I basically wrote this article for our college magazine ,the names and characters are fictional but all the thoughts are what I have really felt .Train journeys are simbly amazin
TRAIN TO NEW DELHI
“Chaiya ! Chaiya!” Like Shahrukh and Malaika on a train,a teaseller carrying a huge steel container and many mudpots, though much less alluring to look at, seemed to sway to these words as he went about his day’s work.The milky light brown liquid he gave me was served in a teacup that had caused so much storm in the political circles.The mutka added charm to my daily shot of liquid cocaine,and it was a nice experience sipping steaming tea which somehow seemed to blend with the khullar.
However,as Maria von Trapp sung ,”Lets begin at the very beginning “.I was on trip to New Delhi with my good friend Bingo(he was a short guy hence he was nicknamed after the Wodehousian character).The train had merrily chugged its way past Central Station and was furrowing a path through the lush green paddy fields of Tamil Nadu.After stowing my knap sack (actually it was a battered school bag but it sounds more hip to say knap sack) and VIP under the seats,I examined the fellow travellers.They seemed to be a grumpy old Telugu couple whose conversation seemed to rhyme with the trains”Chukkadu Chockadhu Chukkadu Chockadhu” .Then breakfast in aluminium foils arrived amd Bingo and I fell to noisily unwrapping the food.While Bingo got a decent looking meal,mine was a glutinous mass ,with a limp looking vada and idli floating in god knows what.Seeing this ,Bingo quipped”Kya hua tera vada, woh sambar,woh idly,da?”Hope he chokes on his vada,humph.
Breakfast past us ,both of us nodded off.On waking up,I noticed a change in our immediate surroundings,the couple being replaced by a snooty nosed kid and his mother.After an energetic tongue pulling and face making contest between me & SNK (hiding behind his mothers sari),(result-SNK being definitely worsted by me)I cast my view outward,with a hopefully naïve look on my face after having aroused stern looking mum’s suspicions.
Villages with not more than ten houses sped past us.The telegraph poles seemed to be engaged in a long distance relay race with our train and the native cattle that stared disconsolately at our train could have passed of as inmates of Auschwitz or Bergen.The entire landscape was akin to a huge dish of my mother’s red tomato thokku sprinkled with a dash of basil.I pictured myself as a farmer in one of these seemingly absolutely dead villages where the latest news would be the story of how a mongoose killed a cobra one moonless night near Farmer Ganpati’s well six years ago.
I started staring at the station names that stared at me, big and black on a bright yellow board.I find most village names immensely funny, and with names like Bad,Gudur,Warangal(sounds more like a Tolstoy novel than a major junction),they are an unending source of hilarity and provide fodder to the aspiring punster.Imagine being Narasimhavarma Venkatarajulu of Srikrishnachamarajavarupet.When your filling forms before joining school/college you won’t need a better excuse to commit suicide.The funnier the name the more the probability of there being a station alloted to it,distance be damned, seems to have been our British officials line of thinking.
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Lunch woke me out of my reverie and with memories of the bad breakfast fast dispappearing,I fell to attacking my chappatis with gusto.The sidedish was paneer in all shapes and sizes ,light and soft,and virtually
melting in the mouth.After my hunger was satiated,I washed the meal down
with a tall glass of lassi.SNK had taken advantage of stern mum’s sleep by trying to perform the herculean feat of cleaning the Indian carriage windows,though without a river unlike Hercules, and testing to see if the dirt was edible.Tired of this process,it was the turn of the seat to face the human vacuum cleaner.Next scene:Stern mum wakes up,spanks SNK,I exit smirking
from side to side.
I got down to stretch my legs at Jhansi,the queendom of the khoobladhi mardani jhansiwali rani.The junction could pass of as any other nondescript station in India,a few vagabonds loafing about,hardly any waiting passengers,a fresco of paan stains decorating the walls and a few mangy looking dogs to keep the loafers company.The train let out a loud belch and I got on immediately.Bingo was still sleeping –this time SNK had decided to give him company.The sunset was amazing,a vast canvas painted with broad brush strokes of many colours ,the dark red of the sun blending with the deccan soil,the clouds tinted with almost every shade of red and the overall effect producing a surreal atmosphere(punctuated by the sound of the train – quite pleasant actually and the periodic snores of Bingo-very very unpleasant ).Dinner arrived –nothing much to write about so I’m not going to write about it.We followed it up with a game of cards and then Kumbhakarna Bingo hit the sack again.I continued my gazing out of the window,now everything was jet black with sudden townships indicated by the glaring brightness of sodium lamps and then darkness again.What was going out there,I wondered ,could there be fiery denizens who’s very roar could curdle the blood in my veins,could big bad things boldly roam in this area where no man has trod before?I had sufficiently spooked myself when I was brought down to earth by SNK’s nose dripping onto my foot whiled the stupid kid continued dozing ,blissfully unaware of how much trouble he was causing.I decided that I might as well call it a day and went off to sleep.
The next day morning ,we reached Delhi,the trip being far too short in my opinion.After all,in my opinion,men may come and men may go but train journeys should go on forever.As somebody rephrased Marshall Mcluhan,”The journey is the goal”.Even a journey of thousand words spread across many kilometres has to come to an end so this is it-goodbye.
