The old man, easily in his late fifties and a little plump, shuffled into the train. Spotting an empty seat, he moved quickly to claim possession. He had a bird cage in one hand, which he put on his lap after he had comfortably settled down. A piece of cloth covered the cage completely, such that no part of the interior is exposed. He had two other similarly covered cages, which were kept inside a large rectangular HP carrier bag meant for storing a tower case. And what a perfect fit it was, the two cages fitting exactly into the bag, as though it was made specially for holding bird cages.
He kept the bag close to his legs, and he did this with little fuss. It was merely a few seconds from the time he sat down to his making some minor adjustments – indeed, it couldn’t have been more than five seconds. All this while, and after having settled down, he kept a curiously nonchalant look, never turning his head once to check if his neighbours might feel any discomfort with the unusual items in his possession. There’s a certain focus and swiftness about his actions that suggested that he carries those cages and travels on the train quite frequently, perhaps on a daily basis.
His neighbours were a middle-aged lady, seated to his right, and, on the other side, a young man who looks around thirty-years old. The latter was asleep, his arms folded and his head resting against the windowpane. The lady seemed unbothered by the bird cages at first, until a distinct chirping sound emanated from the cages. This caught her attention, and she started to glance discreetly, almost awkwardly, at the bird cage next to her, as though she were looking out for the flight of the chirping animal from its enclosure. She was guarded and restrained, looking out from the corner of her eye, conscious not to reveal to her stern-looking neighbour her sudden-found uneasiness.
As the chirping persisted, so did her furtive glances; it had her complete attention for the rest of the journey. Yet her silence and disconcerted gazes did not grow into any overt displeasure. She seemed uncomfortable having to travel alongside an unexpected creature on an afternoon train ride, but it must have been bearable - for she had continued to remain where she was, even if she were silently suffering.
Meanwhile, the old man had the bird cage firmly held on his lap, his countenance impassive, body erect. He was oblivious of the sideward glances his neighbours had been casting by all this while. Whereas the lady was visibly affected by the bird cages and the sounds that came from them, he, placidly still in his seat throughout, was her perfect foil. Or, one wonders, was this a practiced indifference? The young man next to him was undisturbed, indulging in a nap that was uninterrupted by chirping sounds next door.
A few stations later, the lady got up and disembarked, finally relieved of the indignity of having to sit next to some birds on a train. At this moment, the old man sprang into action, as if suddenly awakened from a spell. He moved quickly to his left to occupy the lady’s seat, which was at the corner of the row. Displaying the same swiftness as he did when he first sat down, this time he could afford more room to move his legs. He looked around for a while, and appeared satisfied in his new seat.
No one took the seat next to him after that, at least not until I got off the train a few stops later. I wonder how many stations more would it be before the old man finally alighted – with the bird cages and the chirping bird(s) inside them.
He kept the bag close to his legs, and he did this with little fuss. It was merely a few seconds from the time he sat down to his making some minor adjustments – indeed, it couldn’t have been more than five seconds. All this while, and after having settled down, he kept a curiously nonchalant look, never turning his head once to check if his neighbours might feel any discomfort with the unusual items in his possession. There’s a certain focus and swiftness about his actions that suggested that he carries those cages and travels on the train quite frequently, perhaps on a daily basis.
His neighbours were a middle-aged lady, seated to his right, and, on the other side, a young man who looks around thirty-years old. The latter was asleep, his arms folded and his head resting against the windowpane. The lady seemed unbothered by the bird cages at first, until a distinct chirping sound emanated from the cages. This caught her attention, and she started to glance discreetly, almost awkwardly, at the bird cage next to her, as though she were looking out for the flight of the chirping animal from its enclosure. She was guarded and restrained, looking out from the corner of her eye, conscious not to reveal to her stern-looking neighbour her sudden-found uneasiness.
As the chirping persisted, so did her furtive glances; it had her complete attention for the rest of the journey. Yet her silence and disconcerted gazes did not grow into any overt displeasure. She seemed uncomfortable having to travel alongside an unexpected creature on an afternoon train ride, but it must have been bearable - for she had continued to remain where she was, even if she were silently suffering.
Meanwhile, the old man had the bird cage firmly held on his lap, his countenance impassive, body erect. He was oblivious of the sideward glances his neighbours had been casting by all this while. Whereas the lady was visibly affected by the bird cages and the sounds that came from them, he, placidly still in his seat throughout, was her perfect foil. Or, one wonders, was this a practiced indifference? The young man next to him was undisturbed, indulging in a nap that was uninterrupted by chirping sounds next door.
A few stations later, the lady got up and disembarked, finally relieved of the indignity of having to sit next to some birds on a train. At this moment, the old man sprang into action, as if suddenly awakened from a spell. He moved quickly to his left to occupy the lady’s seat, which was at the corner of the row. Displaying the same swiftness as he did when he first sat down, this time he could afford more room to move his legs. He looked around for a while, and appeared satisfied in his new seat.
No one took the seat next to him after that, at least not until I got off the train a few stops later. I wonder how many stations more would it be before the old man finally alighted – with the bird cages and the chirping bird(s) inside them.
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