Jolt at South Ealing!
Stepping out of the Boeing 777 aircraft onto the aerobridge at London’s Heathrow airport, the familiar smell of the carpeted floor brought an ocean of exciting emotions. The rattling of the ‘Tube’ train coaches is already echoing in my ears.
Officials along the corridors are guiding alighting passengers: “British passports to the left please, all other passport holders straight ahead, please”. I’ve landed back in familiar terrain and can’t wait till I get my bags to hop on to the first available Piccadilly Line train to a vibrant London evening.
Loud peals of laughter can be heard at the Terminal 3 Arrivals, amidst an “Oh my God look who’s here Matt! That’s uncle Gordon” squeal. At that a 3-year old curly haired cutie frees himself from his mom’s firm grip and sprints to a Clooney-ishly grinning 40-something man dressed to make heads turn. He had a brown coloured jacket and a white coloured ‘Lacoste’ dapper bag in tow.
An ‘Air India’ flight must have landed because there’s a crowd of two Punjabi families who’ve turned up to welcome their elders. Refusing to be drowned out, a group of Malayali boys and girls (with roses) are engaged in a heavily ‘Thrissur-accent’ banter as they wait for one (or more?) of their friends to return.
Ticket purchased for the train ride, I enter the platform. The almost empty rake of the London Underground train is now ready to leave as I find myself a seat. “This is a Piccadilly Line service to Cockfosters. This train is now ready to depart, please stand clear of the closing doors. Mind the closing doors please”, goes the train driver from the cabin in front. Warning beeps go off, the doors of the old coaches drag themselves to each other securing the carriage. With a jerk the train begins to move down the tracks, and growls aloud as it speeds up.
In a few minutes, the train was out of the underground tunnel lines and we are greeted to overcast skies with fields and trees drenched in a ‘skelcher’ (a heavy fall of rain). When the plane landed more than an hour back, London’s landmarks basked in glorious sunshine. How quickly the weather changes in England! (As they say, in England, it’s either about to rain, or it’s already raining!).
The South Ealing station wore a deserted look. The platform is awash in the rain, with puddles of water all across, reflecting the trees and buildings nearby; the mist adds to the magic. I decided to get out and allow myself to feel the light English drizzle.
As the train left the platform, it was just me, silence and the station furniture. Watching raindrops sail across leaves down to wet earth and listening to its continuing drip is pure sweet indulgence. Birds call out to each other as they fly into the distance. The gentle wind makes music to the ear. And very soon the day will go into decline and stars will get busy twinkling, trying to outdo each other.
As I enjoyed the cold breeze passing through my hair, suddenly a loud bang of what seemed like an iron cast slab falling onto the platform messed with the pleasant English summer rain experience. This was followed by a loud scream that made me jump out of my skin. My eyes that shut for a few seconds opened to look around. Head turned this way and that. I could see nothing. It was dark all around! Then I realised I had prevented daylight from entering my eyes with eyeshades. Removed it, it was only a little brighter and I wasn’t able to make sense of what happened at South Ealing.
Well, I had just been woken up by our neighbour in Bangalore’s Geddalahalli who closed the underground water tank with its iron cast door, and was asking his wife to close the valve!!!
The London Underground platform, the British summer rain, water droplets on the leaves, the mist that covered the distant fields.. they were all a Sunday siesta-enabled dream!