Face Off...

Recently, on the way back from an official trip for academic purposes, the colleagues and me made a stop-over at Amritsar for a day. We visited the 'Golden Temple' and the 'Jallianwalla Bagh' as is almost mandatory for any visitor to Amritsar. However, I was anticipating our visit to a place called the ‘Wagah border’ which is known to be the point of entry into India from Pakistan and vice versa.

We actually didn’t plan to stroll in to Pakistan territory, but were repeatedly advised to visit the ‘Wagah border’ by people who had been there before. The reason for the interest in that place seemed to emerge due to a daily exhibition of a ‘Beating retreat’ ceremony that marks the lowering of flags of the two countries by their security forces on each side of the border.

After making utter gluttons of ourselves over the famous ‘Amritsari thalis’ and ‘Kulchas’, we set of for the border in the heat of the afternoon with a jolly old Sardarji as our guide cum driver.

But as soon as we were dropped off about one kilometer from the actual site of the event, I could sense a strange feeling one experiences on arriving at a cricket match. There were people with boxes of colors in one hand and brushes in the other literally chasing and harassing the visitors to get the national flag painted on their face. Others were harassing the visitors into buying snacks and bottles of water. The scene appeared no less than a picnic spot. We somehow managed to escape those harassers.

After half an hour worth’s walk in the sun (which was a welcome option after all the over-eating) and surviving long queues on at least three security check points, we finally reached the site of action. The venue consisted of public stands made on either side of the Grand Trunk road on each side of the border with a couple of gates separating the two sides in the middle of the road.

We soon realized the futility of reaching the stand comparatively early as all the over-excited spectators decided to view the proceedings (even if nothing had begun yet) while standing. We decided it better to move to the edge of the stand to be able to catch glimpses by trying to stand on our toes.

Instantly, a tall man in a white sports suit emerged with a mic in his hand and greeted all the spectators (on the Indian side, obviously). He then gave a brief introduction about the ceremony and notified everyone about the slogans that would be shouted. 

It was then that we noticed rows of chairs on each side of the road in front of the stands. And then we realized that they were meant for VIP and VVIP visitors who wanted to have a ringside view of the proceedings. We were still discussing whether those seats were paid or not when suddenly movie songs suggestive of patriotism started playing on the loudspeakers all around.

On seeing the crowd in the stands bursting into a resounding cheer, I stood on my toes to see what it was all about. And there, in the middle of the road were large groups of females of various ages having the time of their lives dancing on the beats of the songs. 

It looked rather like a typical ‘baraat’, the only addition being a few Indian flags being waved by some of the enthusiastic dancers. How the entire crowd comprehended it as something highly patriotic was beyond me.

Soon, I could make out something very similar going on across the other side of the border. The dancing, waving and shouting continued for almost half an hour during which I had several bouts of reasoning whether or not it was a mistake to visit this place.

Thankfully, this extravagant display of patriotism ended and we saw a few of the troops marching out for what appeared to be the serious part of the ceremony. But we soon realized that it was just the formal part of the competition; a competition which the two countries indulge in every day.

A competition about –

Whose troops are taller and smarter…

Whose commanding personnel can shout louder and longer…

Whose soldiers are more aggressive in the routine…

The crowd on which side can over-shout the other…

And ultimately, who displays more patriotism than the other.

While the dedication of the security forces is unparalleled, it was really disheartening to see the results of the ceremony which the crowds on either side of the border took away with them. A sense of patriotism in any form is always welcome but what each country can do without, especially at this point of time, is the sense of aversion, hostility and distrust. 

The mutual lowering of the national flags should signify mutual trust and confidence between the two sides. The flags are indeed lowered. But only after the crowd on each side is assured that they are better than the other and the other side cannot be trusted.

It is ironic that on each side of the border, on the monumental gateways bearing the names and flags of India and Pakistan, there appear the pictures of the fathers of both the nations. It seems as if people on both the sides are ready to take on each other on behalf of their ‘father of the nation’.

But I’m sure that both M.K. Gandhi and M.A. Jinnah wouldn’t have expected being forced to face off each other so many years after independence.

Being Street Dumb...

In the past I have written about my experiences while traveling around the city and specially in the Delhi Metro. I had written about how people have no civic sense or general decency to offer their seat to someone who needs it more. 

But of late, I have come to observe such behavior in an entirely different light which appears beyond decency and civic sense. Although it obviously appears to be about being street smart quite literally, but there’s more to it than just being street smart. 

Taking for example, the way people behave while traveling in the Delhi Metro, one needs to keenly observe to realize why people behave the way they do. Without fail, at various Metro stations (specially at the change points) one can see how passengers boarding the train literally scamper to occupy a vacant seat. Obviously not waiting to ascertain if it is labeled for a particular category of passengers (like senior citizens, ladies or the differently abled) they just make sure to get themselves seated first. 

Now, I have often wondered why people are so desperate to sit while traveling (which may be even for as short a journey as one minute). And I don’t mean about frail or sick people but even completely fit and healthy youngsters who can be seen scurrying to occupy seats marked for senior citizens. 

I used to think that maybe it was due to the intense tiredness that one is carrying on themselves after a hard day’s work, or maybe some strange sense of happiness that one experiences only after managing to get a seat even if one is fresh and ready to go to work. 

But I now realize that happiness it is. The happiness of the achievement of managing to win a seat for oneself in such an intensely competitive travel schedule. I have observed people taking it to be an achievement however small it may be. 

And maybe these are the types of small successes people have started to aim for in this highly competitive world. On several occasions, I have overheard people boasting of such a ‘success’ to colleagues at work. It sort of makes one’s day if he or she manages to claim a seat for themselves while traveling. 

The same goes for people who rush through dense crowds in order to stick in a foot between the closing doors of a lift marked only for the elderly or the disabled. On first thought one may feel that people are merely being street smart to make life easier for themselves. Obviously it wouldn’t hurt a twenty five year old if he or she had to stand during a journey that spans about fifteen minutes. Or for that matter, if he or she had to climb up or down about thirty stairs. 

But it is, in fact, the sense of achievement or success that one experiences that makes people ignore any civic sense towards fellow citizens. And maybe it is the street smartness which enables them to achieve these successes. 

It is nice to see people happy through a sense of achievement. But it hurts to imagine how low people set their aims for success. Or rather, everyday success. 

As for me, I’m still street dumb ! 

(Picture Credit : Google Images)

Amazing Scotland...

Scotland.

There are a few places in the world which can match this part of the British Isles in terms of natural beauty. And what better way to experience it than driving along the highways that spread across the Scottish highlands.

We started off one sunny morning from Birmingham taking highway M6 to the north. Driving past Stoke-on-Trent, Manchester and Preston, we stopped mid way at Lake District to take a look at the amazing set of lakes right between the mountains. The view of the Bowness Bay Lake was stupendous even though the weather was a bit overcast.

We then carried on northwards passing Penrith and Carlisle to reach the historic and captivating city of Edinburgh. The Edinburgh Castle is a marvel in itself overlooking the entire city from the mountaintop.

Edinburgh certainly gives a feeling of being in medieval Britain but with the luxuries of the modern era. Still, the city retains its natural attractions with huge lush green parks and lakes.

We set off early next morning for Inverness up north. The journey got even more exciting and a visual delight to the eyes as we drove still higher up the mountains. The sun playing hide and seek with the clouds provided at least half a dozen sightings of lovely rainbows.

Inverness was the starting point of the journey along the long and beautiful but eerie Loch Ness; the great lake famous for the sightings of the imaginary (or maybe real) Loch Ness Monster. Contrary to the character of a lake, the water flows in turbulent waves but looks serene blue from a distance. It was a pity that the ‘Monster’ didn’t feel like giving us an appearance.

We completed our journey for the day driving through the evergreen mountains along the lake while passing the ancient town of Fort Williams and reaching the small coastal town of Oban. It was a lovely sight to see ships coming in and moving out of the docks right across our hotel room window.

The next morning we left Oban for Glasgow driving downhill and along another great lake called Loch Lomond. Glasgow bears the marks of a modern city what with the 2014 Common Wealth Games slated to be hosted there.

The drive back to Birmingham was no less beautiful with lush green farms full of white sheep appearing as small white dots and the occasional mountain cow with their long brown hair and horns.

It was a rather satisfying little journey but anyone who is looking to experience the wonders of the natural world must pay a visit to Scotland.

   

Lessons...

Off late, I had been rather busy in studies and certain complexities of life. In other words, the brain was too busy thinking whenever it wasn’t busy memorizing facts from books.

The exam season is on and I was to write an examination in Delhi in the first week of January. As per my experiences about Indian Railways in the past years, I decided to board an overnight train to Delhi. It has become a rule for the train services to be badly hit due to the winter-fog every year. So I thought it was better to spend the greater part of my journey sleeping rather than tiring myself out throughout the day sitting in a ‘day’ train.

Strangely enough, the weather seemed to change for the good for two to three days before my planned journey. There was no sign of any fog, much to my relief. And it remained so until two hours before the departure. Just as my luck would have it, the fog came down in heaps as the clock struck nine. My train was scheduled to depart at 11:45.

As usual, Dad had offered to drop me off at the railway station. But now with the ever increasing fog, we had to leave more than an hour earlier than usual because of the near-absent visibility. To add to my uneasiness, Mom declared that she would accompany us as well. I tried to reason with her about the intensity of cold and her vulnerability to it. But she was having none of it. So, we left home a good two hours before time.

Contrary to our guesses, we reached the station rather early in spite of the fog. I told the parents to leave immediately for home as I took out my luggage from our car. The train was already on the platform and I told them that I would make myself comfortable inside the train right away. Mom reminded me to call on phone as soon as the train moved from the station. I hastily yes-yessed and once again told them to leave.

Having said the customary good-byes, I entered the station, found my coach and got to my reserved berth. It was still about an hour to departure and so, the train was still pretty much empty. As I fixed my luggage at their proper places, I noticed an elderly couple sitting opposite to my berth. I noticed that they had already fixed their luggage and were sitting in complete silence facing each other on their berths.

Having sat down, I decided to make use of the time and started with a book I had brought along for my exam. People moved around the aisle, searching for their berths and handling their luggage. But this elderly couple sat there in silence without so much as raising an eyebrow. I sensed a strange calmness about them that felt rather abnormal.

I was well into the twentieth page of my book when my phone started to ring. It was Mom.

Mom : Hello.
Me : Ya.
Mom : You settled ?
Me : Ya.
Mom : Is it warm enough there ?
Me : Ya…
Mom : So, should we go ?
Me : ??!!?? You people are still here ??? I told you to leave !!! Huh…
Mom : Ok. We are going. Don’t forget to call when the train departs.
Me : Huh... I said yes. I’ll call. Now go !

I closed the book. It doesn’t help much to read when I’m irritated. Why did they have to wait when I assured them I would be ok ? They always treat me as a kid.

My thoughts were disturbed by a couple of porters who came up with huge suitcases and started to push them in beneath the berths across. The elderly man got up to make way and sat down besides his wife. A young man came up and checked the luggage, paid the porters and with a smile, requested the elderly man to look after the luggage for a while. The elderly man just nodded his head while this guy went out. So, I resumed with reading my book once again.

It was time for departure when I saw the young guy standing outside the aisle door with a young woman (who was probably his wife). Suddenly, the train started to pull away as I saw them waving to people out on the platform. And I didn’t miss noticing how the woman suddenly broke down into tears even as the young guy tried to console her.

As the train left the station, the young couple came inside and sat on the berth opposite to the older couple. The young woman was still wiping her tears amidst soft hiccups.

Suddenly, for the first time since I entered the coach, I heard the old lady speak in a really calm voice.

Old Lady : Were your relatives here to see you off ?
Young Woman : Yes. Mine and my husband’s parents and his sister.
Old Lady : Are you people going abroad ?
Young Woman : Yes. We are going to Australia. My husband works there.
Old Lady : I know it’s hard to say good bye.
The young woman managed a wry smile.
Old Lady : It’s ok. You should relax now.
Young Woman : I know. But it’s hard. You won’t understand.

There was a pause. A rather awkward one. And I was closely observing the people and their conversation.

Suddenly the elderly man spoke up in a voice as calm as his wife.

“We understand.”

The old lady resumed in her calm self. I could see a faint smile on her face that was probably there since the beginning, but it felt more pronounced now.

“Our son was once posted in Australia too. For six months. After that he moved to New Zealand. It’s a nice country he told us. But unfortunately his work didn’t let him stay there for long.”

“I see.” The young woman said wiping off the final traces of wetness from her eyes.

“Yes.” Continued the old lady. “He was then moved to the UK. They made him move all around Europe. In fact, they made him move almost everywhere around the world.”

“So you people must be habitual of this by now. No ? Where does your son work ?” The young woman asked.

It was once again the elderly man who spoke. And he spoke with an air of even greater calmness than his wife.

“He worked at a high post in the richest oil company in the world. But we lost him in the Kenya air crash in 2007. He was 25. Our only child.”

There was a weird but eerie silence just as the man uttered those words. Though not being a part of the conversation, I was still equally, if not more stunned than the young couple. The old lady continued.

“He used to come home every two or three months. His job required him to travel so much. We had gotten to, just like you said, being habitual of his arrivals and departures. And at times he used to say he was tired of traveling. And that he won’t go anywhere now. But every time he was off the very next day.”

“And he was coming home that time when the accident happened. That morning I had an altercation with him. He was complaining why I get so worked up every time he moves. That was the first time when I told him not to call me before leaving. I had got angry on him…”

That was when I saw the elderly man press at the hand of his wife. I felt that he knew he had to stop her. Though she still had that strange calmness about her face which also had that hint of a smile, maybe her husband knew too well where she was prone to break down.

I was still trying to look into my book. But it was all too hazy. And suddenly, I remembered something. I got up to move towards the door of the coach. On the way, I saw tears rolling freely from the young woman’s eyes now.

I took a deep breath as I came out of the door. The sudden chill outside the compartment made me gasp. I took out my phone from my pocket and dialed the number.

Mom : Hello. Bhaiya,… the train left ?
Me : Hmm.
Mom : Is it warm enough inside ?
Me : Hmm.
Mom : Don’t keep awake for long and don’t keep reading in that dim light.
Me : Hmm.
Mom : And don’t forget to call when you reach.
Me : Yes. I won’t forget.

(Image courtesy : Google Images)

No Reservations...

As per my personal experiences, the 'Delhi Metro' has proved to be a wonderful alternative for the people of Delhi who wish to travel between different parts of the city. As compared to the harrowing traffic jams and head splitting chaos on the roads of Delhi, the ‘Metro’ provides a comfortable, convenient and cool means of travel. Sometimes, even enjoyable.

The other day, I was traveling on the Delhi Metro from Dwarka towards ‘Rajiv Chowk’. I was to board from ‘Dwarka Sector 13’ station and was relieved to see that there wasn’t much of a crowd on the platform. It being a Sunday evening could have been a cause for the near deserted look the platform had.

As the train arrived, and I entered the coach which stopped right in front of me, I was pleasantly surprised to see most of the seats being vacant. As if in a reflex action, I chose to sit on the ‘two-seater’ located at the very end of the coach. (The reason for my reflex would be better understood as you read further…)

It’s not often when one gets the liberty to choose where to sit while traveling in Delhi’s Metro. In fact, usually one doesn’t even have a choice where to stand. So, I was happily enjoying this rare chance and looking at the sun setting on Delhi through the window opposite me, while a man (probably in his late forties) sat beside me talking loudly on his phone. But my luxury was destined to be short lived.

As the train passed through various stations en route, crowd filled in. And soon, people were already occupying much of the floor space. As the train stopped at ‘Janakpuri West’, I saw an elderly gentleman (probably in his late sixties, with a cloth bag hanging on his shoulder) come in through the door next to me. As he searched around, (I guess, more in search of a suitable place to stand than looking for somewhere to sit) his head turned to my direction.

Instantly, I stood up inviting him to sit where I was sitting. He immediately took the offer, with a soft ‘Thank you’. But as soon as he occupied the seat, he nudged me and said, “Since you have been decent enough to offer me a seat, why should you stand ?” And with that, he shifted himself to try and make some space for me to sit between him and the other man.

I felt a bit awkward and tried to reason with him with a “It’s OK”. But he was quite certain about his decision and he literally pulled me to sit.

As I tried to balance myself on my feet while not being entirely comfortable sitting in about a quarter of the space I would have required, he asked again.

“What do you do ?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“No wonder. !”

I failed to understand this statement from him. But as I looked around, I saw the guy sitting right across us. He was looking right at me. And the look on his face seemed to convey to me that his search for the ultimate moron had finally ended with me.

I suddenly realized that the train had now stopped at ‘Tilak Nagar’ station as more crowd came in. And then I saw a young girl come in from the door next to us. She looked to be a college going girl in her early twenties. But contrary to people almost triple her age, she was absolutely specific and certain about herself once inside the train. She immediately walked up to the seats across and away from us, and went up to a young guy sitting there, enjoying music on his phone through the earphones.

And then I saw the expressions on his face change from one of enjoyment to that of detest. And soon I realized that the guy, while busy with his music, had not given attention to the sticker above his seat. Which marked it to be reserved for ladies. And before one could even bat an eyelid, the young girl was now sitting on the same seat enjoying music on her phone through the earphones. Though I didn’t give a thought to whether she asked him for his phone too.

Often, I have noticed, as my Dad feeds the birds of the neighborhood every morning, how the sparrows are the first to come down and start to feast on the seeds. But soon, there’s this crow, which descends right in the middle, stamping its authority on the food while the little sparrows spread out and sulk. I wonder how it would be the other way round if a sparrow disturbs several crows and scares them away while stamping its authority on the food. But if it would ever happen, I’m sure the crows would be sulking just the way the guy sulked now after having to vacate his seat for the girl.

Well, the train now reached ‘Rajouri Garden’ and even more crowd poured in. In the middle of which, I spotted a lady holding a little kid by the hand and carrying an even younger one in her arms. She made her way between the crowd, and co-incidentally came to stand right in front of the girl I had seen before.

To my disbelief, the girl decided that she had had enough of music and instead it was time to do some talking on the phone. And away she chatted with continuously changing expressions on her face, ignoring completely the lady standing right in front of her. And surely she must have ignored the sticker above the seats across her which said : ‘Please vacate your seat for someone who needs it more than you.’ (with an image of an old man with a stick and a pregnant lady with a little kid).

Maybe this girl couldn’t relate the lady in front of her with that on the sticker. Obviously, she had a little kid in her arms rather than inside her. So that didn’t match !!!

Which brings me to wonder, why is there the very need to have seats reserved for the elderly or pregnant females or even for females ?

We have to be told that this very seat is reserved for an aged man. So it should be vacated if such a person comes around. Why ?? Don’t we have the etiquette of offering a seat to the elderly ??

Do we have to be told that a pregnant lady needs to have a seat more than a young man ? Or for that matter, a young woman ??

But the truth is, not only do we have to be told, there have to be reservations made for actions which only demand a bit of decency.

What if there are no seats marked as ‘reserved for the elderly’ ? Does that mean that an elderly man or woman will not be offered one ?? In fact, that’s absolutely true. In such a case, we won’t even give it a thought.

Doesn’t marking seats as ‘reserved for those who need it more’ certify the fact that if not done so, our society is so indecent that it doesn’t have even the basic courtesies of everyday life ??

But, on the contrary, there are examples, as my experience above showed that even certain reservations cannot ensure acts of decency from the common public. Irrespective of age or sex, we have to be forced to act courteous.

The young guy in the case above had to be asked to vacate his seat which was reserved for ladies. He wouldn’t have budged had the girl not asked him to.

The girl though, had every right to sit on the seat reserved for ladies. But shouldn’t she have been decent enough to offer her seat to the lady who had two small kids with her ??

The question here is not about rights or reservations. It is about who needed the seat more. Shouldn’t a young girl of 20 vacate her seat for a gentleman of 80 ?

BUT… We now are in a habit of going by the rules. Or, in fact, trying to break the rules unless being told not to. Courtesy and decency are now words of the past. They don’t exist. And the incident above is not just a one-off.

Reservations regarding actions of people towards one another depict a certain flaw in the society. Reservations certify inequality (and indecency in the above scenario).

Maybe people have become more practical. So have I. That is why I choose to stand rather than face the embarrassment of flouting the ‘reservation-rules’ in the ‘Delhi Metro’.

P.S. : The above post is not a generalization. It is targeted specifically to people like the ones in the incident above.
Pictures credit : Google Images

Escape to Love...

Having been extremely busy with stuff, I haven’t been able to post anything here of late. To finish off an eventful year, I’m posting a story which I wrote for Avada Kedavra as a guest post on her blog. I’ll be back with lots more in the new year soon.

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She felt weak in her knees as she hopped down on to the platform.

She didn’t know if it was due to the exhaustion of the tiring journey or due to the biggest step she had ever taken in her life. But either of the reasons didn’t really matter now. Here she was. All alone, in an entirely unknown city.

She looked left, then to the right. No sign of him. “He must be there somewhere, checking every coach for me.” She thought. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him the coach number.

She saw an empty bench ahead. “I better wait for him here.” She sat there with her bag clutched in her lap.

There was life all around. Families getting off the train with loads of baggage. Porters running along in search of prospective customers. The vendors shouting at the top of their voices while doing brisk business. She tried her best to divert her attention to those little details of people’s lives. But at every next minute, she would involuntarily look around in search of him.

Amidst all the noises, she found her mind recollecting the events of the day.

It was early morning, when her dad had announced that the prospective groom and his family would be arriving in two days. And that was when she had lost it. She had announced her disapproval about the idea in no uncertain terms. And her dad had shouted at her. And she had shouted back at him. For the first time in life… !

And then she had rushed in to gather her belongings. She couldn’t breathe anymore in that cage. She shoved her things in the bag even as her mom continued to let her have more than just a piece of her mind.

She had decided. She was leaving. She wanted to be with HIM. HE was her life now.

She had tried to call him. But couldn’t get through. So she messaged him to let him know that she had left all for him. And that she would be arriving by the evening express. She got herself an un-reserved ticket with whatever little money she had saved. And she boarded the train. She was free. She was finally going to be with him.

A slight chill in the air shook her back into the present. The sun had almost gone down, letting the darkness take charge of things. But he still wasn’t there…

She felt her throat go dry. She quickly took a couple of gulps from the bottle she had bought. She felt better. But still…

It was almost an hour since she had de-boarded. Why wasn’t he here ? Did he get her message ? She took out her mobile phone. She hadn’t even got a chance to recharge the battery before leaving. The screen was blank. She switched it on. It showed some signs of life. Suddenly it blinked twice. “LOW BATTERY.” And it went dead again.

She saw a pay-phone on the side of the coffee shop. She went up to it, dropped in a coin and called his number. “NOT REACHABLE !”

She tried again. And again. And again. But without any luck.

She was starting to panic. Here she was, all by herself, in a completely new city. She didn’t know a soul. Except him. She didn’t know where to go. And she didn’t even have enough money.

She took out her purse and counted. She hadn’t eaten anything all day. Would that much be sufficient to buy her a meal ? If it was, then what after the meal ? Or should she skip the meal and buy a ticket back to home ?

HOME ?? What home ?? She had left home for good. There was no one to receive her back. Even if they were, did she have the courage to return ? She had argued… shouted… and vowed never to return. Could she face them now ?

And suddenly she felt her heart sinking…

She slowly went back to the bench and sat. What were the options for her now ? Were there any ?

“Why isn’t he here yet ? He’d surely have got my message. He always does. Ohhh… Why did I leave ? Why didn’t I think ? Did I act too hastily ?” That was all she could think of. Her heart sinking deeper with each passing second. Her mind was inching closer to the extreme decision. Her eyes brimming with tears.

He smiled as he looked at her from behind the pillar, still trying to catch his breath. Running the length of the long railway platform coupled with the immense anxiety about her had almost left him breathless. And then he slowly moved towards her.

He stood there, quietly, in front of her, while she looked down at the floor, almost numb with hopelessness.

“Hi.”

Startled, she looked up. And there he was, smiling at her.

She suddenly felt extreme emotions ready to explode inside her. Nothing could match the sense of relief she felt. But the raging anger felt matchless too. She loved him all the more now. But she also hated him with all she had. She wanted to run into his arms. And she wanted to kill him.

But all she could manage to do was to stand up and say, “Where were you ??”

“Sorry. Late as usual. You know I can never get my things ready in quick time…” He replied, still short of breath.

“Things ? What’s in that bag ? Where are you going ?” She was puzzled.

“WE are going back. To your place. I have to ask your dad for you. I don’t want him shouting later that I stole you.” He grinned.

“He won’t let you…”

“Then we’ll run away together. That’s why the bag…” He laughed.

She couldn’t keep herself from folding into his arms. Finally, she let go of the tears as well.

“I’m hungry…” She said.

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Wishing you all a very HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!

An Indian journey !

The last two days have kept me busy with some relatives who were visiting. Spent most of the part of the day in organizing their departure. And later experienced the usual 'efficiency' of the Indian Railways... I have always wondered how efficient can a whole system get regarding arrival delays. Our railways has maintained its efficiency in many aspects. So to say, the train arrival delays, the incorrect info from the enquiry department regarding those delays, etc. I mean to say, such efficiency really wakes you up from a probable lazy and relaxed Sunday which you have planned all week. Which reminds me of a day when I earned the experiences of traveling in India the hard way. I'm talking of December 2008 when me and my friend Yogendra traveled to Kolkata to attend the wedding of our friend Abhijeet. The journey we had was once in a lifetime type of things. Maybe that's everyday stuff for other people. But it worked me up to such an extent, that I had to share it with my friends through email as soon as I returned. Or, rather, as soon as I was in a condition to write. But all the same, it was a journey to remember. So, I'll just share with you the email account of that experience.... _____________________________________________________

Yogendra and I joined their family from Kanpur to Howrah and our return tickets were booked for Tuesday (9th) by 'Rajdhani Express'. But Yogendra had to attend an important family wedding here on 8th so we decided to return on 7th. No tickets were available on the 7th to Kanpur. However, we got two 'Tatkal' ones in one 'Chambal Express' which left Howrah at 5:40 pm. The only problem being that this train would take us only till Allahabad before turning to Gwalior. So, we planned to catch some train in the morning from Allahabad. (which didn't seem possible, looking at the sort of train we had) But at Howrah station, while I was busy buying something to eat, one jolly Bengali uncle briefed me about the reputation of this train as follows....... "Chombol Exhpress to bohut aachhchhaa haai. Homesha on time hota hoi. Baaki to phir kismot hoi. Lekin homara kismot ka dekho to aachhchhaa hoi... !!"

And I left him with his 32-denture smile on what you could actually term as high on confidence. Things didn’t start off that great as both of us bought almost the same eatables without knowing what the other had already bought. But in about the first hour or so, we felt relieved looking at the speed of the train. It seemed as if the driver had some wedding to attend that very night too.... He probably was giving the throttle, all he had got. But we had nothing to complain. The train was reaching before time at all stations. We consumed about half of the two sets of food, partly because we were feeling dead sleepy due to the sleepless last night in the wedding and partly because it wouldn't look smart to leave it untouched. And soon I was... zzzzzzzzzz..... I can't remember clearly what actually woke me up. It could have been some discussion about the state of Indian Railways between Yogendra and someone who sounded like an aged Bengali uncle on the lower birth. I checked the watch which showed 9:15 am. The train should have been in Allahabad at 7:20 am. From the upper birth, I could see the side of a platform (which must have been a platform, as one of those irritating tea vendors, after probably deciding that he was the sort of person who was made to wake me up, started yelling the best he could into our window... !) I should have mentioned before, that we were in the 'sleeper' coach and not in AC, but I don't think that would be necessary now as you must have already made out.

So, on descending, I was greeted with the news that was to frame the events for the day. A goods train was ahead ours in the same direction when suddenly something must have got into the driver, telling him that THIS WAS THE DAY... !! So, he managed to take his train onto the track where another goods train was parked in peace. To make it simple, some of the coaches jumped over each other onto the standing train. And when they were done with that, they fell onto the adjoining track, pulling apart the rails. And to make the matters a bit more complicated, they took along with them, the overhead power cables. This happened a bit before Mirzapur station which wouldn't have been much of a problem had we reached Mirzapur. But the crux of the matter was, we hadn't. To round it all up,.... pretty thick.... !! We jumped out onto the platform. When I say jumped, I mean jumped as this was one of those stations you pass by, usually, when on some train. I guess they had just cleared some land to lay the tracks and elevated the rest to serve as the platform. Complete with mud, stones, grass and all. But you would be mistaken if you didn't consider it as a proper station. 'Pahara' as it was written on the small building had its own station master right on duty in his black coat, a tie which I can swear had a knot (irrespective of what others said), a white (maybe off-white) pair of pyjamas and slippers. As we got down again, we saw a Sardarji and his family coming down from the AC coach with their bag and baggage. He was on his phone, telling someone to send a car to Mirzapur. It was only after some bystander suggested to him that cars run on any roads, and the car could be brought even there to ‘Pahara’ that he got the idea and changed his orders. And then they began climbing the foot-over-bridge (yes, this station actually had a foot-over-bridge) to get to the other side. We joined the small crowd gathered near the engine of our train where the driver, smoking his 'bidi', was answering the queries in a unbelievably relaxed way. That was when I felt sure that this was going to be SOME DAY... !! Well, in a few minutes, a diesel engine came out of nowhere and took its position at the back end of the train. We got up inside. It started pushing the train forwards. And we saw the Sardar family who had just got off the bridge on the other platform ran back up, thinking that the train was moving. But the diesel engine then pulled the train back on the side loop on the far side of the other platform. The Sardars were in the center of the bridge. They must have thought of jumping right down as a good option. But even if they did, they didn't take it. By now, the few shops outside the station had begun to send in their supplies at some renewed costs. It was the one day when I felt happy listening to a tea vendor selling tea at Rs. 6 for a small cup. At last my hatred for tea had come to some use. Guavas were at Rs. 15 a couple.

Then we got the news that the train would be taken back to a station to be diverted to Banaras (Varanasi) to reach Allahabad. And before soon, it actually started moving. But as we reached 'Dugmugpur', another of those stations about 4-5 kms back, it stopped. And when it got above 40 minutes, we again jumped down, only to find the diesel engine detached and going back towards 'Pahara' on another track.

The driver of our engine was still there. And we could make out that he wouldn't be for long as he had to give in his application for leave on Eid at Allahabad which was now no more a possibility. He looked so irritated, I wouldn't be too wrong if he was thinking about running his train full speed forward no matter what. He actually could have, but for the lack of power in the electric cables, he couldn't. And then we came to know that our train would be taken to Mughal Sarai to be diverted to Allahabad. That made 2+2.5+2.5 = 7 hours to Allahabad, which wasn't the best option if we wanted to board 'Sangam Express' to Kanpur which departed at 6 pm, as it was already 12 noon. So, we picked the luggage (which wasn’t very light considering the suits and winter wear we had with us) and jumped off onto the tracks. And we hadn’t gone far when I saw the same Bengali uncle sitting on a broken tree trunk. He was probably mulling over the fact that his ‘kismot’ had finally ran out on him. So, we trotted along the village road. If you could actually call that a road. After sometime, we got to a proper road. Supposedly the highway to Mirzapur, as the milestone said. We waited, and waited, and waited, etc. And then, to our great relief, along came an auto. But relief wasn’t a word made for days like these. This auto could have been like those we have in Delhi. Or like the tempos we have in Kanpur. It was neither. But surely inspired from the two. And after we squeezed ourselves among the fourteen and a half occupants of that vehicle, it was an adventure ride. The trip was more or less un-eventful passing through countless villages, picking up more passengers on the route, and an odd heated dialogue as one old man got down to buy some jalebis while the others paid the fare. And also the way we managed past the massive 'Mela' in between which takes place one day each year. Of course, this was THE DAY. And we reached Mirazapur bus station. I haven't seen many bus stations which are that huge. I don't think that it was the fact that there were only two buses in that bus station that made it look huge. I have seen many which have no buses at all, but I never called them huge. But that's not what's of importance. Of the two buses which stood side by side, one looked impressive. That was one of those 'Deluxe' ones that are known to be very efficient. But then I paid a bit more attention to the details. And then I saw its door. It was an absolutely normal looking door. But the only problem was, if it was anything moving across the frame of that door, it had to be outwards. There seemed no way possible in which you could try to push in any thing inside through that. In the present circumstances, that is. This fact did help us to think about trying the other bus. Well, if you would call it a bus, you wouldn't be too wrong. It was a bus alright. But one of those half-sized ones, which, if you happen to see on a normal day, you would feel pity for its passengers and maybe even pray for them. But,...., as I have warned before, this wasn't a normal day.

As we got seated, we asked one uncleji behind us about the time it would take to reach Allahabad. (it is 88 kms from Mirzapur as we had seen on a sign) And he confidently answered it to be somewhere between 2-3 hours if we moved non-stop. And no sooner than he had spoken those words, his wife interrupted what would have been more information from him. She looked at him as if he had cheated someone and she was feeling the burden of the guilt and corrected him by telling that the time would be about 5 hours. We joked between ourselves about Auntiji's calculations and imagined it would be quicker if we went on foot if her info was to be believed. But soon we got to know that husbands don't always have the correct info. And also what was actually meant by the word 'non-stop'. The driver of our bus made it to appear as if this was the picnic trip he had been planning all his life. He looked back and talked more than he looked forward while driving. We stopped thrice on demands from the conductor because of some passengers being unsatisfied with the fare. Well, I stopped counting after three, partly because sleep was conquering me and partly because I couldn't make out anything that was in progress around the far end of the bus, because of the number of people stuffing the passage. But yes, he once stopped for a dose of tobacco, once for an extended snack and once because maybe he just felt like that was the best thing to please himself. We had boarded the bus at 12:55 and it was 17:20 when we got down at some place in Allahabad as suggested by another informative bloke as being the ideal spot to catch an auto for the station. But the catch in it was, all the autos that passed were brimming with passengers leaving no place for us to occupy. And then we saw a rickshaw as a last hope.... I think there should be a law regarding the standardization of the make and design of rickshaws throughout India. Maybe the rickshaws in Allahabad are not meant to be used for travel. We didn't know. But the truth was, we had got on. So, it was too late. I think the lone bright point in the day was when we found the train still standing at the station. We quickly got our tickets and got into a coach already brimming with occupants who were either 'staff' or some close acquaintance of the station master. I'm skipping the bit about the hooligans who got in at some station and also a couple of drunk policemen. I don't want to risk my night's sleep remembering those. The train strangely pulled into platform no. 1 at Kanpur, so that it was easy to get an auto to home. I say easy if you can manage to get them a bit near your side of the deal. But at last we got one. No matter we had to walk out of the premises. But we got one. But did we forget something ??? Well yes, I forgot the one message for the world which I have always had in my mind, which goes as.... "Never get anywhere even close to the 'Allahabad crossing' when it’s the time for all the ‘Rajdhani Express’ trains to pass.... " So we waited, and waited, and waited, etc. Well, I have always been fond of watching moving trains. But this was different. But I kept myself busy for that hour or so by counting the number of coaches on each passing train. Just the type of thing that would keep a child busy. But it does work. So, I watched 'Ranchi', 'Sealdah', 'Kolkata', and 'Patna Rajdhani' trains pass by in that very order. I was on the count of 7 of the coaches of 'Bhubaneshwar Rajdhani', when I was interrupted. It was the driver of the auto we had boarded, who was talking in a peculiar tone on his cell phone. Well, I’m not one to be disturbed by the talks of an auto-driver on his phone. But what actually made me lose my count was the announcement from this very bloke that we had to de-board. He conveyed to us, in no uncertain terms, that it wouldn’t be possible for him to go on further. Which quickly led me to analyze that we were an auto short. Though it didn’t require much of an analysis, but the day’s proceedings had left us in such a condition, that we automatically analyzed every new situation that would stare us in the face. Maybe the guy’s friends had managed to get together and planned to have a great time which he couldn’t afford to miss. Or maybe, his wife had called to tell him that she had finally decided to leave him for good to be with the taxi driver. I couldn’t exactly say. For, I didn’t know the man or about his life. But whatever it was, it meant that we were on foot once again. I guess even our bad luck had run out on us. Maybe God had some mercy on us finally and we found another auto which we boarded. Mom was quick to bombard me with her never ending questions when I entered home. But I had only one answer for all of them. I just smiled.