Mai zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya…

Comesum was the buzz word of the evening. Suppressing my ego having denied to eat at EGO I joined the white and pink flowers of the night for a dinner at the railway station. Being a small towner railway stations are places I rarely associate with. My association with the station is limited to a few visits in a year. The visits are mostly for receiving or being received by someone. But this evening at the Nizamuddin station had to be different.

The sodium vapor lamps lining the roads were brining bright, the young entrepreneurs of various kinds were winding their shops after the days work. The screams of the taxies and rickshaws had ceased and they were now resting along the road in a disciplined manner. A few were still screaming with a gesture more of a social service then an intention to make some fast money. The men in red were few. Their beige piece of cloth usually covering the heads or hanging on the shoulders was now below their backs. The station was undergoing rejuvenation. Screened itself in shyness with metal sheets, to change into a new avtar, was the otherwise extrovert station building. A silence, unusual of a railways station, prevailed everywhere. Juxtaposed against this setting was a whole different world.

Comesum was brightly lit with hundreds of yellow and white lights, another set of young entrepreneurs were at work here. A giant air filled moving doll, scared more tiny creatures then it entertained. The Charlie teased the older and welcomed the younger. While the evening beauties got their hands stained the more enthusiastic got their face framed. A young band played live at another level. The artist in red sung with a flair. Requests were being made and songs were being played. What a contrast it was.

While the songs continued my eyes were fixed on a Black family. Black only because they were all dressed in black. The three of them were seating on a table placed against a silver clad column. I could only see their backs, but it did not really matter. Some strange kind of affection among them had drawn my attention. While in conversation they were enjoying the live music over dinner. The boy in his mid twenties leaned forward to listen to what The Gray Haired Man had to whisper in his ears. With a nod of his head he called upon the lead singer and requested for a song to be played on behalf of the old Man for his Lady. The band gathered in a huddle discussed the song among them self and the Red Indian singer of the evening holding the microphone began with style: Mai jindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya…

The song was to be a gesture of the life they had experienced and the three were enjoying it thoroughly. I was mesmerized by the choice of the song. The aura of it was so powerful that it made the ordinary evening an extra ordinary experience.