An Eventful Journey?

chillibreeze writer — Prasad Hariharan

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Writing about one’s experiences is never easy. The text gets inextricably woven with the writer’s passions and prejudices, making rendering an objective impossible. It is for this very reason that I am writing this travelogue; the only way this account can seem superlative is when seen through my own eyes. So tighten your seat belts, and travel with me down memory lane through the Udyan Express on the 3rd of August, 2002.

Allow me to digress a little bit by sharing some of my thoughts before the journey. (You were just getting ready to see through my eyes, and now you are being asked to think through my mind as well!) This digression has a supreme significance, as you will realize later. I always make it a point to travel second class while traveling between Bombay and Bangalore. There are some compelling reasons for this, though people (especially my roommates!) may think otherwise. The first is that I find traveling by plane expensive (actually the real reason is that, post 9/11, I am afraid of scraping past sky-scrapers!) The second reason is that, traveling by train in the third AC compartment cuts me off from the outside world full of interesting sights and sounds (especially in the Lonavala – Khandala region). And lastly – the most powerful reason – but you will have to abandon all reasoning and simply accept my word for it – is that I seriously feel that there is a very good chance that you might find your life partner in the course of the twenty-four-hour-long journey. This last reason is particularly disproved by my roommates, who think it highly improbable (and as one vocabulary – aficionado – friend of mine pointed out, CHIMERICAL!)

With my three big reasons strongly implanted at the back of my mind, I set out for the journey from my home. I had already utilized two weeks out of my three-week long vacation at my Bangalore home fruitfully, doing nothing at all; and was determined to make the utmost use of the remaining one week in Bombay (Call it Mumbai if you will, but it will always remain Bombay for me) as well. My roommate accompanied me to the auto, all along reminding me, ‘Don’t forget to learn cooking this time.’ Then, with a final pat on the back, he bid me a happy and ‘eventful’ journey. His words came true.

I missed the train. I always make it a point to reach just minutes before departure, so as not to waste precious moments of mine at the platform doing nothing. This time, though, I was a full twenty minutes before the departure time. Only, the railways got the better of me. They had advanced the time of departure by a full twenty minutes, (I still have the priceless ticket with me that doesn’t have the time of departure printed on it) and I could see the train leaving the station and me behind, as I reached the platform. I ran behind the train, shouting at it to stop, but the passengers (and I think this includes my potential life partner) seemed to have conspired against me in this venture. Instead of stopping, the train went faster and faster. I quickly came back and asked some people at the platform why the train left so fast when there was still some time left. And without waiting to hear the entire story, (I vaguely remember someone telling me to cancel the ticket and travel by plane!) I rushed out, climbing the stairs frantically, running around and finally coming to the outside of the station.

Still running, I called a cab but he said that he wasn’t planning to go anywhere! (Then why was he driving a cab in the first place?) Then rushing to the auto stand, I called out frenziedly to the auto-wallahs. Was it providence that an auto-wallah (the only one standing and waiting for me) heard me and immediately motioned me to his auto? Inside the auto, I quickly explained to him that I had missed my train and wanted to reach the Bangalore Cantonment station that was at least fifteen minutes from the main Bangalore city station (it is FIVE minutes by train!), and that the train would stop at the Cantonment for only five minutes, that I had already utilized 3 minutes of the time I had remaining in my RUN from the platform to the auto-stand.

Between telling me to remain calm and putting my leg that was dangling outside back inside, he asked for an astronomical figure of two hundred rupees, to which I immediately agreed. I had no choice. And absolutely no hope at all, however hopeful the auto-wallah might have been (He constantly maintained that he would make sure I catch that train!) In the few minutes spent in the auto, I had many thoughts, ranging from “There goes my life-partner and there goes my hard-earned money, now I will have to go by plane”, to “I have made a complete fool of myself, I should have at least told my parents that I would be coming, so I could later tell that I missed the train and so couldn’t come!” I must admit, though, that in those few minutes, providence seemed to assist me somewhat by switching the lights green at both the traffic signals as soon as the auto touched the signals. As soon as the auto touched Cantonment, I rushed out of the rickshaw, only to see the train already moving decently fast. Sigh! This was my last chance!

Without losing even a fraction of a second, (I don’t know I could be so accurate) I ran and threw my bags into an AC compartment. The man at the door told me that this was an AC compartment and that I shouldn’t enter (he probably took me to be a thief, and my bag to be some booty that I had stolen!) Disregarding him, I somehow jumped into the train as it was just leaving the station!!! I asked him whether this was indeed the Udyan express, just to make sure I did not exult for the wrong reasons. It was.

Had I been delayed by even five seconds, I wouldn’t have been able to catch the train. As soon as I was about to go across to my non-AC compartment, I saw a ticket-checker. Knowing their exaggerated egos and their hatred for educated folks, I thought I was in for another round of fleecing. I somehow went past him as he was busy checking tickets, and reached the end of the chain of air-conditioned compartments. There was no way I could go to the next compartment without alighting at the next station (which was half an hour away) and boarding the next compartment. Somehow as if out of nowhere, a uniformed railway clerk appeared and threw open the door that separated the AC and non-AC compartments. Then he pulled some footboards that were hinged to the sides of the door to make a pathway for the next compartment. I told him I wanted to cross over, and he allowed me without saying a word. He then closed the door as I crossed over. Why he did not cross over himself and why did he open the door when he did not want to go across?

Now in the non-AC section, I had no difficulty getting past ticket-checkers to my compartment that was at the end of the chain of bogies. Mine was a side-upper berth and as I hauled my bags over the top and climbed over, I heaved a sigh of relief. Simply unbelievable! It took me a few minutes to compose myself and look around. From the aerial view that my seat presented, I could see no signs of my soul mate. My neighbors were old gentlemen. I could visualize the entire journey passed in their eating endlessly and mindlessly chattering away. But this did not bother me anymore. I was a little thrown out of balance, but in the end was more than pleased by the final outcome.

About the journey itself, it was fairly uneventful. Except for some valuable advice the ticket-checker gave me on life (! E^&&*!~$$#) and some chutney that spilled over on my trousers while I was having my breakfast, there was nothing much of note in the journey itself. I must mention, though, that it was drizzling as I reached Lonavala and the sights that I got to see during those last few hours of my journey – with the mountains, fog, sky, clouds all merged into a big white background as if enveloping everything that existed – will remain forever etched in my memory as will remain the memory of the unforgettable journey.

Back at home, I am sitting in front of my computer and listening to some songs. One of the songs about the journey of life transports me back to the journey, back to the thoughts that started the journey. I remember some lines I read in a book, ‘Can miles truly separate us from the ones we love? If we love someone, aren’t we already there?’ And I begin to wonder, ‘Could it be true? Was I already there at the platform where my soul mate was waiting for me? Did she also, like me, miss the train, but couldn’t rush back in time to catch it again at Cantonment?’ The thought sends a chill through my spine. I realize I am shaking fitfully, but that the cause is something different- my mother is shaking me from behind, telling me, ‘Breakfast is ready, what are you doing here? In which world are you?’ I sheepishly answer, ‘In the world where dreams come true.’

Out of 5 “chilies”, our editorial team gave this article...

—About our writer:

To the uninitiated, the author hails from Bombay (a.k.a. Mumbai, though he refrains from using this new nameplate given to it. Lets keep politics out of it, he says) and is currently dis-positioned at Bangalore, where he works.

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