Greentext · 3 minThe Eleven Fifteen Passenger

>be me, class 7

>our town has one railway station

>two platforms

>the school is on the other side of the track

>every morning i cross at the gate

>every morning the gate is closed for some train

>i stand with the cycle and watch

>the goods trains are the best

>they go on and on

>i count the wagons

>sixty two is my record

>one day in the gate crowd i think

>what if i do not cross

>what if i just stay

>next morning i do it

>leave the house at eight like always

>reach the gate

>the gate is open

>i do not cross

>turn left along the track

>there is a neem tree near the second signal

>nobody comes there

>only goats

>i put the cycle down and sit

>school bag as pillow

>first train comes at eight forty

>express, does not stop

>i wave at the windows

>one small girl waves back

>that is the best thing that happened to me that year

>nine thirty, a goods train

>i count forty eight

>i eat my lunch at ten

>sun is coming up now

>i move around the tree with the shade

>the signal man comes out once and looks at me

>i look at the goats like i am with the goats

>he goes back in

>eleven fifteen, the passenger comes

>this one stops at our station

>i can see the platform from here

>people getting down with bags

>then i see a lady getting down

>red and white saree

>jasmine in the hair

>walking fast

>that is sarala madam

>my class teacher

>she teaches social

>she is coming towards the station master room

>a man comes out of the room

>white shirt, khaki pant

>the station master

>she gives him a steel tiffin carrier

>he takes it and laughs at something

>she pats his shoulder

>i stop breathing

>she is married to the station master

>i did not know

>nobody in class knew

>she gets back into the same train

>it is a passenger, it waits ten minutes

>she must have come from her mother's place

>or she is going somewhere for the day

>whatever it is she is not in school today also

>the train goes

>i let my breath out

>then the station master walks out of the room

>onto the platform

>and looks along the track

>straight down to the second signal

>straight at the neem tree

>i do not know if he can see one boy and one cycle from there

>but i lie down flat behind the bag

>and stay like that till the train is gone

>at twelve i go home the long way

>come back at four like school is over

>next day sarala madam is in class

>she takes attendance

>she says my name

>i say present

>she looks up

>"yesterday" she says

>"stomach pain madam" i say

>she keeps looking

>"my husband says a boy sits near the second signal"

>"with a cycle"

>"he says it is dangerous there"

>"goods trains do not blow horn there"

>the whole class is looking at me

>"it was not me madam"

>"i did not say it was you"

>she writes something in the register

>goes on with the next name

>that is all she ever said

>she never told my parents

>never gave imposition

>but for the rest of the year

>whenever a train horn came during her class

>she would stop talking

>and look at me

>just for one second

>and i would look at my book

>i never went to the neem tree again

>last year i went home for a wedding

>stood at the gate with the car

>a goods train was going

>i counted

>fifty eight