Not Just Love Actually

Prime Minister: Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge – they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion… love actually is all around.

Airports are more diverse than that. Many western writers say that they love airports for the gamut of emotions one can witness there. I know some who visit the nearby airport from time to time, to eavesdrop and jot down as many unique moments of human behavior as they possibly can.

Indian airports – too costly for the common man – in my opinion aren’t yet there. The railway stations on the other hand are our treasure. I won’t be surprised if the busiest Indian railway stations beat every other location on this planet in this one aspect. Everyday people from all cross-sections of the Indian society, and some foreigners now and then, meet on location and give Oscar-worthy performances. The underlying argument of Italian Neorealism: Everyone has one role they are perfect for – themselves.

Recently I had the opportunity to get stranded in a railway station for over four hours, between 2130 hrs and 0200 hrs. I wasn’t concentrating on situations, nor on diversity but noting down weirdness. Here is a laundry list:

• Guys with a language problem, with nothing else to do, make friends.
• Guy, probably in the habit of sleeping naked at home, starts showing his butt crack and hairy chest after 2300 hrs even when not sleeping.
• Guy won’t lend a girl two minutes of his Internet time.
• Eunuchs fight over their end-of-the-day collection, and one of them is heroic enough to threaten walking away without taking a paisa.
• Rag-picker from the road marches straight into the platform shouting jihadist slogans, and immediately acquires a slew of followers.
• Guys lock compartment doors from inside disallowing both general compartment and “genuine” compartment ticket holders.
• Guy throws a cigarette butt on the butt of a dog.
• Guy yanks and slaps his teenage daughter, and the entire family including the father and the daughter continues walking as if nothing happened.
• Guy throws a knife in the air, amidst public. It falls to the ground. He picks it and… GOTO previous sentence.
• Policeman avoids getting close to the above guy.
• The above Policeman’s colleague gargles pan beside a sleeping guy’s face.
• Guy eats sitting in his own pee.
• Guy too drunk to walk stumbles over the above guy.
• Guy mistakes the drinking water platform for a bidet.
• Guy hums all the songs he knows, and notes down points observing the people around.

Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the Indian railway station. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of boredom and monotony, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that weirdness is everywhere. Often, it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, old friends and new friends, children and strangers. When the boys ambushed the CST, as far as I know, none of the people killed were merely monotonous and boring – they were all men and women of weirdness. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion… weirdness actually is all around.

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