While I waited for the shuttle bus to Terminal 1 at
Frankfurt airport, my eyes locked into another pair. They belonged to an old man, scruffy, hair
not combed, unshaven beard, clothes un-ironed.
He too was a passenger, and I felt he did not like me staring at
him. I shifted my eyes away. He walked passed me, returned, walked passed
me, then got into the bus, we both waiting for.
I lost track of him.
I found my way to the train station at Terminal 1, figured
out the difference between a long distance train and a regional train, bought my
ticket and found a seat. I had to
transfer to another train at Mainz, and the travel time from Frankfurt to Mainz
is only 20 minutes. I had five minutes
for this transfer. Needless to say I was
a bit nervous, concerned if I could make it.
I heard a passenger arguing with the TTR, not sure what it
was about, but wanted the TTR to clear me so that I could get down when the
train stop at Mainz any minute. I could
not see the arguing passenger. When the
train stopped I moved my luggage towards the door, the man I saw at the bus
stop was in front of me. He pointed a
bag, I said it’s not mine, he said that was his. My bag was in front of his one, blocking his
access to the bag. I pulled my bag back;
he took his one, and asked where I was coming from. I said, India.
‘Key se hai’, he said in poor Hindi accent, I smiled and
said ‘it’s Key se ho - meaning how are you’?
He said, ‘Oh, whatever’. We both
got out, and the platform I had to find was just on the other side, and he too
waited for the same train to come. He sat on the bench, and said that the TTR
fined him for getting into an express train.
His ticket was for a normal train.
Then he said, ’oh, it was only money – just a piece of paper; ever since
the Americans put ‘In God We Trust’, on the dollar, the money has become cheap.
I smiled, and said now money is not even paper, its plastic or electronic
digits. It’s another story he said, and
went quiet.
The train to Bonn via Koblenz came; we sat next to each
other. I was not sure if he was curious,
or just wanted to talk. I was not in any
hurry, and I obliged as a listener. He
covered a range of topics from sex to international politics.
'You know, my wife and I like sex, but we are old, so, we
bought a sex engine BMW'. In German sex is six, I figured. 'The only problem is that I am not allowed to
drive faster than 210 km/h', he lamented.
‘What’s the
hurry?’, I was sarcastic. ‘You are right,
I am seventy five years old, my wife died eight months ago, and I have a lot of
time in my hand’. 'Oh by the way, how old are you?’.
‘Fifty nine’, and expected him to say that I
am still young. This is what I hear from
elders I meet. ‘I thought you are near one-hundred’, and winked. He has settled the score. We both laughed.
It’s about an hour so we had been talking, and I asked for his name. He said it’s Heiko Hodson. He did not bother asking for mine.
Our conversation continued.
He talked about his job in a nuclear plant in Germany which got shut
down later; the five day war in the Middle East, at a time when he was based in
Kuwait as a Radio Technician; training Zambians in radio-technology in Zambia,
and how he convinced a donor that training in Zambia is cheaper than in
Germany (and got himself posted Livingston, Zambia as the training coordinator);
the Russian student he hosted in Germany without a rent; and the holiday he
just had at St Petersburg with her. On Chinese, he said, ‘they will colonize the moon, and rip all its resources, and leave a mess. Then you have to see Moon only on old photos. Mark these words of Heiko Hodson’. He was categorical, convinced that Chinese will be a force to accept, not just to reconcile with.
As train
whizzed along the Rhine, he commented that he has not seen the river levels so
high; then expressed relief that flood will not enter his city because the
levies are built high; then expressed dismay that the same levies will cause high
velocity discharges troubling those downstream. 'No one cares about others,you know'he bemoaned.
Koblenz neared, he was ready to get down, he looked at me
and said, ‘you have another forty minutes to Bonn, and I hope you can find some
Chappati there’. I said, I will be looking for sauerkraut, sausages and
beer. He wanted to have the last word,
and said for me it will be Cognac.
Here’s my latest railway friendship. We meet strangers for brief periods, engage
in conversations, and then walk away.
These friendships are meaningless, but conversations could be otherwise. I could see a man with a good sense of humor,
information and satisfied with his past.
He wants to talk and I was glad to listen.
I recalled something I read a while ago, ‘Marry
a woman with whom you can converse. At the
end that matters more’. In
his wife’s absence, I was his conversation partner, just for an hour or so of our
lives.