by Parag Bhatt
PureTravel Writing Competition 2024
“I can’t take it anymore!” a voice echoed in my head. “I have tried for almost a year but it just doesn’t seem to work out!”
“I just don’t want to continue with this profession!”
Such self-disputations were a part of my everyday life ever since I had joined shipping as a trainee. They used to pop up automatically, irrespective of place or time. My interest and performance in school in sciences always inspired me to pursue a career in physics; my goal was crystal clear, to complete my engineering from a prestigious college and join CERN (I knew such an ambition was unheard of to my family and teachers, at least in those times). It is the center for research in particle physics in Austria, an ambition way ahead of its time for a boy from humble origins. My sheer belief in myself was due to the immense efforts I used to put into acquiring as much knowledge as I could, during my school years. However, my destiny had other plans just like my family; both never bothered themselves with my wants.
As the tirade within me continued ever since it started after boarding the train at Mumbai, the Dehradun-Mumbai express slithered upon the tracks as it came to a screeching halt at the New Delhi railway station, and so did my introspection. It was eleven in the morning and after a forty-two-hour journey, it seemed like an eternity, as if I had been to Mars and not Mumbai and have now returned to this planet after a long and miserable journey. My feet ached to touch upon the solid ground. It was an hour-long halt after which the train would resume or more appropriately, press itself on the onward journey to its final destination and my hometown, Dehradun. I, however, by then, had no patience left to risk continuing the journey on this “irritant express” that I nicknamed it since my first experience. Less to others and more to my surprise, it was the third time I had travelled in this “painfully slow and sense numbing” express. I had therefore, in advance, made my preparations to deal with the situation.
From Mumbai, before I was to travel, I had called up my mother informing her of my plan to travel to Dehradun with Amit. He was my school friend who was supposed to collect me from this place and together we were to travel back home either on his bike or car. The arrangement seemed simple and I would land in my hometown much before this heavy piece of iron could even manage to touch the outskirts of the hometown. At least by then I had thought so!
I unboarded my luggage. Dressed in red and white attire as their official dress up, the porters had, by that time, identified their targets and sprung into motion to eke out their daily living. Some had already boarded the moving train to reserve their clientele as any delay might be an opportunity lost. Besides, they could buy additional time and find more passengers looking out for their services. Extra passengers, extra bucks! One of them looked at me expecting me to signal him but I chose to disappoint him, less out of the need for help but more out of running short on money.
I had started from Mumbai with very limited cash that too was given by my cousin. He was quite older than me and we shared a cordial relationship but due to his over-cautious and nagging wife, I couldn’t ask for more, fully aware that this amount would not suffice. I had spent much of it only on meals that I took sparingly and completely ruled out the beverages served, during my journey. Limited by means has been the traditional Indian value of the majority population, I, therefore, as such, was used to the practice and filled up my bottle to quench my thirst and the rising heat of hunger and the environment.
I had reached Delhi at odd times. The end of July marks the rainy season in the Northern part of India, still, the temperatures were soaring. The sweltering environment makes life very uneasy for the commoners however thanks to my training that had made me tough enough to endure such harassment of nature. Most of the passengers had left and there was no immediate arrival of any trains at the station.
The crowd thinned out and the buzz at the station returned to normalcy. Since I had only to wait, I spotted a solitary bench in a corner of the platform. Amenities of shade, proximity to a water coolant, and an overhead fan quickly made me walk up to it. I pushed my luggage under the bench and tucked out my shirt to find some comfort and sat on the bench resting against the backrest and cooling under the running overhead fan. I rested in that position for a while with a kerchief on my face that I used frequently to wipe off the perspiration.
A kid who was playing at a slight distance must have fallen. Its parents, who seemed to me tribal and seated circularly with their kins as is customary to their habits and a common sight on most Indian railway platforms, swung into holding the child into their protection. Its wailing pierced through the relative calmness of the railway platform which otherwise was disturbed only by the intermittent announcements being made of the various trains’ itineraries. I jolted out of my siesta to check if it had not hurt itself, fortunately, it just suffered a bump. I looked at my watch, it was half past twelve.
Amit was supposed to be there by twelve but I had no option but to wait. “Maybe it was the metropolitan traffic” I guessed. Mobile phones, though introduced to society much earlier, were out of reach of commoners like me, partly because it was not a very common practice in my age group then, and rest due to my lack of affordability. Even if I had to inquire about his whereabouts, I had to walk across the station, passing the cabstand, across the busy street occupied with unrelenting traffic, to get to the nearest public phone booth. Nevertheless, I decided to wait further!
Railway platforms in India are an entire ecosystem in itself. With people from all walks of life, this is the place that truly celebrates unity in diversity. This is the place that truly manifests in itself the idea of India. Kids, teenagers, young adults, grown-ups, and the experienced are all found in one place. The nouveau riche who desired but couldn’t win over their fear of flight travel and hence decided to travel via railways, the upper middle class who could afford a reserved coup, the middle class, such as myself, who could afford an air-conditioned facility if not a reserved cabin, the lower middle class who could afford a comfortable seat devoid of people sticking to one another in the face and who could afford to secure some air to breathe if not a place to sit and next to it several categories of passengers divided by their paying capacity, distributed themselves across the length and breadth of the platform by their coach numbers or I might add, their “capacity to pay” profile. “The Indian Railways discriminate but don’t deny”.
Absorbed in my thoughts and trying to read the situation and people around me to kill my time, my gaze fell upon the villain that stood right in front of me and that tested my patience thrice, the same villain that carried my aching ass up from Mumbai to New Delhi Railway station. The words read “Dehradun-Bandra terminus express”.
Express! Really? God damn it, Express my foot! This train, to my irritation, belonged to a different era altogether. Its rightful place is in the museum! I told myself annoyingly. I believe it was a British legacy that had outlived itself and must have been left to survive only to scare us Indians after the British left. This train should be renamed “Test your patience express”. I wondered what foolishness could have promoted such “misery on wheels” to its present day! The British could not afford it because as Tolstoy maintained, “the only maxim of the English Law is to make money for itself”. Time is money and wasting time is wasting of money, a key value and outlook that goes against the innate nature of the British in particular and of the “Whites” in general.
No! It certainly was a brainchild of some Indian who must have believed in the theory of “Karma” and “The law of rebirth” which tells us that you shall be reborn as a result of your past actions or karma! The innocent Indian must have taken it as to “why waste time in expediting things when we are destined to return?” After all “Slowly and steady wins the race”.
It must have been an attraction back in time when the British first opened up the railways in Dehradun in the year 1900. Though I wasn’t sure when and most importantly “Why” exactly did this train materialize into its present form but it’s a sure fact that it has transcended decades, for no mode of transportation can kill the very value for which it’s designed. Its job is to mitigate the dearth, not exaggerate it! Agreed, it must have made an impact on the little town back then by carrying the pensioners and the European settlers due to the pleasant climate of the city; yet, it is the 20th century now! This era worships speed and leisure is only for the rich, not a young eighteen-year lad like me or millions of others who come from middle-class backgrounds!
“Hunger does not seek taste and sleep does not seek comfort”, goes an old Indian saying and it was quite right. Occupied with these thoughts and mentally tired from the long journey, I couldn’t recall when I retired on the bench.
A sudden and blaring announcement brought me to my senses again. I immediately checked my luggage and also the time. It had been over two hours that I was lying asleep oblivious to the dangers of picketing or being robbed. Luck will not always favor you! I told myself. Having secured my luggage in the cloakroom and having not been able to spot Amit or Dehradun-Bandra Express, anywhere on the platform, I thought of making a call to Amit’s home to at least ascertain if I mustn’t have made a fool of myself by pinning my hopes on a lost cause. I reached the phone booth and called up at his home. Over the conversation, it soon became apparent that I was right about him.
Doubt, indeed, is a better friend than trust, was the lesson I learned for the first time in life, that too from a FRIEND! It’s the characteristic feature of betrayal that one experiences only from someone close. Though I had given him the benefit of the doubt, three hours were much above the decided meeting time. Having provided me with numerous assurances, the man had conveniently disappeared from the scene altogether and I, with hardly any money, was left hanging in the middle. Whether I was innocent enough to not have the brains to understand how the world works or idiotic enough to trust people randomly, I couldn’t figure it out at the moment but felt an instant urge to slap myself for my perpetual foolishness when it comes to trusting people. In this constantly degrading world when you are alone, money is your only friend, who can come to your rescue; provided you have it else it’s your worst enemy!
I checked my wallet again, wondering if the money must have multiplied itself but it did not. It multiplies only in its company not otherwise. I only had a hundred rupee bill remaining. With that amount, I was neither here nor there. I, now, only had my limited brain, limited courage, and limited money to rescue myself from the situation. The only fortunate thing that happened was that the Dehradun- Shatabdi (Read centennial) “actually” express, placed itself on the platform for departure. This Train meant business for it valued time! Delhi to Dehradun in straight six hours! By developing nation’s standards at that time! To me, it was like getting wings on myself! (Angels’ or Satan’s’ I didn’t care). Moreover, I had already realized that “Indian railways differentiates but doesn’t discriminate.” Plus I had full faith in Dehradun-Bandra express’ speed, it never failed my imagination; how could it fail me? I decided to take my chance! What other option did I have? I thought!
I just waited for the departure of the strict disciplinarian (The Centennial); it was almost 3:30! I boarded the train but did not look out for a seat for obvious reasons. My only aim was to un-board at Meerut, two hours away by road traffic standards, an hour away by Centennial’s standards, and distant by my queen’s (“Bandra Express’”) standards. I had a positive chance to catch up lest not caught up by the Ticket Checker!
A part of my nature moved, and in no time sped along with the centennial! The faster it moved the faster my hopes sprung up. Only to my dismay, the very wall I tucked myself against, belonged to the T.T’s room. A middle-sized but true government agent, by any country’s standards, came out; first his belly and later the rest of his body. He only gazed! Not looked at me carefully, and went ahead with a yawn. Maybe he had gauged but did not wish to get into an argument with a youngster at the start of his shift! I loved Centennial as much as it loved me, though the love affair was entirely business! It darted through un-named stations in a wink and did not leave me with the time to overt-think about my rescue plan, but on counting them. I was almost there, even before an hour!
The T.T. was done scrutinizing the passengers and was now all divorced with the mood and sleep, to face me head-on. He thumped back from a convenient distance to enquire about me thoroughly. From a safe distance from him, two statements echoed in sync. “Show me the ticket?” and “Welcome to Meerut”, no sooner did the door open than I jumped out. The T.T. smiled and asked “Student”? I smirked back and said, “A trainee”. He closed the doors and signaled to train ahead. My rescuer moved in no time, given her nature, and as it darted ahead, emerged my savior from behind, standing right in front of me, on the other side of the platform reading “Dehradun-Bandra terminus”.
The entire journey made four life-long lessons clear in my head:
1.Fortune favors only the brave!
2. The closest friendship is potent enough to offer you the biggest betrayal!
3. Things hardly work out how we want them to be, but the end is always the beginning!
4. Who says that enemies cannot show respect? And lastly,
Photo by Killian Pham
