I was going to Delhi that day after my short stay at my friend’s place in Chennai. He explained me the quickest way by which I could reach Chennai Central. He had strictly advised me not to take autos, but take a bus.
It is a human thing, you always do what you are asked not do. I got into an auto; not because I am a “spoilt Delhi brat” and I can’t travel in Chennai’s rickety buses, but because I neither have that sense of adventure nor the talent to hang on to nuts, bolts, rods (and even tyres) of MTC buses that are tilted at 45 degrees when they move on the roads.
On reaching the nearest local train station at Thiruvanmayur, autowalla asked me for Rs 400!!!
“400 for just 4 Kilometers!!!” I shouted. No wonder 2G scam had its roots in Chennai.
He tried to explain me the calculation, in Tamil and with an Iron Rod in his hand. I could understand only one word, which he often spoke: “votha”, though iron rod in his left hand made me understand rest of the things very easily.
I caught the local and quickly found a seat to sit. I wasn’t feeling well. I had an upset stomach that morning. I had gone to a Chettinad restaurant with my friend and his family a night before. The cuisine was too delicious to resist and I had the food it in excess.
I reached Park Station an hour before my train’s departure. My tickets were booked from Vijayawada. So on reaching the station I went directly to the counter where they sell open tickets. The queue was short and I thought I had plenty of time at my disposal as the scheduled departure was only at 6:45 AM. But the old lady at the counter was taking a lot of time and by the time I reached platform No. 3, where my train was put up, it was already 6:40 AM.
I was not sure whether my coach was S6 or S7 and wanted to confirm from the ticket. As soon as I dipped my hand into my bag’s pocket terror struck me. I saw the ticket was not there where I was absolutely sure I had kept it. I do not claim to be a person with the best memory but I correctly remember I had collected the ticket from my friend’s computer table. I had kept it in the bag in a particular pocket for easy access. Repeated searches in all the dozen pockets in the three bags made me mad and I decided to get into S7 (7 being my birth date) and search again. I called up my friend as soon as I boarded the train and unloaded myself.
The train began to move on time and within a minute TT stood in front of me asking for the ticket. I told him I had misplaced the ticket and assured him I was having a confirmed reservation. But he was not prepared to listen.
“Give me the ticketz and then talk” he said in his Tamil accent. I want to know who taught English to TTs in South India. They think singular of TICKET is TICKETZ (yes with a ‘z’ in the end) and not TICKET!!!
“Sir I had the ticket and a confirmed birth and my ticket was from Vijayawada” I told him frankly.
He asked me to show the ticket to Vijayawada. I showed him the ticket that I had purchased from the station counter. He collected the balance amount of seventy nine rupees towards the sleeper charges (The lady at the counter had issued me a general class ticket and I was travelling in a sleeper class) and calculated the full fare from Vijayawada to Delhi.
“You will have to pay the full fare. The ticket will be issued to you at Vijayawada that too only if you produce a proper ID proof” he said.
I had specifically asked that lazy bum at the station counter for a sleeper class ticket and she had told me with complete confidence that I can travel in sleeper class with this ticket.
Terror struck me for the second time that day when I looked at the figure he had calculated and which I was supposed to pay on reaching Vijayawada. Including the penalty, it showed Rs. 583 and I was short by about Rs. 150. Of course, I had ATM card with me but what was the use? Why can’t Indian Railways have an ATM machine on platforms, if not inside the train?
“What the fuck!!!!!” I began to believe that the entire Tamil land is conspiring something against me.I had only one choice now and that was to borrow money from a person.
“After all this train is going to Delhi and the shortage was only Rs.150, surely I can find out a Delhiite. Delhiites are known to have a big heart” I consoled myself and sat down pondering what should be my next step.
Even though it was a train going to Delhi, the passengers in the Chennai-Vijayawada sector were mostly South Indians. There were families speaking in Tamil (though I never heard that word “votha” again). I spotted some North Indians, but they were all sitting with stiff upper lips (something unusual about people from that part of the country; you will rarely find North Indians not talking loudly and sitting unanimated in a train or in any other public places). I walked around several compartments to pick up a few Hindi words and I succeeded. There were 2 young Sardarjis.
I looked at my watch and I noticed that it will take at least 3 hours before we reach Vijayawada.
Sometime later I approached one of them and introduced myself. He said he was going to Delhi. I told him my part of the story and also added that I was having an ATM card with me and I could repay him at Delhi station itself if not before.
He interrupted me in between and said rudely in Hindi: “Dekh bhai, if it is about money, don’t speak to me”
What? Did he expect me to come all the way from coach S7 to S3 to discuss about Kareena Kapoor’s relationship with Saif Ali Khan?
“Okay, that is all right” I said and gave him a fake smile to pretend as if I didn’t mind his rudeness. While his other Sardarji friend was sitting tight all this while as if I am speaking French and he can understand nothing about the conversation. I returned to my seat.
After about fifteen minutes, I made another round scouting the faces and trying my luck out. No one agreed to lend me money. I was irritated. Until then I was under an impression that it is the Tamilians who are conspiring against me, but now I felt that this entire country has something against me.
*******
“Tamil or English?” An old Tamilian who seemed to be in his 80s asked me. The old man was sitting right in front of me and was observing me from the very first minute, ready to help me, only if I ask for it.
“English Sir” I replied with a sigh (as if it made a difference). I had given up all hopes after more than half a dozen North Indians refused to lend me the money.
“Call me thatha, son” He said in his polite voice. “You need only Rs 200 is it right? No problem I shall give you” he said and took out the money from his wallet and gave it to me.
“What about your food?” He asked.
“The amount will take care of that also” I said and collected the money from him.
It took more than five hours to reach Vijayawada. The TT came to me only after another hour. He checked my ID and issued the ticket.
*******
The part of the journey from Warangal to Bhopal was something I will never forget in my life. It was a time when I threw away all my sense and sensibility to the wind and was only concentrating on my body. It was a time when I stood like an animal helpless and fully at the mercy of nature. It also made me aware how detached we become to the dirty surroundings when we become a part of it.
When things began to settle down and I thought nothing worse can happen to me now, the undigested Chettinad food of yesterday’s dinner began to do Bharatnatyam in my stomach. I had to go to toilet. I had a little loose motion first, which was repeated forcing me to throw away my “under things” in disgust. I took out a fresh one from my bag. When I had to go to the toilet for the third time, I knew I was in for a real trouble. I took out all the four under wears I had and sat prepared for any eventuality.
The last week of April is a time a person should avoid for long distance travel. It is a season when everybody is on the move and the trains are crowded. In spite of the reserved nature, my coach S7 was full with people having waiting list tickets. They were occupying every sitting space available and the TT was nowhere. The pressure in my stomach was building up.
I resigned myself to remain at the door to make the best use of the toilet and wash basin nearby. It was pretty hot outside and the wind was blowing hard, increasing its force as the train picked up speed.
Whenever I wanted to go to the toilet somebody was inside it. My indisposition was increasing and I knew, in my standing position the valves may open any time. I simply stood leaning against the wall and in complete abandon. There was nothing else I could do.
Then came the climax and drops began to come out of me and flow down my pants, first slowly but picking up their momentum soon as the pumping action began. Both my legs were becoming wet. I stood there in horror in full view of the people sitting in front and standing around me. The drops began to fall on the floor.
But thank God the nature was on my side. As soon as the drops fell on the floor they were eaten away by the strong winds that were entering inside the train from the two open doors. And when the flow increased to make small yellow pools, I moved my feet to draw pictures on the floor so as to spread the precious yellow liquid over a wide area. This made wind’s job easier (Pity that everybody in the compartment missed the show). Fortunately there was no foul smell and even if there was, it was drowned in the hot wind and the sound of the speeding train. A person of my age and nature making such a great performance in the train! (I surely stand a chance in Oscars)
I was sure that no one knew what was happening to me. Because if anybody had known, the news might have spread through the compartment and the passengers would have either thrown me out of the train or locked me up in the toilet and called the police convinced that I was a lunatic and did not know what I was doing.
I might have stood there for about two hours but for me the time stood still. I was only aware of the wet feeling inside my pants and the frequent burst of flow from the body as the bottom valves opened and opened more. During that time my stomach might have emptied at least a litre of the precious golden body fluid.
I have often seen goats, cows and even dogs emptying like this. They are least bothered of such natural body functions. But to do this on a moving train, that too in full view of a hundred people in day light-you need some real talent. I assumed that nobody could understand why I was standing like that for such a long time (it was probably my hallucination).
It was about eleven in the night when the train reached Bhopal. A lot of people got down but double that number got in. I was still there in front of the Toilet door. Next time when I went inside the toilet, I saw my black pyjama had become absolutely dirty from inside. In despair, I threw it down the toilet followed by the underwear. Cleaned the body as well as possible and put on a new pair of pyjama and underwear and sat down on my berth. But my struggle was still not over. During the next two hours I had to throw away all the four underwear I had kept aside, one after the other. I never knew that my stomach was so big and could hold so much quantity of water.
*******
It was 3 AM and people were lying everywhere in the coach. I had no idea where my bags were. I might have lost them. The only consolation was that I was having the ticket and the mobile phone and some twenty or thirty rupees for another emergency if at all it came.
It was impossible to take anything out of the bags even if I had located them. As a last resort I removed my shirt, took out the new baniyan I was wearing and used it as a pad, jumped to the berth and lied down. I thanked my magnanimity in offering my lower berth to the lady and accepting the upper berth allotted to her earlier. Sleep was the best thing I wanted and did not know anything till I got up around seven the next morning.
Next morning when I woke up, I sat down leisurely and looked around. The compartment was still full but there were nobody lying on the floor. My bags were intact. I took my shaving kit and went to toilet. I brushed my teeth and had a half bath. My stomach was empty now (so empty that I could feel my intestines).
“What a relief!!!”
But I dared not take any food or even much quantity of water. Occasionally, when I felt very thirsty, I had just a small sip of water until the coffee came at 8 AM. After the coffee, I climbed up and lied down on the berth thinking how to satisfy my hunger.
I might have lived there for half an hour in my deep thoughts or semi slumber, when I heard the sweet sound of a woman selling oranges. We had reached Jhansi. The oranges were really big and beautiful and I was the first to buy it. Down it went my throat and no doubt it was the best oranges I had ever eaten in my life. I really wanted one more but the woman had already gone and I did not have the strength and composure to run after her. I slept again.
I was awakened by somebody scratching on my feet.
“Rats?” It can’t be.
When it was repeated, I opened my eyes and got up. It was a real market in the compartment. The station was Agra. Every one of them was talking in unison and trying to locate their respective berths.
A pretty girl who wanted to keep her luggage on my berth was standing right in front of me. I was still
lying.
“Please keep it” She tried to use her womanly charm to convince me. Our heads were almost at the same level. She began coming closer to me. She confessed she didn’t have a reservation. She bent her head even more forward. I could feel her breath now.
“NO WAY” I literally spelt it out for her and turned to the other side (I was showing her my back now). Here I was after paying the fare twice, and sick in body and mind after my mega show and this girl thinks she could seduce me to share my birth with her!!! Even if it was Pamela Anderson standing there I would not have relent.
*******
The train was passing through Palwal in Haryana. I was well and in good spirits. Also the thought that I would be at my home in a few hours, was quite assuring, Then I remembered the small packet of biscuits that my friend’s wife had given me. So far I had not had any chance to use it. I took out the biscuits and shared with thatha. I was surprised to see this old man getting up at four in the morning and doing elaborate poojas inside a train! His wife was also with him, I offered biscuits to her as well.
I sat down on my berth for a long time recapturing the previous day’s incidents since my start from Chennai. I wondered in which all places in India I had thrown away my clothing one after the other. Years back, I had heard that ashes of Nehru were thrown around all parts of India. In my case these were dirty clothes... What a contrast?
*******
My brother was waiting at New Delhi station. He had got Rs 200 with him. Initially thatha refused to take the money.
“It is only Rs 200. Please don’t bother about it”
I forced and returned him the money with a lot of thanks and a small gift I had bought in Mahabalipuram. It was only a key chain but a good one.
When we came out of the station, my stomach was demanding food badly and I was in a hurry to reach home. But it was not to be so fast. All the autos and taxis were on a strike that day because of government’s decision to increase the cost of fuel. Unfortunately there was a technical snag in Metro Line as well. We had to walk to the bus stop and use the public transport. That was the only way to reach home. I smiled at my brother and then we both started walking towards the bus stop. After all It was nothing compared to the ordeal I had in the last few hours.
Shit Happens!!!!
