Essay on hour on a railway station
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Last evening I went to the railway station to receive my friend. He was to come from Bombay by 5.30 trains. The train was late by one hour. So I roamed about on the platform. I saw that the platform was full of people and their luggage I saw the newspaper stall with its beautiful colored magazines. I had a cup of tea at the tea-stall. It was tea for name’s sake only.
I saw some porters, sitting on a bench that was meant for ladies. They chatted and smoked and spat on the platform. Some ladies stood near them. They did not care to get up. A railway official happened to pass by. I drew his attention to the porters. He said that he was a ticket collector, and it was his job to ask the porters to get up. He went away. I wondered at his behavior.
Then I walked up and down the platform, and saw many curious things. A young wife was weeping because her husband, who was a soldier, was going to the frontier. A fat government official was garlanded by his clerks. A bride-groom and his party were cheered by their kith and kin. An old mother bade a tearful farewell to her son.
Just then the arrival of the train was announced. The porters lined up, and so did the eager people who had come to receive their near and dear ones. In few minutes the train pulled up. I saw an aged couple welcome their son most lovingly. I was looking for my friend. At last I noticed that he was standing in the door of a compartment, looking for me. I went to him and greeted him. Then we came out of the station and hired a rickshaw and came home. But all the while I kept wondering at the sight of the platform.