Getting on a train from the South of France en route Paris, Charles de Gaulle airport had become a familiar journey to make.
My daughters were enrolled at a boarding school in Aix-en-Provence, and my husband and I had over two years visited them often, enjoying every trip to this quaint and elegant part of the world, filled with a heady mix of luxury and wonder.
Except not this time. This was a journey I was taking all by myself, feeling all alone in this world, getting on the train, all by myself. This uncomfortable churning feeling in the pit of my stomach would not leave me. I realised I did not know how to be alone, how to cope with the panic and despair that loss of a loved one brings.
Head hanging and heavy hearted, I boarded the train and found my seat. Just as the train rolled out and began to unveil the picturesque French countryside, I tried to derail my thoughts through a veil of unstoppable tears. How does one live and pick up the pieces from here on? How would my children cope with the loss of their father? It had only been a few weeks and life is already beckoning and asking of me to move on, make decisions, fight battles….
I looked around to see people filling their seats, settling down with their families as this journey was going to take almost 4 hours. Most seats were occupied and I felt the relief as those around me were empty. Just as I thought I would be left all to myself to wallow in my thoughts, I noticed a tall man, at least 6’4″, dark hair, look at his boarding card and file through the seat numbers looking for his seat. I looked away thinking to myself, not here please God, I need no company on this journey. The next moment he had placed his carry-on baggage on the rack above, sat on the seat across, and offered a polite ‘ Bonjour’. I mumbled a greeting back and immediately looked away. He did not lose a moment to strike a conversation. He asked me something in the gentlest way the French always do and when I stared at him blank and confused, he smiled and said again in English, “Pardon me Madame, you look upset, is everything alright?’
As if on cue, my tears rolled down my face almost like they had waited for someone to ask this question. How could I tell a complete stranger, a man that too, why I was crying inconsolably? I gathered myself and politely told him a half truth. That I had just dropped off my children to school and would not be seeing them for a few months so I was very upset. I was not ready to be asked about the loss of my husband, the how, the why…
For the next few hours he talked about his life in France, his wife and children and his work that brought him here to live. How he had changed jobs and fields of work, learnt to speak French and found his place and acceptance amongst French people.
Somewhere his life story helped dry my tears and backbench my worries. How tough life can be, how challenges come in different shapes and forms….
That he was now making his journey on this train to the airport to catch a flight to his home country after 15 years to see his ailing mother.
It must have been a few hours later that I realised we had not introduced ourselves. I apologised and said to him, “My name is……. I am sorry I was so overwhelmed that I did not even ask your name.” and he replied with the widest smile I can remember, ” It’s Happy, my name is Happy Singh.”
Written By Shashi Mahesh
Keeping It Real
Week 42, Oct ‘20
