I had developed an unusual pleasure right from age four, when I first travelled in a Train to Chennai along with my mother. Trains were second home to my family as my grandfather was a railway official. Amma spent most of her childhood in trains and railway stations where my grandfather efficiently managed roles of a station superintend and a teacher to his kids. The station master’s room became the learning centre and sometimes playing area too. Amma, my aunt and uncle would still recollect those days and it always ended with the taste of ‘Thenga pal tea’ (tea made with coconut milk) which my grandfather got for them from railway canteen.I wasn’t an early traveler like them and the first time I could remember getting into a train was when I was four. Amma took me along with her to Chennai. It was all excitement and amusement that I was drowned into. I still remember the way I was staring at a man pulling out the middle berth for himself. I then thought he was the strongest man I had seen in the world. I wrinkled my nose near the lavatory but was still amused to see the way it was designed, absolutely fitting the needs of an Indian. From then train journey became a regular affair. But each time I boarded a train, the vim and pleasure I felt were the same as my first journey.
I loved travelling alone in a train be it a day train or a night one. Reading a book sitting on the side lower seat with wind gushing at a high speed, the chaiwalas and snack sellers sound, and the view from the train made me feel that it was giving the same old message of life.. life is too short, nothing stays long in your life and yet they are cyclic.
I have never made an attempt to talk to any of the fellow passengers. Amma was very particular about that whenever I travel alone and neither had I felt the need to converse with anyone. But one of the trips was so different and good though everything seemed downhill before the journey started.
I was going to meet my sister who lives in Kottayam with her husband. I had booked my tickets for a Saturday at five past midnight. My aunt and brother accompanied me this time. We were too eager to meet her as soon as possible. When we reached the station I found mismatch in train number being displayed and on the ticket. Gosh!!!! One digit mistake in the train number and we had had actually booked tickets for a train scheduled at morning 5.30 the same day rather than the one we intended to travel in. It took a while to come out of the blunder we had made and decided against going back home as it would disturb people sleeping peacefully there and it was a matter of another five hours to board the train for which we had the ticket. After depositing the luggage in cloak room and a cup of tea we made ourselves comfortable in AC waiting hall at the Coimbatore junction. I was glad they had maintained it well but for the rest rooms. We left the place at 5 and boarded our train to kottayam. During the journey I and my aunt were discussing how the mistake happened, and that we ought to be careful the next time.
The next day afternoon we were set to come back to our paradise. This time my Jij and Didi cross checked the date of journey. We waved big to my sister and Jij as the train made a move and screaming BYE BYE BYE !!
It was a train to Guwahati from Thiruvananthapuram via Coimbatore and Chennai which was dirty and very poorly maintained with no water in the lavatories, stinking compartments, and unhygienic people.
I was the first to stretch my hand with the tickets to the TT. He took all the three and asked for the third one. Now how do I react when the TT has all my tickets and still demands for the third ticket? For about thirty seconds or so it was a repetition of the old tamil movie comedy of senthil-goundamani except that it was a ticket here instead of the banana. I was furious about his behavior and so was he about mine. But how he could be furious, I thought, when he had my tickets and was still demanding for an extra ticket. Well, the TT calmed down a bit and showed me the ticket. They were two printed for a journey from Kottayam to Coimbatore and the last one had the route Coimbatore to Kottayam. Oh My GOD!! A printing error from the railway ticket counter which was left unnoticed by us till the end.
Now I stood in front of him as an offender, ticketless and to be fined for it. Rs. 400 please, he said. I hadn’t yet recovered from the unexpected and big blunder from my side. Good old TTR took pity on me and asked all three of us to move to compartment number S13 and said he would inform the checking Squad as it was partially the department’s mistake too. Relieved that I needn’t pay the fine we moved to S13 through the dirty compartments. The train carried very few females and the rest were males dressed shabby, stinking and ruffian, and ticketless. The squad had a tough time getting those ticketless passengers in order. We found a place where one lady was lying in the lap of a man. Their behavior was quite odd and was constantly chewing some brown and white substance from a packet which made us feel all the more uncomfortable.
A young boy probably aged between 14-16 years was talking loud over his mobile phone in some incomprehensible language sitting in our berth. He looked calm and the innocence of his face hadn’t worn out. He looked much different from the rest I saw in the train, better dressed, calmly seated and minding his own business. My aunt was a little anxious with the people and type of train we were travelling in. After an hour or so the boy besides us smiled at me and my brother. He asked my brother where we were going in Malayalam, his accent revealing he didn’t belong to Kerela and probably from northern side of India. They both exchanged few words and then continued with their own work.
I asked the boy where he was going. He said Kolkatta. When I told him his Malayalam was good enough he smiled broad as though he had received the biggest compliment and said he had been living in kerela for past five years. I asked where in kerela and he said he had been to most part of kerela. Replying to my questioning expression he said he worked as a labourer in construction sites all these five years. Another child labour victim, I thought. He just continued with his story, said he ran away from his house five years back. The shock very clear on my face, he said he ran away because his father used to beat him every day for no reason and one evening he got into some train from Kolkatta railway station that brought him to Kerela. For a week I roamed about and ate well with the money I had brought with me and I was also aware that I had to find work before my savings got exhausted, he said. He managed to get work in construction site and initially used to supply tea and water to labourers there. He was quite good at picking up works related to construction and soon joined the team, he continued. Didn’t you miss home? I asked. He said he didn’t miss much as he loathed his father. He had a sister younger to him too. No one could save him from his father’s cruelty and he had no choice but leave his place. I didn’t know how to react and all I asked was if he was returning home after five years. He replied with no emotions that he did go the previous year and came to know his father died the next year he left his place. His mother and sister were alone and she was marriageable age. Child marriage it struck me but did not react to it. He came back for work again and now he was going for his sister’s wedding. The sparkle in his eyes couldn’t hide his joy. I smiled at that happy face, the happiest face I could find at that moment which radiated all his love for his sister whom he was separated from for five years. He soon opened his bag placed under his foot and removed a box from it. It was new mobile phone pack and showed it to me. With all excitement of a kid he said that it was for his sister to take it to her in-laws’ place. The happiest man handling the most precious object on earth, that is what I felt deep within when I saw him.
We were nearing Coimbatore and the squad members were forcing the fine payers to move to the next compartment. Pushkar was one among them. He took his bag and was about to move to the next coach, when I stopped him. I too took out a small box from my bag but with chocolates. I gave it to him telling it was from my side for his sister. We looked at each other for a brief second and he took it from me smiling and said thank you Chechi.
When I got down at Coimbatore junction, the train I disliked was the one which made me feel good about the travel than other train travels till date. Before I could leave the platform I looked at the same dirty train and smiled which seemed elegant now. The vim of train journey- always undying and delightful !!
