R.I.P.

To get to college we used the train, to get to the train we used a cycle. At the point of transition in our modes of transport we needed a place to park our cycle. Right opposite the Bandra Station Falooda walla is the entrance to the cycle stand. We’d wheel our cycle into this gully because there were always too many cycles coming and going to be able to ride in. Halfway down this path was a cupboard. Built into the wall. A simple cupboard 7 ft. x 7 ft. with a shelf running thru at the middle. Two shutters that had no catch to keep them closed . They’d be swinging in the breeze.
If you’d mistimed the oncoming train in your leap between platforms, or were crossing between trains when one of them decided to take off, or your head came to close to the electric pole between Khar and Bandra, this is where you ended up. Wrapped up in a sheet that gave recycling a whole new meaning. You’d make the sign of the cross as you went past if the cupboard was occupied. A sigh of relief if it was’nt. A prayer if both shelves were full.
And the next morning scanning the news paper you would see.
An unidentified male youth was run over at Bandra station. Wearing blue pants and white shirt at the time of the accident. Police are making efforts to identify the deceased.
You’d seen the blue pants peeping thru the rust colored sheet yesterday. He’d been gone by the time you got back from college. One day you’d be able to walk past the cupboard without caring wheter it was empty or full. Or even thinking to your self that ‘ that’s life’ or is it death.