The Never Ending Journey

One early summer evening, I got down from my uncle’s white Maruti Esteem and ran to the trunk to pull out my baggage with hopes of not getting drenched. The whole afternoon had been incessantly raining and visibility was still low. With a heave I quickly hoisted my brownish yellow nylon carry-on bag, with two extra side zips and a retractable handle, over my shoulder and curled my fingers around the handle of the large dark-green leather suitcase standing on the floor that was scratched all over owing to its past travel. As I waved my uncle farewell and ran in, I peered at the clock through the smog and discerned that it was 5.15 pm at the New Delhi railway station.

Inside, a pot-bellied grey-haired porter, with white stubs jutting from his unshaven face and hands that were roughened by his profession, ran towards to me, hurriedly buttoning his red shirt. He was also oscillating like a penguin due to his overweight. From his worried face, I could discern that he wanted to beat the others in closing a neat evening business deal that could probably fetch him dinner and a bottle of alcohol that night - his red-eyes and pot-belly was suggestive enough that he delighted himself frequently with alcohol. We settled for an amount not so much an extravagant indulging as a satisfactory expense – After all, I could have carried the luggage myself without help.

“Hang on, I am traveling from New-Delhi to Calcutta by Rajdhani Express. Let me see the platform number,” I told him and we halted besides the departure board.

“I know sahib, its on platform number three,” he replied knowing it by the top of his head, routinely being accustomed to dealing with passengers going to different locations.

There it was, Rajdhani Express - platform number 3, I thought. As we walked on, I inhaled the musty smell emanating from the dank walls that wafted with the breeze. Surrounding me were a number of passengers hurrying to find their compartment. As I gazed here and there, I was momentarily captured the fading image of a caged parrot entering a compartment but before I could identify its breed clearly, its master and the cage disappeared inside.

“How is business, I hope you find enough passengers daily.” I said

“No sahib, not really. With the economy doing well, many are affording airline travel and the number of porters in the station has risen. Further, growing older, I am no longer able to regulate and control the younger guys in order that everyone gets a fair share of passengers.”

Caught unawares, I was seized by a horrible stench when we had barely passed a basket of fish waiting to be loaded into the luggage van. I had nearly a mile to cover with 10 coaches ahead of me and began dreaming about my imminent visit to my aunt who was an exceptional cook and on whose back yard one could tirelessly play with her beagle Mercury. It was more than 5 years since I traveled by Indian Railways and all along I had longed for such a journey. When I was young I used to treat every train travel like a cruise, simply liking everything involved with train; the look of the diesel engine, the yard where tracks interweaved, and the food. I seldom ate what I carried and often gave them to a beggar and blessed him with some wholesome home-prepared food. My dreamy thoughts were interrupted when a lady ahead of me shrieked and jumped, when she narrowly escaped being run over by a trolley, carelessly driven by a railway official.

Coach A6 at last, I thought and scanned through the reservation chart pasted on the door in order to ensure I had a window seat. Until so far not having had the luxury of traveling by air- conditioned coaches, I was really excited this time and was looking forward to enjoying my journey in a fully air-conditioned Rajdhani express. Entering the compartment, I located my berth and pushed my luggage beneath the lower berth. When I tipped the porter, there was a smile on his countenance and after his exit I lazily stretched and noticed that I was amongst the first few to board the coach. Feeling stuffy, I turned on the fan and it wasn’t working. Whether coaches were air-conditioned or second class, I concluded fans most likely needed an extra push with a comb or a pen to move them from their state of inertia. Outside the window, a fat elderly woman single handedly dragged a huge trunk and yelled at her three children as they zipped past my compartment.

As I sat a middle-aged gentleman with trim moustache and lean frame pulled his small briefcase and shoved it beneath his berth, opposite mine. He wasn’t wearing spectacles as such and his outfit seemed to indicate he was from a city and I took a shot that he might be an engineer. While I continued studying him, he sat opposite me and smiled.

“Traveling light, huh?” I began

“Yah for a small business meeting and I’ll be returning the day after. By the way, my name is Ramlal. So…”

His voice was momentarily dampened when a porter in the adjacent compartment yelled a string of invectives to a pot-bellied passenger who I assumed was a peasant from the way he spoke and chewed tobacco.

“Such language,” Ramlal chuckled.

I introduced myself when a cute short girl with pigtails and braces walked into the compartment with her mom, who undid their luggage onto the side berth to the right of the aisle. Remotely resembling the character Margaret in Dennis the Menace, the kid pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose and settled with a book titled, “The Weary Potter,” while her mom dabbed beads of perspiration forming on her face. While the kid’s teeth were well aligned by her braces, her mom’s lacked symmetry - her protruding teeth that could carve a coconut.

“So Ramlal, how long have you lived in Delhi? I guess you must enjoy the luxuries of the capital city,” I said.

“Yes, been there my entire life.”

“What about you? Where are you traveling and what is the purpose of your trip?”

“I am an architect in Melbourne presently in India for a trade show and am using the weekend for a brief family visit.”

I stopped short. A stunningly attractive girl, roughly in her mid twenties I would say, walked in and flopped on the berth opposite me next to Ramlal while her porter gently placed her two suitcases beneath the lower berth. Her skin was the color of wheat and her bell-like earrings glittered in the dim light inside the ICF coach. She had fastened her hair into a ponytail and wore a gold ring on her left index finger. As she bent low, with her back to me, to fasten her luggage with chain, her T-shirt lifted slightly revealing her lower back and her narrow and slender hip that curved its way both upward and downward. So mesmerized were my eyes that her label “Express” in her jeans went unnoticed.”

Before my dropped jaw could recover its stature she graciously smiled and asked

“Is this yours,” she asked me pointing to the lower berth I was perched on.

“Yes.”

“I guess this one is mine then,” she said indicating to the berth opposite mine.

A rough portly guy, made way towards us and paused near our compartment. He was shabbily clad with torn grey woolen sweaters and brown frayed trousers. His front teeth appeared as though it had been knocked out and plugged in a dozen times while his breath reeked of stale bananas and alcohol. I wondered how he could afford a ticket on Rajdhani unless he was into crimes. Stabilizing himself, he took a good look at the seat number and asked me to get out of his berth

“Excuse me sir, wait a minute,” I added pulling my ticket.

I showed him seat number 33 and bingo! He showed his, 33.

Being relatively sure that the chances of computerized reservations going wrong were remote, I said I wouldn’t budge from my seat in decent language and patiently began explaining that apparently there had been some mistake and we‘d sort it. He started swearing at me starting 10 generations above me and went 20 down.

“Wait a minute,” the girl came to my aid and pointing to his ticket asked him to go to coach A5, ours being A6. The ink in his crumpled ticket was slightly smudged deceiving his eyes making him believe that it was I who had violated his allotted space. Good riddance I thought, at the same time felt glad that she had rescued me.

A man clad in brown khakis and white hat walked by with a huge vessel not so much a cauldron as a good-sized filter, it was steaming and emanating fumes that I discerned were from coffee, which lifted my spirits. Beckoning the coffee seller closer, I asked Ramlal and the girl if they wanted any. They gladly agreed, and no sooner I took my first sip than I heard a jingle in the vendor’s pocket as he placed his coins.

The compartment was now almost full with barely a few minutes left for the departure. While inside the AC coach thick windows dampened the noisy din from the busy platform, enabling us to enjoy the silence within, it precluded the evening breeze and the fresh aroma of sizzling eggs on the frying pan from reaching us. Therefore, it was quite evident that only the occurrence of a mild jerk indicated that we had departed the station. Glancing at my watch and observing the time as 5.00 p.m., I figured it was running slow by 15 minutes and had to adjust it. A network of rails interweaved as we passed the yard and the clangor made by the wheels, when they locked into the correct pair of rails, was audible yet muffled.

The compartment was getting noisy with a few travelers engaged in animated discussions while others gesticulated wildly throwing up their hands, apparently recounting their anecdotes and enjoying the evening. A few students were playing a pack of cards while a lady was trying to soothe her crying daughter. Amidst chaos that prevailed in the compartment, the only person experiencing inner peace was the kid on the side berth engrossed in her book. My eyes wandered and found its way back to the pretty girl sitting opposite me where she caught my eye and we introduced ourselves, her name Lavanya.

Ramlal looked at me and said, “So you were saying you are an architect.”

“Oh, yes, I work for a company “Waugh and Partner Architecture,” in southern Melbourne and the nature of the work I do involves designing the interior of warehouses for mid-sized to large scale industries.”

“Interesting, I am a trader and specialize in home décor myself.”

“Really? Wow! You should have been at trade show I was at last week for which my company sent me, investing a lot of money on my air-ticket and living expenses. It was appalling and a total waste as it never suited the work I do. Perhaps, the exhibits on vinyl, carpets and mahogany would have interested you. The only positive outcome is I got a free ticket to India… Lavanya, what about you? Do tell us about yourself”

“Well, I am a cardiologist and primarily a researcher at the All India Institute of Medical Science AIIMS. Interestingly, I was in Sydney for a convention a couple weeks back and was delighted with the place.”

“I hope you get a chance to watch the match at the S.C.G?”

“Unfortunately, tickets were sold out and I couldn’t go last Tuesday,” she said making a sour face.

Ramlal said, so how have you been enjoying your vacation, now that your business trip hasn’t very rewarding.”

“I’ve covered fair amount of ground already with the trade show in Lucknow and Bangalore. Then I visited Rajasthan and my uncle in Delhi. I guess I have been traveling a lot, pretty much every city, and at last Calcutta. I am taking my flight from there”

“Calcutta? Oh! You mean eventually?” She said and smiled.

Eventually? I guess she was referring to the frequent delays Rajdhani had been subjected to in the recent past, as I was told, and even last week, due to some derailment, it reached 7 hours late in Mumbai. It appeared that both were well read and with the doctor around, the conversation was indeed healthy. Ramlal knew the right sentences to speak and with the good positive attitude I guess he was a remarkable salesman or a businessman. Until now, I had never encountered anybody like Lavanya possessing a ravishing beauty with an acute mind. Life isn’t always fair is it? I wondered how many young hearts she broke if not fixed. It would be a suicide not to get her contacts when we reach I concluded.

Sharply at quarter past 8.00, the bearers arrived and a heavyset man with a slight paunch and hunching shoulders placed a huge tray containing foods packed in aluminum foil on the side berth next to the young kid. Each was served one packet and upon inspecting the contents, I figured we were given puris, rice, pickle curd, and a mixed vegetable sautéed curry. Hardly had Ramlal opened his food packet when we heard weird chewing noises by the little girl’s mom whose lips gyrated in a rhythmic circle as she attacked the food open-mouthed. Her huge nose-ring shone being moistened from her perspiring nose.

I said, “Wow this is delicious. Ramlal, travel has changed so much during the past few years. I am at awe with the improvement in the quality of food and I suspect it is no longer unhygienic.”

“Undoubtedly. The quality of food has remarkably improved and if you now notice you get water packets. You don’t need to hunt for functioning taps in stations anymore”

Lavanya joined the conversation. “They don’t let you smoke anymore and one can peacefully sleep during the nights without being disturbed by stale beedis.”

I said, “Well, there used to be a time when I was a kid while traveling by trains, especially during the night time when everyone closed the windows and shutters fearing dacoits and I seldom slept through being bathed in my own sweat. I guess dacoits in Gwalior are now extinct. In fact, Indian Railways is so organized now that I feel a lot safer to travel by trains,”

There was a momentary pause and we noticed the kid throwing tantrums as she was ordered to finish her food before she could touch the book. Soon, when she realized all eyes were upon her, she became docile in obeying her mom’s orders. She wiped her tears and took the water packet that was now handed to her by the bearer and we took our share too.

Ramlal said, “Speaking of water packets, once when I was young the train had arrived at Itarsi junction and being the oldest, I was sent to fill water in a quaint kerosene container that used to literally supply boiled water in the afternoon sun. Whistling, I noticed there wasn’t any taps around and walked two coaches back to the nearest tap and guess what! It was out of order. I tried a couple more taps and realized I had ventured quite far. Retracing my way, I wanted to get back into the compartment but imagined the caning I would receive from my uncle for returning his wishes unfulfilled. I was still two coaches way when I got this brainwave; I got into the compartment close to where I was, walked to the opposite door, and got down on the other side, where I had to cross the tracks to climb onto the opposite platform.

Fortunately, there was water in the closest tap, and relieved I was even though it was hot if not lukewarm, and I quickly filled my can. I turned around and got the fright of my life, the signal had turned green and my train sounded its horn. At the same time, another train was making way into the platform where I was. I prayed mine wouldn’t start until the other train stopped and luckily when the oncoming train halted, I wildly ran into the nearest coach, opened the compartment door and climbed down on the opposite side and quickly clambered onto my train. I have never been so scared.

We laughed and Lavanya shared her anecdote. “Well I often traveled from Chennai to New Delhi by Tamil Nadu express, and when it arrived Nagpur at 2.00 p.m., a similar New Delhi -Chennai Tamil Nadu express arrived on the adjacent platform quite similar to what Ramlal just described. It was so confusing that your head spins with all boards on the train showing “Chennai New Delhi” so it wasn’t uncommon that sometimes you accidentally get into the wrong train.”

“Speaking of Nagpur,” said Ramlal. “There was a time during the 80’s when a stall outside the station was famous for its chicken Biryani that passengers used to venture out to and grab a packet for lunch. I haven’t tried it but while we were on a student excursion to Mysore, our train had stopped at Nagpur and two students in our group ventured out to bring samples for the rest. I wonder what happened, we left without them.”

“Well, I once asked my co-passenger how far are we from Mughalsarai and when he said an hour, I thought I’ll catch some sleep and upon awaking, I asked him how far we were from Mughalsarai and he again said an hour. I was sure we hadn’t stopped due to a faulty engine or a red signal and when it figured that we had gone past Mughalsarai by an hour, I was alarmed.”

They both watched me in disbelief.

“Oops! That was a joke,” I said and laughed.

Ramlal said, “Yeah it can get scary sometimes when such mistakes happen and you feel like a fool. It is good to travel by Rajdhani, as there are so few stops that you reach your destination very quickly. Well, that was a good dinner. Good to have you guys as company. I guess we’ll have some dessert, ice cream or some sweet, when the train stops at Kota or if you aren’t that hungry, we could at Ratlam.

“Ratlam? Isn’t that in Rajasthan?” I replied, being confident about my geographical knowledge, especially when it was pertinent to train travel.

“I guess you mistook Ratlam for Kanpur,” I smiled, as the first station Rajdhani stopped was at Kanpur, wondering how one could make such obvious mistakes and they both exchanged glances.

A new voice in the compartment announced the arrival of a gentleman dressed in white trousers and red tie, his blue shirt with white stripes being partially covered with his navy blue sports jacket. He seemed an educated man with a college degree and carried a pad with a stack of papers. Only when I noticed that it carried names of passengers and their reservation did I realize that he was the ticket collector (T.C.)

The TC intervened while we had just finished talking and asked me. “Excuse me sir, can I look at your ticket?”

Knowing it was his routine job of examining our tickets and making sure nobody traveled ticket-less, especially in A/C compartment, I partially stood up removed my wallet and was about to retrieve the ticket when the corner of my eyes spotted the ruffian who had tried to throw me away from my compartment.

The TC said, “Sir, we have a problem here, the seat belongs to him,” pointing to the ruffian, “ and not you.”

“What do you mean, isn’t he in coach A5?” I asked with my brows raised.

“No, it appears as though his ticket is printed with A5, but after going through my documents I am concluding that it is indeed A6,” he finished.

A wave of nausea swept past my stomach. Drat! I knew it. I missed the date. On such a short vacation to India, if I were supposed to see all my relatives and family scattered all across the nation, I was bound to miss the date. Exasperated, I slowly examined my ticket. But wait, indeed it saw February 10^th - the correct date.

“Hey! I guess today is Feb. 10^th right?” said I looked at the TC.

“Yes sir, indeed today is Feb 10^th.’

“Then prove me wrong, how does the seat belong to him.” I thundered

“Indeed, the date and the coach number are both correct, but you have boarded the 2302 New Delhi-Mumbai Rajdhani express. Your ticket shows train number 2952 New Delhi-Calcutta Rajdhani express that would have left New Delhi at 5.15 pm, so please get down in Kota, the next station, and pay a fine of 2000 rupees.”

While the whole compartment echoed with laughter, I presented a dumb look to Ramlal and avoided making eye contact with Lavanya whom I guess was stifling laughter.

“Well, I guess that was mistake huh?” I grinned at Ramlal sheepishly.

With gleaming eyes, Ramlal greeted me, “Welcome to Mumbai, you can stay with me and we three can have dinner tomorrow night. Don’t worry about the T.C., we can pay him to get you through to Mumbai. I am privileged to be in your company.”

I guess I didn’t know what else I could do and decided to take a flight to Calcutta the day after tomorrow from Mumbai. I asked Lavanya the time and she replied 10.00 pm. so I began adjusting my watch that showed 9.45 p.m. I guess my watch had been correct all along. I was lucky enough to get her email address and was luckier when she said she would keep in touch and luckiest when told that I had better mail her frequently because she hates unanswered mails.

Excusing myself, I walked to the door, which upon opening let a full blast of air on my face and it was dark everywhere except for occasional flares from lamps used by people as we crossed cottages and level crossing. Ramlal was patiently talking to the TC. Quite a businessman he was I thought and smiled and gazed at the infinite stars in the sky wondering if any fool would try and count them.

“Trying to count the stars?”

Startled, I turned around to see Lavanya standing behind me near the door and ask me that question as though she read my mind. I moved aside beckoning her closer so that she could face outside and get her share of the winds and while I was barely inches away, I could smell her perfume. Her hair was now let down and it flew past her shoulders, its silkiness now glistening in the moonlight.

“Pleasant evening isn’t it? She asked.”

Sure, I thought sarcastically when Rajdhani lowered its speed. I told myself, Hey! It is all right, and chucked as I gawked at her eyelashes – Perhaps it is the beginning of a new journey. The lights in the horizon expanded in size as the train slowed down and far in the distance saw an approaching station. We heard voices of vendors and spotted the bevy of anxious passengers standing in the station as Rajdhani express pulled into platform number 1 at Kota junction.

“Let’s get some coffee,” I muttered.