Another night, another place, another journey

Stranded drunk in a railway station in the middle of the night was not a new thing for me. I tried ‘India today’, Sidney Sheldon, coffee and grapes for company. That night I had neither the choice of trains nor the class I was supposed to travel, all I had was a general ticket to Bangalore in my shirt pocket. The Nizamuddin express that was supposed to come in at 10.30 to the Miraj Junction was, like the ticket vendor said, ‘as usual late by about two hours’. When the train came in at last one general compartment was looking like a gas chamber of the nazi period, packed to the maximum. People were everywhere, on the benches, on the luggage rails, on the floor and at the door. Another compartment was already latched from inside, knocks and bangs on the door evoked little response from the mostly Muslim, burka clad inmates who went on with their squabble. The compartment I had to get in had some space for only my legs just beside an old woman who was comfortably lying on the way to the washroom also in a torn old brown burka. I looked in to the compartment to see so many burkas and kufies (white caps) that, for a moment I thought if Muslims were really a minority in India. I must have stood in the same posture for about an hour until I felt my bag was weighing me down. A thirty looking man, with a black baseball cap, helped me stuff the bag under a bench. By now some boys looking no older than teens and sitting at the door started sharing a pack of tobacco, I wanted to say something, but then I remembered I was drunk. The boys were now speaking in Urdu, and their names said they were all Muslims. I muttered “Muslims”, it must have been loud because the black cap was smiling at me. The black cap asked me something in Kannada, I replied him back in the broken Kannada I knew. We spoke in Kannada for some time of which the only thing that I understood was I never knew Kannada. The winds were too cold now and the doors had to be bolted and almost the whole compartment was sleeping except the few of us who were standing. My new friend made some place for me so that I could crouch while he stood. I was dead tired and I must have slept for over an hour in that position. I felt someone waking me up, my friend was sitting on the upper berth (can it be called one??). He was calling me from there, while I was still crouching. We were in some station and more importantly some of the burkas were getting down. I climbed on to the seat and sat down with him. Thirsty I took my half-full water bottle and was looking at it when something on the label stuck me. The label read “Durga – distilled water”- for battery use only”, I felt sick in my stomach. There was another man sitting to my right holding a small, may be a few months old baby girl. I bent down to look at the girl and his watch, it read 3.00 am. I slept and woke up again to something pulling my hands and I did not sleep again. The baby was almost out of her father’s hands precariously moving and trying to hold on to my fingers. I tried waking him and he was sleeping like he hadn’t slept for years. I picked up the girl and started playing with her. She was beautiful and didn’t mind playing with me, while I lost all my sleep falling in love with her charms. After about an hour of playing she probably was tired of me and she started wailing waking up everyone except her father. Her mother who too was in a black burka was surprised and quickly apologized before taking my sweet heart away. My friend beside me was also awake and I started complaining about the way the Muslims were, he seemed like he was very intently listening to me but never said anything. Not that I had anything against Muslims, I told him, it was just the day and he was seeing it all. At about 5.20 he silently closed his eyes and I think he prayed while some others in the compartment began their Namaz, facing east. Nothing eventual happened until the morning when I had to catch another train to Bangalore from Hubli. When the train stopped at Hubli, my friend simply said, “run” and started running with his baggage. I had to find my bag, my sneakers before I could run and when I reached the other train it was already half full. I walked the length of the train and a hand from one of the bogies startled me to a stop, my friend was sitting inside grinning; there was an empty seat for me in front of him. This train wasn’t as crowded as the first and I could even lie down for a nap. I woke up, brushed and had my breakfast and went to sleep while my friend was sleeping through all these. My friend woke me up with two fresh packets in his hand for breakfast; ashamed to admit I had had breakfast, I had to eat again. I must have looked like I was starving before I met him because through out the journey he fed me with anything palatable. For a moment I even had a fear, if he was tricking me in to something. When the ticket checker came in, I found a Muslim family traveling free because one of the guys was a railway employee. We again had a topic and I did most of the talking while he listened with the same intent. Before long it was afternoon and we were in Bangalore and had to part ways. Although we had spoken a lot, I knew nothing of him personally except he was from some place called Chinthamani road. I didn’t want another anecdote of mine with a stranger and no name. I asked him his name and he did not reply untill we had reached the entrance of the Bangalore junction. He smiled, shook my hands and said, “My name is Abdul Razzaq and Jasche, it was nice knowing you”, before joining the crowd and fading away. For the second time that day, I felt sick in my stomach.

4 comments:

saravansivan said...

elegant..is all that i can say...preserve 'em all..we shall publish them one day, not on the net, but as a book

Anonymous said...

Man.. U can write a novel !! Anees..

Anonymous said...

heyy u there plzz if u write a book dont ever dream of sendin me a copy dear.... hey u r just superb at makin people imagine things beautifully,,, keep writting GOD BLESS

Anonymous said...

whoa..!!!
Wonderful narration.