The Time Keeper

But the distressing part was not the pay-200 monetary units every month-, not me and the lads (whom I have been with for a full 15 years) going apart, but the job itself. We had to operate what was called a ‘Time Board’- a large black board plastered with cheap ad posters and at a corner, containing four slots for showing the time – two for the hour of the day and two for the minutes. My job was to sit behind the board in a room hidden from public view and at the end of every five minutes, update the time. I was in charge of many boards, with small hooks on top, to hang them behind the time board.

Just imagine – for eight long hours, every five minutes, I have to keep changing the timing boards relentlessly (Oh! How I wish I would never be born a pendulum if ever there were things like next birth). The only luxury I was accorded was that lunch and snacks were served at my place and the guard would take charge supposing I had to use the loo. Occasionally if I sat on the potty for a tad longer the guard-a huge man of Asian origin-would holler…

‘Arrey! If I keep changing the time forever, who would look at the trains? If you married soon, you wouldn’t spend so much time in the loo’

and I would yell back, my voice echoing back from the confines of the bulb-less bathroom…

‘I don’t know what you mean by that, but please let a man shit in peace at least.’

and add…

‘Don’t forget! The next five minutes are almost up. Change the numbers,’

as an afterthought.

And he always stood by me. By the time boards rather. Very nice guard indeed he was.

I managed to bore a hole through the time board without BD noticing it. I would peek through it all day long catching glimpses of fair women in their pretty frocks. (I have been lucky not to let BD see me doing all this) This keeps me occupied for most of the day, but trust me...it still is a boring job indeed.

Track maintenance takes place on Sunday afternoons due to which no trains ply through the station on Sundays noons. This gives me the much needed breather and I sit at home and write to the lads. I read and re-read all the letters that they have so regularly sent me and respond accordingly. The lads keep me engaged and it was mainly due to them that I haven’t much felt the absence of my parents.

P S : If you are still wondering what this is, it is an excerpt of the latest story I'm writing. I might or might not post the story in this site, but if you wish to receive the same throught e-mail, please mail me.