The elder one, around nine was younger than his younger brother of five. While the five year old was as calm as a saint when it came to specialized destruction, his elder mold took pleasure in publicizing his work, and it was chaos.
Their father, with the Border Security Force, admitted – “I would gladly face the enemy bullets than a day in the train with my two young brats.” It was a sentiment that my father often had of me, when I was between the ages of five and nine, so it was a sense of Déjà vu, period.
Not a moment passed without one of them screaming, running, laughing, screeching, clawing at one another, imitating the hawkers, throwing around pea nuts, taking money out of the blind beggar’s battered begging bowl, rolling on the ground, putting their fingers through the safety net of the turned off ceiling fan, drawing moustaches with the dust thus acquired, sending the parents into a mixture of craziness and despair, spitting, beating each other, crying and in general, making my life on the train hell.
Now I realize what it was that I had put my parents through, I am sure they have seriously contemplated throwing me out of the train on more occasions than one. If I was wondering how I would pass my three days on the train, I had found my answer.
It would be three days of madness, but at the same time, it would also be my journey into what I once proudly was… five years!