I’m over hearing the girl in the neighbouring seat’s phone conversation (she’s had a fight with her BF, quite obviously, the piggy eyed guy who had come to drop her off at the station).
I’m spying on her mobile phone screen. (I have the habit)
I’m staring at the girl in the opposite seat’s bleached hair. And occasionally at her rock sized diamond ring.
I’m staring at one guy’s hairy hands.
I’m bitching about everyone around me with E.
I’m occasionally glancing at one man who is staring at me.
I am occasionally staring at the girl who is staring at me. I like it when girls stare at me. They probably are jealous of me.
I’m trying to hide my phone from E and the sobbing girl who’s just had a fight with her BF. Obviously she can’t be reading this.
I’m thinking what fight she must have had with her BF.
Is he her BF??
I discover her name is Mallika (Spied on the ticket in her hand. I got that habit too. Peeping and spying)
I’m watching drops of water falling beside me on my seat from the AC vent above.
I am trying not to pay attention to my stuffed stomach lest I feel sick.
Drops of water fall again.
I can’t listen to “Mallika” clearly. She’s speaking so softly. How do people manage to keep their voice so low while talking? I can’t do that.
M (short for Mallika) is telling her BF ‘Why are u not talking to me properly??’. And then she (or maybe he) hangs up.
Trying not to be nervous about what will happen at the airport tomorrow since I don’t have a photo ID proof.
Wondering why the TC suddenly questions and heatedly and rudely tells why I’m sitting on no. 37 instead of 36, which happens to be just beside it. Even though the seat is unoccupied. He doesn’t even want to believe when we (ya, E jumps in to save me) tell him that water’s dropping from above. ‘From above?’ He asks incredibly and suspiciously. The guy on the opposite seat ( no. Not the hairy one) contributes by pointing out another place where water is dropping from above. God sends angels in different ways. Anyway, the TC hates me. That’s for sure.
Oh, and the TC sends the coach supervisor to check and correct the problem. He definitely wants to get me out of this seat. He’s losing money on it, of course!! And now the guy is standing up and mending it the desi way. He puts in sheets of newspaper somewhere in the corners of the AC vent and I can’t stop smiling. ‘Now water won’t drop?’, I ask him smiling knowingly. He doesn’t get the sarcasm. ‘Now.. Shouldn’t fall’ he says uncertainly. And sure enough, once I’m back to my seat (the TC’s watching through the door), a man comes and sits on the third seat. The TC got his money!
M’s gone. The TC thing is over too. Now there’s nothing exciting going on. So I think about food. What do we eat when we reach Ahmedabad?
After a couple of more hours of idling, bitching and staring, I finally reach Ahmedabad.
Surprisingly, the Indian method of repairing the AC worked. No drops of water fell.
(PS: We are in the train on our way to Ahmedabad from Surat. We have the flight to Calcutta tomorrow morning. My journey begins. I am SUPER EXCITED!!!)
A mosque in Surat, located on way to the railway station
The totally jammed fly-over on way to the station. Everybody seemed to be rushing out of Surat for the long weekend. Thank God, we had left a good 1+ hours early. We chatted the whole way. We never are deficient in stuff to talk about!!