The third leg

The phone rang at 2 in the afternoon, and I happened to pick it inadvertently without having snapped out of my siesta. It was a call from my friends from Bangalore and I jabber through the span of the call yet managed to get the instructions clear; to collect a caliper form Prithesh’s place and take it along with me to Bangalore, since Collins had had a foot injury. It took me an average Indian masala movie’s time to collect the caliper because I needed to drive through the whole of Chennai city and back. That wasn’t a big problem. A little stretch for a friend, that is all. But I hadn’t foreseen the things to follow.
I was all set to leave for Bangalore. As a usual practice, I was to use the local sub-urban trains to commute to Chennai central. But unlike the previous trips, this time I have an extra item to carry; the caliper. A lean, coffee colored, light weight aluminum reinforced rod, with a conveniently protruding grip and an aesthetically pleasing curve on to the top with a strap that wraps around the forearm; Or simply, the thing in the Arjun’s movie Karna. Things were normal expect for the caliper never blended with my pompous strut. Once on the road, I was immediately a cynosure. Almost everybody’s eyes were riveted upon the caliper. The first question that might have flashed in their minds is “what is thing?” followed by “why is this guy carrying it when he can walk properly?” The answers to these questions are left to their assumptions. All this is evident from the way they stare the stick. Initially they keenly observe the rod, heedless of the fact that the guy carrying the caliper is watching you watching it. Once the object under examination is recognized, the next observation is on the fellow who is carrying it. And the third part left for assumption is the inappropriate manner in which it is held, that too by a normal guy. I never walked across a single soul, who missed any of these expressions in that order. Once I was at the railway platform, I stood waiting right under the board which read ‘first class’. Standing beside me was an average Indian malcontent. “Too much rushuu.. these days.. whaaat is the government up to? Why cant they increase frequency. For normal people only big problem.. then how big problem for old people and other people??”. Though I wished he had spoken in Tamil, what disturbed me more was his reference to “other people” and followed by the look at my caliper. I wanted to ask him what made him assume that I am partially lame. But I dint. I just smiled away his presumptions. Then there was this inquisitive infant that tugged at the caliper from behind. This man next to me was prompt in frightening the child away by shouting in a his grumpy voice “hey hey.. hmm.. anna vizhunthuduvaaru”. The frightened child ran to its parents not before if fell twice and hurt its teeth. No longer could I tolerate my “savior”, but just before I uttered a word, he walked a bit closer with a smile of contempt suffusing across his face. Now I could smell the illicit liquor he had drunk.
God saved me as the train came in soon. I boarded the compartment, went and stood at the cross-sectional opposite door. The person who was complaining about the rush, pulled out a rag from under his shirt, spread it on the floor and lay supine while singing an old moral song from MGR’s movie. The compartments had been partitioned into ladies and the first class category. Apart from the regular glances, the aunties also exhibited sympathy and empathy. Thanks to mega serials, which had thrown some lights on the trauma the disabled undergo in public. Besides the very response they showed, I would argue, was conditioned by such serials, for a “kudumbap penn” that they were, they better pretend possessing sympathy. I wouldn’t have guessed it if not for a few poor actors there in. How do the heroes in the movie, who pretend blind, always get good looking girls to help them cross the road I wonder? The only two girls had examined me completely and had tagged me “ineligible bachelor”. The men were natural. They never pretended; they simply were indifferent. Only a few who cared, dared to ask me how to adjust the length of the rod for which I could answer. I am a mechanical engineer you see. After all, tool of use is for boys to muse. There was this rather eligible kind of bachelor, who had held his seat for quite sometime now, offered his seat to me. I am sure that he must have been in a quandary, to choose between the comfortable seat and gratifying good deed, because he relinquished his seat only after a long time, long enough for the internal debate to be settled. He was the only person to whom I told that I was perfectly normal and was carrying the stick for my friend. He then repented the generous offered he made, much to be attributed to his assumptions, because there were other passengers willing to play musical chair, to whom he had lost his seat. I had grown some kind of morbid liking towards this newly acquired attention, despite it being negative in intent.
I detrained at the destination, walked a few yards into the subway. There I found a slew of beggars, most of them crippled by polio I presume. I suddenly felt uneasy. Why was I feeling good about the attention? Why were those people paying me such attention, while they were indifferent to these genuinely crippled mendicants? What were they looking at; the aesthetically designed caliper alone? What feeling could they have had while they ogled at me, sympathy or mere curiosity? Was I by any means responsible for the attention I got, though I am sure I never feigned being injured leave alone being partially lame? Too many questions and too little a time to assimilate. To be honest I still don’t have the answer to these questions. Never the less, at that moment I realized that it is not enough to have not pretended. It is my responsibility to let others know that I am normal, they happen to look at me. This is not a kind of attention to get when even imagining me at the beggar’s position is dreadful. To atone for my sin, I paid them all two rupees each. Then I managed to attach the caliper to my shoulder bag in such a manner that it is easily understood as a static luggage than an instrument at use. That was the only thing I could do. The rest of my journey, I tried to answer the questions that intrigued me but in vain. I only hope I get a better picture soon.