again.
The thought is disturbed by an elderly couple on a bike who pull up close to where we stand. They look at us, years in their eyes, filled with a kind of disapproval that we were not used to. They exchange glances between the almost empty bottle, our young and restless faces and between their own, speaking in a language unknown to us but familiar in its tone. The round boy continues to hold the bottle up, blissfully unaware of what is happening around him, in a bid to salvage all that is left of the liquid in its plastic pepsico prison.
The one that is missing between the four of us comes running out the main entrance area and down the stairs, all the while saying something about a departure. His words are reinforced by the sudden earth shattering sound of an engine hoot.
It is late in the night and the troupe swaggers into the station on the lookout for a train, as if we'd miss it if we didn't look in all directions. The station now sleeps under a blanket of calm. There is no hustle and bustle, just the wide space straight ahead and behind of us and the open sky, like uninterrupted freedom that is so hard to find. We are each handed our platform tickets and we check on them again, just to make sure that we aren't thrown out if our paths cross with those of the station patroller, although that seems improbable, knowing what time it is and that there are not too many people around. It is almost always quiet and safe at a railway station, no matter what time it is. I reflect on that while we make our way towards the right compartment of the right train.
Given the inebrieated state of mind we were in and the kind of excitement being on the verge of travel creates, we were all charged up to take on the trip. All our committments aside, we were suddenly ready to leave to where ever it was that the railway tracks would agree to take us, with nothing on us but the clothes on our backs and our thinning savings on our debit cards. We were prepared to travel cheap and dirty. We were prepared to leave all behind and escape.
The train started to move and the one with the travel bag hopped on. He immediately motioned at us to get on after him. He looked at us, one face at a time and gave us a short nod, understanding for himself that he will make this trip without us and understanding for us that our semi-drunk state of affairs is not a trump card ticket to do as we please.
All we had to do was get on that train. And it had started to move.
We walked fast alongside it at first, picking up speed on our feet. Very soon we were jogging and then running as fast as we could, with heavy gulps for breath and friendly curses in our mouths for the apparent abandonment of the friends he was leaving behind. People awoke in the cabins near the door we were running alongside. Others stared at us, drowsy with sleep, watching us run past on the platform. We would have run all the way if we could.
We would have run all the way if we could.