It is when you are faced with events that arise not entirely out of your own actions but are also effected by the unpredictability of future and the arbitrariness of nature; you get to see into yourself, only to find that what lies beneath your hide is as unfathomable as the depths of an ocean wherein lie the fears, charms, deceit and the basic instinct to survive. You discover stranger things about yourself and meet even stranger beings who you find are simply the reflections of your own self; that there is oneness of life in all the beings, the thoughts and aspirations, wants and desperations are present in all of them, just the same. What I have seen and learnt in the last couple of days over a journey spread across the country crossing the barriers of culture, language, location and weather is something I could not have acquired in years had I not done it and one that I must treasure forever.
The platform is busier than I have expected and I could see that this journey is not going to be an easy one. The waiting list is huge and I think most of them are trying to travel even if they do not obtain any reservation. Winter is coming and it is going to be colder in the north. Yet these people are braving such a weather to reach their destination. That there is only one train from Secunderabad to Patna might be the reason for them taking this hard route. I only want them not to encroach on my berth and seats and I am in no way willing to accommodate them in my seat or berth. I wish the other passengers in my compartment are as selfish and let me be comfortable. After all, this ticket was the result of a coordinated effort spanning two railway reservation centers and two internet booking tries. I am not going to let that go in vain and travel like a waitlisted passenger.
The train is arriving so slowly that I wondered if it is any indicator of what lies ahead. The journeys to the north, especially to Uttar Pradesh are not known for punctuality and it is normal there for a train to be late by a couple of hours. I dreaded what I am going to get into and the worst imaginations have crept into my mind depicting the various ways in which my trip could go wrong. But I have to make this trip for my Bhai and for myself. I pushed aside the mental blockages and moved towards my coach S3. The doors are not open yet and there is a long queue already at the doors. From that sample, I got an idea of how my co-passengers would be and I could not have wished for a worse company. Still, in hope of finding some respite I have checked the reservation chart at the door and found that there are only males in my compartment with exception of an old lady. The case is not any different for the entire coach. Few females of around my age most of whom are getting down in Patna, which indicates the worst choice for me.
I made my way into the coach and am the first one in my compartment to arrive. ‘Travel light’ is my mantra and I have only one backpack which means I can easily put it under the lower berth, right below my seating position besides the window. Before that I wanted to clean the dust off the seats, which are dustier than I expected. The hell with these northern trains, I thought. I have no newspaper or any cloth I could use to clean them. I removed the extra ticket printout I had with me and used to clean my seat area and part of the window to lean upon. Meanwhile my co-passengers have come and they do not look as Bihari as I imagined them to be. Two of them are young just about my age, a middle aged man who looks like a police officer or something with a well-built body, a husband and wife who took their seats on the Side Lower berth and another one who could be working in a private software industry with his modern looking bag and headset.
We have settled into our places when a family of three has entered our compartment. First I thought they are waitlisted passengers, but seems like the parents have come to give send off to their son, who could be of age around 16. From what they are speaking, I can understand that he is going to Varanasi, just like me and is going to meet his uncle for whatever purpose. The father is speaking to the police-like man, asking him to look after his son in case he needs any help. The police-like man is going to Patna and said something to the father that seemed to soothe him. Their dialect of Hindi is not very understandable but I can surely grasp their emotions. The mother is speaking to her son asking him not to get down at intermediate stations and be careful about luggage. When the father is urging her to get down, she held the chin of her son and then kissed it saying goodbye. The boy then turned to his father who is standing outside on the platform. But the mother still is looking at her son, taking a step backwards not at all willing to leave her son. She got down and came to the window and stood beside her husband. The father is speaking to his son, but I could not but observe her, she stood silent, just looking at her son. Her face is portraying a complex array of emotions, a mixture of sadness, unwillingness, fear, anxiety, love and helplessness. She just reminded me of my mother.
I was never good at parting, or leaving my family for studies, work or anything. I tend to finish saying goodbyes quickly fearing that if I stayed any longer, I might cry. I know I am sentimental and it hurts me, how much I try, to take leave from persons I love. That is the reason I try to leave or ask them to leave abruptly to minimize my pain. In any case, whenever I am going away from home, my mother always says goodbye in her characteristic fashion, holding my face, cheeks and chin by her palm and then kissing it. In cases when she came to the station, I see the same emotions that I am now seeing in this mother. These two are physically different, they wear sari differently, but somehow I can feel that they are one and the same – a mother. And when she is parting her son, as the train started moving, I am sure she held that faint drop of tear in her eyes, not letting it out and forced her vocal cords to not let out any cry. As she waved her hands, I could see my mother waving hands at me, when I was going to Kanpur the first time. And now, I am going to North India again and another mother is just doing the same.
There and Back Again
The platform is busier than I have expected and I could see that this journey is not going to be an easy one. The waiting list is huge and I think most of them are trying to travel even if they do not obtain any reservation. Winter is coming and it is going to be colder in the north. Yet these people are braving such a weather to reach their destination. That there is only one train from Secunderabad to Patna might be the reason for them taking this hard route. I only want them not to encroach on my berth and seats and I am in no way willing to accommodate them in my seat or berth. I wish the other passengers in my compartment are as selfish and let me be comfortable. After all, this ticket was the result of a coordinated effort spanning two railway reservation centers and two internet booking tries. I am not going to let that go in vain and travel like a waitlisted passenger.
The train is arriving so slowly that I wondered if it is any indicator of what lies ahead. The journeys to the north, especially to Uttar Pradesh are not known for punctuality and it is normal there for a train to be late by a couple of hours. I dreaded what I am going to get into and the worst imaginations have crept into my mind depicting the various ways in which my trip could go wrong. But I have to make this trip for my Bhai and for myself. I pushed aside the mental blockages and moved towards my coach S3. The doors are not open yet and there is a long queue already at the doors. From that sample, I got an idea of how my co-passengers would be and I could not have wished for a worse company. Still, in hope of finding some respite I have checked the reservation chart at the door and found that there are only males in my compartment with exception of an old lady. The case is not any different for the entire coach. Few females of around my age most of whom are getting down in Patna, which indicates the worst choice for me.
I made my way into the coach and am the first one in my compartment to arrive. ‘Travel light’ is my mantra and I have only one backpack which means I can easily put it under the lower berth, right below my seating position besides the window. Before that I wanted to clean the dust off the seats, which are dustier than I expected. The hell with these northern trains, I thought. I have no newspaper or any cloth I could use to clean them. I removed the extra ticket printout I had with me and used to clean my seat area and part of the window to lean upon. Meanwhile my co-passengers have come and they do not look as Bihari as I imagined them to be. Two of them are young just about my age, a middle aged man who looks like a police officer or something with a well-built body, a husband and wife who took their seats on the Side Lower berth and another one who could be working in a private software industry with his modern looking bag and headset.
We have settled into our places when a family of three has entered our compartment. First I thought they are waitlisted passengers, but seems like the parents have come to give send off to their son, who could be of age around 16. From what they are speaking, I can understand that he is going to Varanasi, just like me and is going to meet his uncle for whatever purpose. The father is speaking to the police-like man, asking him to look after his son in case he needs any help. The police-like man is going to Patna and said something to the father that seemed to soothe him. Their dialect of Hindi is not very understandable but I can surely grasp their emotions. The mother is speaking to her son asking him not to get down at intermediate stations and be careful about luggage. When the father is urging her to get down, she held the chin of her son and then kissed it saying goodbye. The boy then turned to his father who is standing outside on the platform. But the mother still is looking at her son, taking a step backwards not at all willing to leave her son. She got down and came to the window and stood beside her husband. The father is speaking to his son, but I could not but observe her, she stood silent, just looking at her son. Her face is portraying a complex array of emotions, a mixture of sadness, unwillingness, fear, anxiety, love and helplessness. She just reminded me of my mother.
I was never good at parting, or leaving my family for studies, work or anything. I tend to finish saying goodbyes quickly fearing that if I stayed any longer, I might cry. I know I am sentimental and it hurts me, how much I try, to take leave from persons I love. That is the reason I try to leave or ask them to leave abruptly to minimize my pain. In any case, whenever I am going away from home, my mother always says goodbye in her characteristic fashion, holding my face, cheeks and chin by her palm and then kissing it. In cases when she came to the station, I see the same emotions that I am now seeing in this mother. These two are physically different, they wear sari differently, but somehow I can feel that they are one and the same – a mother. And when she is parting her son, as the train started moving, I am sure she held that faint drop of tear in her eyes, not letting it out and forced her vocal cords to not let out any cry. As she waved her hands, I could see my mother waving hands at me, when I was going to Kanpur the first time. And now, I am going to North India again and another mother is just doing the same.
