Local trains

He looked at his little daughter. There was something very unusual about her crying today. Not because she cried with everyone else probably for the first time, but maybe because no one truly wanted to make her again happy today. Or perhaps no one knew the answer to the question her little face kept asking. She knew, her father wouldn’t disappoint her. She came to him with eyes showing emotions that probably were far outside her brain’s territory of understanding. Because of this, there were more revelations, more confusing confusions that her face could not belie. He looked painfully at his father, personified by a little pot containing his ashes, and his everything. The new red cloth on the top of it was tightly knotted giving it a firm, confident look. But unlike her, he knew that his father would disappoint him. And death was something really inscrutable for her. Instead of answers and justifications for her questions and troubles, all he could see was a local train, his daily commuter, again. Every night he would think about the train and would imagine leaving behind something between him and his daughter on the hook he held his hands on that day. Be it her dreams, her banter, the extra time he wanted to spend with her, the lullaby he wanted to sing for her and everything else. Then, he would see the bogie full of those hooks, empty, but the hooks carrying something on them. But today it was not the same. He instead saw them taking the forgotten, old dreams and some memories which looked unnatural. Things that were undealt with. Teas that were unmade. Chats and discussions that were incomplete. All those hooks and the empty bogie seemed terrifying. There was an uneasy type feeling again, but much more intense than it used to be. The hooks seemed irreplaceable and gave some uncomfortable vibes. He looked at her again. Her face suddenly seemed calm. Yet, she was crying almost continuously. She had sat in front of him, and her tears had dried on her face itself. But today it didn’t bother him. All exhausted, he kept lying on the sofa looking at his father. She kept crying and looking at hers.