It was late in the night, the train was late. The heaviness of the night pervaded the scene, and under its influence, most of the passengers had gone to sleep. I was sitting comfortably on the seat, wondering at the fast pace at which things seemed to whizz by. The rattling of the train drowned all the aural images the night produces; only the rumbling of the coaches against the rails was to be heard, except when the locomotive decided to slow down, or come to a stand still.
I felt a cramp in my leg as the train passed through a tunnel: the train, with the engine and coaches, was stealing away, like Time, under the dark arch, to rumble across the endless track that lay ahead. I thought it would best to take a stroll through the coach. I gave a gentle push to what seemed to be a hold-all. Somebody from the corner let out an oath, but I had trained myself to ignore such syllables. I could feel the cool breeze from the door, and made my way towards it.
I was travelling from Delhi to Lucknow. I hd been in Delhi for three days, and I looked forward to Lucknow now. My course of study in Aligarh had come to an end, and I had gone to Delhi in search of a job. The train was slowing down, and I could discern petty settlements near the track even in the dark. The approaching station was Aligarh. A man was standing with a bag in his hand to hop off the train as soon as it stopped. This reminded me of the days when I used to stand at the door of the coach waiting anxiously for Aligarh junction. I was on a different train, the time did not synchronise, but here was Aligarh.
I never could understand why we made the mad rush to get on or off the trains at Aligarh; the train always left well after we were safely on the platform, or in the coach. I guess this is a tradition that shall never end. The train pulled in at the station. There was no coolie in the dead of the night--- only a few boys making the mad rush to get on the train. Even as I stood at the door of the coach, there was an instinctive impulse to get off. 'This is your station: get down', a voice from within called out. I tried to ignore the voice, but the temptation to get down was great.
I had come to Aligarh a long time back, in 1995. It wasn't my heart's wish to go all the way to Aligarh to study arts. I joined B.A.(Hons) merely because I had no choice; but it was more of a revolt. It was a revolt against the serenity and mirthlessness of the life I had been living in Lucknow, a revolt against the solitude and loneliness I had experienced. I was very happy to bid goodbye to all this, at least for a while.
Besides equipping me with an honours in English literature, and a masters in Linguistics, Aligarh introduced me to the world. I realised that life is after all not to be wasted in the useless pursuits I had been after. The platform I had been contemplating to get off at had introduced me to myself: Aligarh introduced me to the talent in me.
As I looked into the darkness, the platform came to life. I hopped on the platform and felt I was home. Aligarh had been a home to me for seven years: no other place, I am sure, can ever match this. Men on the platform, women in their homes, boys and girls in the hostels, all of them were, I am sure, waiting for me.I could see the Faculty of Arts before me with its usual commotion of boys and girls. The faculty had given me knowledge: I shall always remember it for its gift. At just a few paces is Sulaiman Hall, my hostel. I wish I could tell it that I owe a lot more to it than the seven years it gave me. Here was life: I met my peers, and realised that life is worth all the trouble it is if you are in the company of friends. I sometimes wonder why student life had to end. I wonder if there will ever be a time better than those days. Things have never been easy, nor will they ever be, but this was a time I really miss. Somewhere on the walls of the faculty, invisible to the wayfarer who isn't familiar with the area, are chalked the names of the boys and girls, the alphabets half rubbed out and corrected, who used to meet here with a flame burning in their hearts. There are also chalked in the same place rows and columns of figures, representing the calculations, the youthful ciphering studies that were carried out to deduce the date of matrimony. Many of them have found eternal bliss in each other's company, while most must be mourning over their incomplete love-stories.
Aligarh brought me face to face with an important facet of life---love! I had a first hand experience with love while in Aligarh. Though I have experienced the joys and perils of adolescent infatuation ever since I was twelve, yet it was in Aligarh that I encountered 'love'. I am still not sure whether it was love of infatuation, but the attraction was certainly the strongest--- thank you Aligarh! It has been an experience that I shall cherish for the rest of my life.
There was a clatter of wheels against the rails, and a hoot of the engine--- the sensitiveness of habitual solitude makes the heart beat for preternaturally small reasons--- the train was to move now. I had crossed the threshold of time, gone up the passage, the paving of which was worn into a gutter by the ebb and flow of time. Aligarh had merely been a halt where the train had been standing for a while. Many more stations are to come--- I have a long way to go. I can hear a voice saying
Ae Aligarh, tera shukriya, tera shukriya, tera shukriya...
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