“Let’s go,” my wife, R, said.

I looked at my wristwatch. 3:40 PM.

“It’s pretty cloudy outside,” I remarked. “And the wind’s picking up speed.”

“You’re right,” she replied. “But if we don’t go now, we might miss the train.”

When we got out into the alley in front of her house, the rain was falling in a drizzle. The wind blew our hair and brushed our cheeks, caressing us with its cool touch.

Our city was in the midst of a heatwave. Up until half an hour ago, everything outside was shriveling in the scorching heat.

Birds were scampering towards their nests, dogs and cats were scurrying for some shade, and humans thought better than to step outside in such adversity.

But then, the rain came like an unannounced yet welcome guest.

The rumbling of the clouds brought relief to all living beings in the locality, and the first drop of rain felt like ambrosia.

“Rain at last!” I commented as we moved through the alley and towards the intersection to hail an auto-rickshaw to the station.

“Indeed,” R replied.

But no sooner had we walked a few steps than the rain intensified.

We broke into a jog, desperately trying to shield ourselves from the maddening gusts of wind.

“Oh, what timing!” R said sarcastically. “It had to start pouring right now!”

I laughed.

The weather clearly had a sense of humour.

The intersection bore a deserted look. There was neither a human nor a vehicle in sight.

A man on a bicycle appeared in the distance. He had covered his head with a plastic bag and peddled vigorously. His entire body was drenched, and only the hair on his head had found some respite. He whizzed past us, anxious to reach his destination as fast as he could.

We made our way to a shop awning and waited for an auto-rickshaw.

Luckily, we found one within a couple of minutes.

When we finally reached Palta station, the clock struck 4 PM.

There were only a handful of people sitting on the brown and black tiled benches under the shade of the aluminum sheets.

“The train is 10 minutes late,” R informed me after checking the app on her phone once we reached platform number 2.

“Oh, brother!” I exclaimed.

We put down our bags on an empty stall and sat on one of the benches.

By this time, the rain had intensified further.

The sky was almost entirely black, and it was hard to tell whether it was 4 PM or 4 AM. The palm, coconut, and peepul trees lining the station walls swayed like ballet dancers under the force of the breeze.

“It’s a miracle that they’re not wilting under the pressure,” I remarked to my wife.

“Maybe some of them are,” she replied. “Far away from here.”

The pattering of the rain on the aluminum sheets overhead and the sound of the rain hitting the steel railway tracks created an incessant background music. Every so often, a sudden gust of wind would spray a fine mist of water across our faces.

I sat on the bench and closed my eyes.

The sound of the rain, the cold against my skin, and the smell of the damp earth felt heavenly.

It transported me to a land far away, where the choices we make and the consequences we bear seemed to lose all meaning.

“Can you help me get on the platform, bhai?”

I opened my eyes to find an old man in his seventies standing on the railway tracks with a bundle of colourful mosquito nets wrapped in a transparent plastic sheet above his head.

His clothes were weather-beaten, and the straps of his sandals were barely hanging on.

His hair was completely white, and he was blind in one eye.

As I approached him, he threw his load onto the platform and extended his arms.

Another guy had also responded to his call for help, and both of us helped the man get up. Picking up his load from the floor, I placed it on the bench and asked him to sit down.

“It’s okay,” He replied with visible tiredness in his voice. “The train has almost arrived. No time to sit down.”

I felt a pang in my heart.

Here was an old man who looked like he had endured hardships all through his life, and even at the age of seventy, had to continue ferrying items.

How difficult his life must have been.

And yet, he soldiered on in the face of adversity.

The train arrived at 4:25 PM, and we ended up sharing the same compartment.

Stowing his luggage, he sat across from our seat and heaved a sigh.

The storm was still brewing outside.

“Quite a storm we’ve got here,” he said to me as the train gathered speed.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Quite violent indeed.”

“Do you think it’ll continue raining by the time I get down at Sodepur?” He enquired.

“Probably yes,” I replied.

“Hmm,” He mumbled to himself. “I hope I’m not late.”

The train sped on, and the cold wind lashed against our faces from the half-opened windows of the compartment.

When we approached Sodepur station, the old man got up, took his belongings, and silently got down.

Everything was white outside, and the rain continued falling relentlessly.

As the train slowly rolled out of the station, I found him sitting on a bench with the same harried look his face had borne at Palta.

I hope you reach your destination on time, old man. I said to myself as he disappeared from view.

It’s strange how sometimes a brief encounter can leave a deeper impression than years of acquaintance.

“That old man seemed to be rather fond of you,” R smiled.

“I know,” I replied. “The feeling’s mutual.”