he heat outside was raTther too much, but since Parsee had already checked out of the hotel, she had to wait in the waiting room till her train arrived.
Of course the waiting room for the first class passengers was air conditioned and quite comfortable, and it did come complimentary with her ticket. She was not sure if it was complimentary or if the company assistant who there to look after her bought it for her.
To the kind of the passengers, train number… from Hyderabad to VSG has arrived on platform three,”
The voice was no different from the announcement that rang on the airport waiting lobby, “to the kind attention of the passengers travelling on flight. From timbucktoo to kitapoo you are requested to proceed for boarding”
There was something about the waiting rooms that seemed timeless to Parsee, a point that allowed her to ponder there is a sense of anticipation, and there is a kind of excitement. There is a sense of purpose.
Just as Parsee was about open her book, a young man walked his, put his backpack aside and picked a book, “The accidental Prime minister by Sanjay Baru” for a minute their eyes met and both smiled a smile of camaraderie, for she was reading the same. It took her back to the time when she was travelling to Mumbai, and the traveller across a young man from Britain was reading a book by Mark Tully, and she was reading the same, there is an unknown bond between readers that is formed.
The young Brit whose name was Mark too interestingly struck a conversation with Parsee, sharing his road trip, he was on a month and half break, gokarna, goa, then Bombay, was on his agenda in Bombay she assumed it would be Elphanta caves and other sightseeing, Mark told her most European students who travelled took Mumbai as mid holiday break, there were tour operators, who would get the students in to act in Hindi movie, so they would be part of the movie scenario, there food and stay taken care of, along with a bit of cash to tide them for the rest of the holidays, this worked as an win-win situation both because these tourist participants took less pay sometimes they were just happy with food and stay than hiring regular foreign actors, or dressing up the Indian actors as foreigners. For the students it was an experience.
The waiting room in the hospital, the antiseptic odour, the casual flirty conversation between the doctors and nurses, the air of self importance in a new doctor this was another canvas of human behaviour and reaction, while Parsee herself had to give control to another doctor, from being the person in charge she had to trust someone else to take charge.
The waiting room at the Hospital when she was an intern, she had applied for residency and she was there to meet the principal not knowing what the interview was going to be like, she had tried to look as professional as she could, it was so different from the waiting room, when her daughter was being operated.
If only we stopped to listen to the waiting room, there might be so many stories, stories of romances, stories of people who came from somewhere going elsewhere taking shelter and resting a while, in the space.