The Loco Pilot

“In the last thirty years,

Three hundred and sixty kills-

Mind you, kills, and I don’t keep track

Of the mutilated, the disabled, the living dead

Who fell before me on the tracks.”

He takes a sip of the whiskey,

A deep drag of the cigarette

Looks out through the window -

I see the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

Outside, the river roared as it gushed

The birds sang as they flew

Wind ran helter-skelter among the trees

The setting sun scattered golden light as it sank.

We were old friends, meeting after forty or more years,

This boyhood friend of mine

Who tagged behind me all the time

In awe of my bungalow, dogs and my little deer.

How sharply does he remember!

My metal school box he had envied

The goodies I had shared with him,

Apples and chocolates -

My father, the big officer of Forests!

“There are many ways they do it, you know,” he said

“Some jump head-on, some would be lying down

Their necks neatly nestling on the rail,

Some would be walking, facing away from the train.”

“But one image that even my deadened mind

Cannot wipe off

Is that of the one who stood in the headlight,

Arms raised, palms joined,

A last and final bow to me, her killer.”

“Women dragging their screaming children

Up on to the rails, young girls and boys -

In the rumble of the diesels

I strain my ears for that soft thud, like a loving pat

As I usher them into the netherworld”.

“We are old hands, we know it all

The bends, the blind curves

The favourite haunts of the wanting-to-be-dead.

We dread the day, the next after

The public exam results come.”

“We have to move on, you see,

Cannot bring the big diesels to a sudden stop.

Every time, I watch them, their final moments

Helpless, with a heavy heart

Not even a silent prayer.”

The cigarette burns down to his fingertips.

“This is what I have done with my life -

All I know is to drive trains –

And to kill people.”

************* Balachandran V, Trivandrum 01.08.2009