Entry-Out Language: A Picture of the Comings and Goings
A mother stares at this board at the Nainital railway station. It does not bring her the popular laughter it provokes in those who understand Hindi and English. This board is special to her.
by Rini Barman
A coming of your departed self, a shelter of your hidden stories, a lounge today indeed seems like a language. Where men and women take pens to mark language for each state in your country, you know, in a railway station, there is much more pain than the loss of alphabets.
Few months back some had objected to the use of these two languages instead of the Dehradun dialects. You didn’t much care to join them. They had come and spat all over the station as a mark of protest. One or two were raising their slogans in English, so you thought perhaps they would read “DO NOT SPIT HERE”. Their tribe believes spitting is a harbinger of revolution. Today you know it’s better you stayed away, for they would have spat on you too.
You see, in such democratic fronts, you stand not a chance.
So in the war of languages, you decide to relax inside the lounge and read the health/life section of the newspaper. You keep a careful eye of the clock, time ticks away faster than you can imagine.
Today, you wait for the arrival of your daughter from the metro. Five long years. Your pet Lizzi accompanies you. Oh! She loves the cushiony air-conditioned lounge. Of course, it’s not a new event. But for you, it somehow is. The storehouse of so many memories, this lounge: summer holidays, birthday balloons, surprise pick-ups.
A three month pregnant neighbour of yours sits with her husband, mourning the death of an elderly member in their family. You wipe her tears little by little, trying to lighten up the gloom, and you do so by being silent yourself. Meanwhile, a new born arrives in the room, everyone’s eyes shift from the schedule monitor to the little one. You too go ahead a step or two, and talk with the baby “Koocchi-muukuu-uuluu-mmunuu”.
It has been three decades now since you fell for a boy from the hills. Here itself in the lounge, do you remember? Over Parle-G biscuits and chips. Post the transfer of your husband, Lizzi eats most of them. Carrying little snacks has become a ritual for you, hasn’t it? This time you are going to share with your colleagues the rewarding experience of keeping salty snacks handy. Don’t forget to tell them this one time when you communicated with a few beggars whose mouths were bruised on their voyage to a holy shrine. Hunger and love needs little expression and you know it. You only wished through letters you could change DEPARTURE into ARRIVAL every time.
When you reach home, you tell your daughter, “Let’s watch the Toy Story again”. And without speaking she nods her head, climbs from one sofa to the next to give you a big hug. What’s more, Lizzi bounces with her and barks in euphoria. It is a moment no language can arrest.