Train to Kurnool

(Wrote this like a coupla months back on a notepad... finally found its way to the blog...)

I met a cheerful old woman on the train from Hyd to Kurnool yesterday. Her face was calm and relaxed. Perhaps she reminded me of my grandmother, which is why I took an instant liking to her. She was dressed in an impeccable saree, the pleats neatly done up and looking never ever disturbed. Her hair was straight, white, and pinned up delicately. I watched as she went about checking all the pieces of luggage she had, as old people often do. She methodically went about cleaning her spectacles and keeping all the things in the places they ought to have been. Then she poked herself with a needle (insulin, I got to know later) rather nonchalantly.

Noticing my disappointment with the cold, dull, veg-biryani served on the train, she offered me a chapati, chhole and some curd-rice. My policy of not accepting anything to eat from anyone in a train went out of the window as I gleefully digged in. Then began the usual talk about where our families were, what I was doing, etc etc etc. Her command over English was exceptional and she spoke clearly and crisply.

We got talking about her family. 'Twas a typical Indian family for her generation; two sons, a daughter and their families, all well-settled. Everything seemed normal, until she told me about her husband. Sadly, he was paralysed and at home... for the last 18 years. My respect & admiration for her quadrupled after I heard this.

All this while, she had a warm smile on her glowing face. She'd pretty-much figured out how to smile through life despite all that it keeps throwing up.

A thing or two to reflect on, and learn, perhaps?