Recollections of a July 11th guy

A rainy afternoon yesterday. I was in the train traveling to Andheri. It was a boring journey…uncharacteristically empty trains, a steady drizzle outside, implying all windows had to be closed, the stuffy interior of the train that bore a morose silence punctuated only by cell phone rings and the own rickety sounds of the train.

At Kandivali, a middle aged man came and sat beside me. nothing out of the normal, except for the fact that his left hand was amputated from the forearm downwards. I made the mistake of staring a second longer at his hand, and he noticed, as do all such people. He smiled. God. Embarrassed, I smiled back wanly. “July 11^th. Borivali blast” He said. I nodded, not knowing what else to do. If I’d looked away, maybe I would have missed out on this narrative. But I kept nodding, and looking in his direction, like I expected him to offer the details. Stupid me as usual.

As if on cue, he started talking. About wanting to buy a car last year, being confused about the model, going over prices, stats and features in his head whilst in the train on that fateful evening, when it happened. A concussion in his head that knocked him out. Waking three hours later at Bhagwati hospital, a poorly run government place. He talked of being on a mattress on the floor, half soaked with blood. Maybe his. Maybe not. Not that it mattered. Searing pain in his left hand, metal pieces probably. The hurt crying out. Bodies being brought in as if they were so many mannequins. Volunteers running in. Haziness in his vision. An injection. Rain battering the decrepit windows. Water seeping in. Flies on the blood. The car debate seeming funny at the moment. Nothing seeming important but the two words “I’m alive”. And wanting to be so. And then passing out, as the sedative took effect.

At this point, he realized that maybe he had let loose a little too much. Sorry, he says. Anyway, time for him to leave. Goregaon approaches. ‘I’m getting down here.’ He promptly gets up. The train lurches a bit, and he struggles to balance himself for an instant. The next instant, he smiles at me. I say…wait, what about the car finally? He laughs and says that his son will be old enough to drive in another year. I’m settling for a Swift he says. The train stops and he gets off.