The train was scheduled to arrive at Dubai Stadium Metro Station after a 3-minute wait. My gaze strayed over the platform as I took a break from my phone. The majority of people—both alone and in groups—were absorbed in their smartphones. I saw three men standing and engaging in conversation with each other rather than using their phones. Like the majority of users on the platform, I then started focusing on my phone. But some of their words caught my attention, such as "uniform, rain, mud, and sharbat." Connecting those words led me to the corridors of my childhood days, and I sharpened my ears walking near them. My mind advised me to keep my mobile in my pocket, and I politely obliged.
The train arrived, and I followed the three gentlemen into the train. I was happy to find a seat next to them. Looking at three of them, I tried to exchange a smile and was successful. The train moved on, and they, too, into their memory lanes. Uninvited, I still traveled along with them into their memory lanes. They started sailing through the ripples of a pond in their native village, Kunnamkulam, in Kerala, India, which had great childhood memories in store for them.
I felt the waves splash against me and sweep me along with them. I laughed along with them as they reminisced about their childhood. They looked at me and smiled as they acknowledged my laughter. They even began observing me in between conversations. As they were in full swing with their journey into the past, I diverted slightly from their path into another train in Kerala, India, traveling from Kozhikode to Tirur with two of my friends in the late '80s.
No calls, no SMS, no emails, no internet, no selfies, no messages, and, of course, no mobile phones. There was only the train's rumbling sound, the horn, the people inside, the view outside, and our conversations. In between, we get diverted by hawkers and their selling tactics. Some step in with full, colorful pens clipped all over their shirt and pants, some with cooling glasses of various shapes, sizes, and colors, and some sell books.
Amid this hustle and bustle, we hear "Sambaram, Sambaram," and soon a vendor walks by with a cool-box. We quickly brought three packets of sambaram (Kerala-style spicy buttermilk) spiced with curry leaves, green chilies, and ginger, which tastes better when chilled or refrigerated.
Three of us were music lovers. We were pondering over R.D. Burman's music and humming his melodies. This created a ripple to such an extent that other passengers joined us, and the whole compartment vibrated with songs. Wow, what an evening! What a journey!

Back into the Dubai metro, the three gentlemen's laughter ended my diversion, and I tried to re-enter their memory lanes. They were still in their native place. From the pond now, they reached the corridors of their college. My station was arriving, and I smiled at them, shook hands, and said, "Thank you so much." Leaving them behind in the corridors of their college, I got off the train. Three of them waved at me. They made my day.

Neither did I have a conversation with them, nor did we say a word; still, I shook hands with them and said thanks. They smiled and waved at me.
I came out and glanced at my mobile. 15 missed calls. Nevertheless…….

© Krishnan
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