Whenever I sit to type, a question arises as to what to write and why to write.
I try to find an answer but can only find an explanation I deem fine enough to urge me to continue.
I believe writing is like a undertaking a journey, that has to be completed to know whether you began it on your own in the first place, or were cajoled by some instinct.
The following thoughts came and played and danced with my mind and heart as I was returning home this February. I present them with a little extra embellishment to the original draft, as to be more palatable. So one and all get ready for a soothing and smooth ride. Bon Voyage!!
Train journeys are so beautiful a thing, if you have the patience to bear with all the strings attached that come; especially, when I talk of our very own Indian Railways.
All the noise, dirt and dust along with the usual sharing of seats as and more such thing. All this, if you dare travel in the normal sleeping class and not the AC, which is a fashion statement, at least to me.
Trains are the lifelines of our country; one of it’s the largest establishments and an unsung, silent pride which only a few of us admire. Carrying the vast and so diverse a multitude of people and goods to even more diverse landscapes. Some people, travel in search of a refuge and some opportunities; all however, seek a path to their dreams and destinies. The great expanses and the multitude of geographical barriers these trains surmount, is a burning example of the tenacity of humans in general, and of us Indians in particular. Trains, I always felt are a wonderful thing; a giant metal caterpillar put on Iron tracks, coming alive as if by magic every time the engine starts. The Chug-chug echoing all through its body like a giant heart throbbing and pulsating; coursing the blood red drop of train on to the veins of tracks. And inside the bogies, so many faces, all of so different hues not even the rainbow can match, you see at one go. So many languages in the air, yet all smiling in one, of love. Sharing together the food and talks with all as their own family, anecdotes and advices too. It’s a wonderful dance going all around, but only for the one who can see it. So many different tastes, smells, sights and sounds! ; All rushing to the same destinations, filling your journey with the aroma of a wonderful experience. A fragrance that gets stronger each time I travel.
It’s a cold February day, as I travel back to my home from the land of my bread and butter, the Bangalore. The journey is a long one, two days to be exact! I make myself comfortable on the Upper berth. Have put the luggage below the lower one, chained and locked! It’s time to capture the window seat, which I luckily get. “Roma Victor”, I mutter to myself as I stretch my legs. The compartment is S5, in the middle of this 18 bogies long train. As Bangalore is the starting point, the place is thankfully clean. Its quarter to 8 and we are about to leave the station. People are rushing on the platform, all in a hurry to get to their seats. Its semester break in the engineering colleges, and noisy bunch of college kids are in my compartment too. Though it’s hardly been two years since leaving the college, seems a lot has changed inside as well as outside. I am lost in my college days memories. I come back to the present world as the train picks up speed and the air gets cooler. Time to survey the co passengers! Two guys and two girls, all travelling on their own. So, a bunch of strangers stuffed in an 8'x2.5’area for 48 hours; hmmm that should be interesting. I think some reality TV people can cash in on this idea. Anyways as in all such situations, there was an aura of aloofness all around. Everyone seemed preoccupied with themselves; making bed, getting paper plates ready for dinner or chatting on cell with their family & friends. I had had my dinner just before coming and the wait at the station had made me sleepy. The nice breeze blowing added to the state of stupor and in half an hour of moving, I was lost to the world into caverns of hypnosis. One of the damsels, yeah she was cute, gently broke my dreams with her imperceptibly low voice “excuse me but I want to sleep now, if you can please move to your berth.” To be true I did not want to go anywhere and would have asked her to sleep there, but I am a ‘civilized’ guy you know, so the chivalry. I climbed to my berth, ate a chocolate and few biscuits and lied down to sleep, which I did, I don’t know when. I woke up groggily; it was only 5 O’clock. I got down muttering some unprintable words. And this young lady was sleeping with a serene bliss on her lovely face. Now that is some way to make a morning, thank you God! I go to finish you-know-what all, coming out fresh. I am hungry now, ah a cup of hot tea! Standing at the door, sipping tea as the weather gets colder every passing hour, I blow dense clouds of acrid burnt tobacco. Yeah the morons at railways have made it illegal, but apna bharat mahan hai yaar, sab chalta hai. So here I am, enjoying the lush greenery and the hot national drink. I return to my compartment to find the sleeping beauties still in their kingdom of slumber. I do not wanna raid their dreamlands, so I try adjusting myself on the lower berth, half bent like the brooding philosopher. The train is soon filled with the smell of hot Dosas, Idlis and other morning breakfast savories. My hunger has reached its peak level and the fuel tank is rumbling. I bought 2 dosas and lessened the ache in my stomach by stuffing them as fast as possible. The lower berth guys have also woke up. As one of them makes a move towards the bathroom, I lie down in his place. Some 15 mins later I am woke up by the owner of the berth, who wants to take some food from his bag. Our sleeping princesses finally get up, smiling brightly and finally we can get the middle berths in their original form, to make more comfortable seats. The train is about to reach some station, infamous for its eunuchs. A silent tension and nervousness was palpable in the whole bogie. And then they came, clapping in their traditional trademark way, asking for money. The refusal led to insults and even more dire consequences you know about, but again they are unprintable to be read by a civilized person like you. I gave a 10 rupees note to one of them and he/she (?) blessed me, with luck and kids and all good things. I smiled and after a moment became sad. True, these people add no value to our country and are almost everyday cheating the people. Many of them are involved in prostitution and other crimes, but are we not equally responsible for their plight? Shunned by the society just because they cannot identify themselves with any gender, does it let us claim to be cultured and better than our barbarian ancestors? They are treated worse than pariahs; singing in marriages, when they will never enjoy the marital bliss and on births, blessing the new born but will never have kid themselves, are they not more sympathetic than rest of us. Devoid of the most basic of identities which make us humans, these creatures (?), I believe live a life that is unthinkable. But as the train leaves one station for the other, people too come and go and the stories with them also. The bogie is a mix of relief and laughter as the eunuch force marches on. I shared my cigarette with one of them and the smile on his/her face was a sight to behold. The weather, meanwhile has heated up a bit and the whole atmosphere is pleasantly cool. Even the sunlight is fuzzy and cozily warm. Outside all I see are villages and farms. Men, women all are working together, ignorant of the so called gender based discrimination at the work place. Lot of cattle, cows and buffaloes and herds of goats graze in the fields. Half naked kids play around, their tanned faces reflecting sunshine with innocent smiles. A few clouds are visible in the sky, but I felt they were the lost passengers of a caravan that has passed by. There are mud puddles all over owing to the downpours last night, the newspapers said so. We could well hear the frogs croaking and see a few birds catching insects in the fields. The trees were all washed up and the scene looked like a freshly painted canvas. Some ice breaking occurs between us co-passengers as we sip more tea. The girls are college friends and colleagues in a software firm, going home to attend a marriage. The two guys are colleagues too and on a business trip to Kolkata from their company. The rest of the bogie as I said earlier comprises mostly of college kids going home in semester break. The atmosphere gets nostalgic all of a sudden for me, as one of them picks his guitar and is joined in chorus for the song ‘Summer of ‘69 ’. The great college anthem by legend Brian Adams, it stirs up deep emotions every single time you hear it. All those careless days of joy and freedom; bunking classes, night outs for exams, the hostel mess, classroom crushes, they just come hurtling without a warning, drowning you in memories that will remain in you till you live. Unconsciously all of us start singing and by the time we finish, I could see quite a few moistened eyes, but all happy ones. All of us start reminiscing about those gone by moments of fun and tales after tales tumble out. By the time it is noon, all five of us are like long lost friends, sitting together after a long time, taking a class trip. Something is loosened up inside, as if all the burden and responsibility that accrues with the so called grown up life and job has fallen off my shoulders. I am a college guy again, smiling and dreaming, going back to my home. Post lunch, all are tired and climb back into their places to sleep. I am the lone sentinel, sleepless one. The sky is slowly turning to grayish black as a huge mass of cloud seems rising like a dust storm, far away at the horizon. The twilight is coming rather fast, and before I could think of anything, the whole sky turns dark black. Heavily loaded clouds burst upon us as an army of suicide bombers. Outside everywhere, everything was lost in a thick sheet of water falling from the heavens with all its fury. I hastily closed the glass windows, by when I was half drenched. Slowly and suddenly a chill spread in the air as the weather grew colder with the rains. I switched off the fans as almost everyone got up in my compartment. The view outside was all blur as torrents after torrents gushed out. Sky was nothing but a thick black blanket of clouds, which seemed impenetrable and an inexhaustible supply of water right now. The electric lights overhead came on as the darkness outside grew and also the ferrying trips of tea vendors and Pakodawallahs increased; clearly railways had appointed smart caterers! The fares sold like anything; the whole compartment was filled with the odour of pakodas and din of chattering, over the hot cups of tea. I silently watched God watering his gardens. Paddy fields getting soaked in the gushes from sky and all swaying in mirth and joy! Every thing covered in the translucent sheets of water and a cold wind has started them off in an orchestrated dance. I can see quite a few shawl and sweaters out now. I sat quietly watching the dance of rain on the bosoms of trees and leaves. The smell of the earth! Intoxication arises from the skin of earth as she bathes in the love of the skies above; A kiss from her beloved! I just let myself drown in the aroma wafting all around me, losing my existence in the intense experience. It’s so calm and soothing. No one is around, and I walk as if in dream on a forlorn path amidst high and mighty trees swaying in stupor of the moonlit night. An arcane forest on the edges of a dreamland and I walk all alone. The reverie was broken as the train came to a halt in the middle of nowhere. We were held at an outer signal to same station. The rains had abated in their fury and it was a gentle shower now. However, the cold had definitely increased, and I was forced to put on a jacket. We were passing through another of the small towns, streets all submerged in knee deep water and the street lights reflecting in them. The rains were still there and it was all a shower of molten gold as the lights peered through the gossamer sheets fluttering with the chill winds. The chill was bone numbing. The train was moving at a very fast pace and even darkness was all but a blur. After another hour of speeding, we reached a relatively big station. At this 11th hour of the night, the platform was almost deserted, save for a few tea shops and some teenagers selling cigarettes, illegally though. I bought a fresh pack at one and a quarter of the real price, but in this cold weather it was a bargain. Some warmth crept into my body and the soul, as the seductively addictive smoke made its way into my throat and deep inside. I stood at the door, puffing and silently admiring the beauty of night. It is a great leveler, isn’t it? All things and beings, no matter what or how they are in the daytime, are covered in a cloak of black. No demarcation or differentiation; most of them asleep as babies, harmless and peaceful. And yet the predators lurk into the enchanting darkness, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. The chill in weather has further increased as the continuous rains are heavier with a dose of hails, quite a few of them drumming on the bogie’s roof. At a distance, I see a cluster of huts and a very small light, maybe a lantern, swinging with the wind. It is like a lighthouse in a sea of black. I sat on the TTE’s seat near the door, and peered out. Dark shapes of trees and fields stood drenching and swaying with the night, pitch dark from every side. I opened the side window and closed my eyes, feeling the night through my ears. Frogs croaked, crickets chirped in fields and the raindrops pitter-pattered on to everything; the music divine! My nose soon grew cold with the wind kissing all around my face and I could feel the moisture settling on my lips and cheeks. It was the kiss of a rain soaked night, sweet and shy, one of complete submission and lovely, as the virgin’s first one. She travels with me, lulling me into a sleep, away from all that binds me when I am awake. I am myself; a bird, flying in the vast azure sky, unaware of the miracle it performs as other creatures wistfully look. Dreams of unknown shades float all around drowning me into fantasies unimagined or the horrors unthought-of. And all of sudden, “Aaaitsshchoo,” I sneeze. The cold is really unbearable now. I shut the window down and climb onto my place. The snugness and comfort of blanket are a great welcome and I cosily loose myself into the land of sleep. Even in sleep I feel I could hear the incessant rains. Next morning, 36 hours in the belly of the metallic, motor driven reptile I was kinda mentally exhausted. We had crossed the state of Orissa last night, and now were in ‘Aamaar Shonaar Bengal’; an hour more to reach Howrah station. The last leg is always the most difficult one. There is only one thing in mind as to how fast the journey gets over. There was sadness in the compartment. In last 25 hours we had developed a good bond between us co passengers, and it was not very comfortable to be parted. But then life has her own ways. Email and phone numbers were exchanged, with promises to meet. Only god knows how good these promises will hold. Still the time spent together was another experience, sweet and priceless. The scene outside was pretty much repeating, ponds and houses and houses and ponds. The only additions were the mud houses, a lot of them and lot of political stuff painted on their walls. Everyone was busy finishing the final wrap-up. The whole bogie looked strange. Only few hours ago the berths were all covered with bedsheets and blankets of different colours and designs. And now they were all same coverless as at the start of the journey. The trains do bring out the Gypsy in all of us, the nomads, and the caravans. Travelling together up to the final destination, as a single family, and then everyone go their own ways. So finally the chugging engine enters the Howrah station, one of the biggest and oldest ones. The city of joy beckons us all. I have 5 hours to spend before my train arrives. The question is, what to do till then? Ok, I deposit my luggage in the cloakroom. A signboard there reads “Beware of Rats.” Hmmm, I think I will pray for my luggage. Coming out, I light the final cigarette as I feast my eyes on the Hoogly River, flowing in all its majesty and then the grandeur of the timeless, immemorial Howrah Bridge. I take a lungful of the crisp morning air all aromatic with the spices, fish and other breakfast savories being sold in the numerous eateries around the station. I walk towards one of them to have the ‘Pooris’ and ‘Aalu-chanaar sobji’. Then to take a few ferry trips across the river and another pack or two of cigarettes. The Bengali gals are another good reason to roam around. So till I come back have a break and have whatever you like. Hey! There, yeah the one in Pink salwar suit looks pretty hot. Me going, will tell you the rest of the story some next time. Take care till then, Bbye. “Oye Aamar pink Roshogulla, I am coming.”
