The ‘chewing gum retribution ’

I don’t know his name. All I remember of the man is his green t-shirt and large patches of sweat on it. He wasn’t the only one sweating…we all were while waiting for the Jan-Shatabdi to leave Delhi and the AC to kick in. It had been 46 degrees a day before. Our trip to Bombay was finally coming to an end. Six hours and we’ll be back home in Jakhan after the humid and hot 10 days out of DehraDun. I wasn’t as concerned about the heat, as for Rhea’s right foot, that now had a plaster on it, owing to her latest adventure while swimming in Bombay.
We needed two seats together; and so requested the green t-shirt to swap seats. He first started at us like his kingdom is being seized, and then slowing relented, while grumbling under his breath. I helped with the movement of his solitary bag and a bottle of water and planted them close to his new seat. When my ‘thank you’ did not receive a reply, I knew the man loved being lonely, and had not read “how to make friends and influence people”.
The train had just about pulled out of Delhi station, when we heard ‘hot and humid’ voices from behind us. “This is a reserved compartment…if you have a ticket, find your seat… if you don’t, get out.” and other versions of the same sentence are what the bogey echoed with. The voice was our favorite green t-shirt. He had taken objection to a few railway employees standing in the aisle for their half hour journey till Gaziabad and wanted to make sure that the ‘right’ thing is done. The ‘right’ thing in this case was for the TTE to dislodge the standing passengers. The green t-shirt made sure that all of us heard his opinion (loud and clear) about the importance of doing the ‘right’ thing. We heard his entire spiel (and some choicest Hindi expletives) more because of his visible biceps than any genuine interest in helping humanity turn ‘right’. The standing passengers left quietly. The green t-shirt won this round and he knew it.
Just when I told ‘Mehak’ about how I wished someone could teach him a few lessons in civility, did the green t-shirt drop his chewing gum on the train floor. My blood boiled…but not enough to stand up to this clearly ‘I go to the gym everyday’ man. While I brooded over the benefits of larger biceps, the guy did it again. Right next to where the man sat, now lay two already chewed ‘chewing gums’ , waiting for the right shoe or bag or salwar and find a new home. All I did was stare at the two bits of gum, but not for long.
And then it happened. I swear I had no hand in it. I was just staring at the gum and maybe also wishing. It took some time but it happened.
The green t-shirt fell asleep. For the first few minutes the book in his hand stayed there… and then it fell. I just knew where it would land, as it did, as if I was planning it from a distance. The gum and the book became one (how poetic). Several people then contributed to making sure that the bond between the gum and the book was a real union. I myself noticed at least 4 people stepping on the book , including the chai-wallah. I just continued staring.
The green t-shirt finally woke up. He bent down to pick up the book. No, he bent down to pick up the gum now amalgamated with the book. He picked it. He saw the gum. He saw the book. He saw them together… and our eyes met. I was still staring. You don’t need biceps for that. The gum had won this round for us and the green t-shirt knew it.
We call it the ‘chewing gum retribution ’.