My Striking Tale

It was that time of the year. I was in standard IX studying in Don Bosco School Siliguri, my month long summer vacation had just begun as my family was jovially laying out elaborate plans, preparing for a fortnight spanning holiday trip to THE most historic and political hub, the capital of India, Delhi. I was overjoyed by the divine thought of invading the picturesque places, the impeccable forts, feeling the sights and sounds of the landmark territory which until then I had only seen, imagined and read in my dull Indian History books, a necessary burden enforced in every grade of my schooling life. The excessive eagerness of envisioning history from the solemn eyes and paths of it’s esteemed creators leaped inside me like a wild horse galloping across a serene meadow. I whole heartedly thanked my dear father, endlessly but momentarily, for taking this monumental decision which seemed to be pending for ages, as we all stuffed our belongings and stepped out from the safe confines of our house.

“Yes! At last, we made it, Damn the books and their plethoric knowledge!” I said in my mind cursing them further, exaggeratedly, with a few relatively new abhorrent words that I had plucked up out of many utilizing my sixth sense.

We (me, my mother, father and sister) accommodated ourselves inside the auto with much painful grunts and anguish before settling in peacefully in our compromised places to allow the rickety auto to speed away in the direction of New Jalpaiguri Railway (NJP) station. The huge baggage dumped at the rear portion of the auto, protruding outwards perilously, intermittently exerted great pressure on my back as the vehicle turned left and right, carving it’s own way through the heavy morning traffic, making the start of my journey a very displeasing one.

As the auto was about to reach the entrance of the railway station, I recklessly threw myself out of it with the auto still in slow running mode, not able to bear the pounding anymore, my sore back had been undertaking. My mother expectedly gave me a stern look sighting my foolish suicide attempt, asking me through her harsh gaze to behave properly on the streets.

“I need hundred and twenty rupees, this much will not do. Saab!” the auto driver complained as my father handed him a hundred rupee note.

“What! You need twenty extra? We have been living here for twenty years now and we know what the rates are. Don’t you dare fool us? This is enough, leave now!” my father scolded as the dejected auto driver started the engine, ready to leave, suppressing his grumbles under it’s noise.

My father grabbed two huge bags out of the four present, as I mustered up all my strength to pick one of them with my mother picking up the other comparatively smaller one.

“Don’t do that! Give me the bag. You are dragging it.” my mother said from behind as I ran out of steam in an effort to lift the bag from the station floor.

“No! No! I will carry it. Don’t worry.” I said resolutely as I halted for few seconds to stabilize my breath and rest my aching right palm and fingers.

“Why don’t you guys get a coolie?” I said in frustration. That was it!!! I had invited the wrath of my father who gave me the second stern stare of the morning.

“Earn and then only you will learn.” my father spat back.

“See what kind of son I have, instead of helping me in saving money, I have to meet his princely demands!” my father added, rubbing salt on my wounds by uttering his hateful views about me, midway, in front of the crowd scampering by.

“Will you please keep quiet and just walk to the platform.” my mother said taking my side, perceiving the trauma, bearing which I was transporting the bag.

“Ah…! Thank God finally we have made it.” I said softly, mindful of the fact of not letting my words travel to my father’s sensitive ears.

We reached the designated platform well on time as we got few empty rusted iron seats to sit on, leisurely.

“I will be back in a while.” my father said as he probably left to inquire about the train and scan the charts with our names printed over it. Although I guessed the reason for his sudden absconding which was to grab a quick smoke, I kept quiet refraining from infuriating my mother again and also my father, in a way i.e. when he would come to know the name of the culprit.

“Mummy! I need to go the toilet!” my sister wailed out, the moment she sat on her seat.

“What? Let your father come back, I will take you then. Now sit.” my mother said.

“No! No! I want to go now! Emergency!” my sister wailed further.

“Ohhhh! What kind of children GOD has gifted me?” my mother uttered out as she stood up painstakingly holding my sister’s hand searching sideways waiting to find the nearest ladies toilet.

“Watch the bags carefully.” my mother ordered me as she left with my sibling in order to fulfill the job she was asked to do.

Amidst all this I found myself alone with strangers starring at me like they have never seen a boy, guarding so many bags and two empty seats to go with them, before.

“Great this was the perfect vacation we had planned!” I said to myself quietly.

“Where are your mother and sister?” my father asked hoarsely as if I was responsible for their absence.

“They have gone to the bathroom.” I said, rotating my head in the opposite direction in a bid to avoid any direct eye contact with him.

“These people cannot even sit calmly anywhere outside!” my father muttered as I tried to engage my mind in other thoughts refusing to hear his teeth clattering words.

My mother and sister soon became visible in my vicinity as I removed the two water bottles placed on the respective empty seats to allow them to sit and catch their breath.

“The train is five hours late! There is an ULFA strike in Assam!!” my father said breaking the horror news as my dear little sister did what she was not supposed to do i.e. pick up one of the water bottles and drink two sips from it.

“What?” my mother shrieked, enough to induce a stranger standing five feet away turn in our direction and have a close look at us.

“Now what should we do?” my mother said irritating my father even more.

“Yeah! What we should do now is lift our bags and head home!” my father said, sarcasm dripping from his face.

All my mother could do was, give him a dirty look and that was the end of that.

“Wonderful! Perfect! What a start to my vacation!” I exclaimed gathering the courage to speak out in order to wipe off the sarcasm from his face and divert his attention so as to prevent any untoward, ugly confrontation taking place with my mother.

Well, what else!! The third stare was inevitable, this time the only difference was, that both my mother and father gazed at me with disdain as I hung my head in shame.

“What is my fault? I was only trying to diffuse the situation!!!” I said, slapping my face in my mind for the untimely intervention in my parents’ volatile conversation.

The time passed by unpleasantly, tardily, as we all sat there wondering, occasionally munching and drinking, accompanied with frequent trips to the toilets, trying to figure out what to do for the next five hours, my father as usual juggling in and out at regular intervals for inhaling his cancer stick.

“I bet the toilet guard and every other railway personnel working on this platform must have known my family by now.” I chuckled sheepishly in my mind as the wait for the 2505 UP North-East express scheduled to arrive from Guwahati grew longer and longer.

The “express” train finally arrived after much speculation and atrocious delay, eleven hours late, boasting it’s presence by blowing the horns in an ear drum rupturing force as we all got ready with our respective bags to board the S8 sleeper class bogie.

“Oh God!!! What stinky smell! What crap train!!!” my mother denounced, covering her nose with her handkerchief with my sister following suit as we found our seats. My father and I avidly searched for every nook and corner below the seats in an effort to tuck in our luggage bags.

“Will you please keep quiet for two minutes, bear it for a while we are outside not at home!” my father remarked placing the last bag in an improvising way.

“Go right now and shut those doors! I am feeling severe nausea.” she said overriding my father’s plea as she directed me with her hands pointing to the toilets, pledging me to go quickly and shut the doors.

The smell of urine was unbearable; the train toilet doors were wide open as our seats were located, in the compartment just next to them.

Obeying my mother’s order was a challenge of a kind, one which I had never faced before in my short life. First and foremost, to accomplish my mission and come out of it unscathed, I had to overcome this strong nasal tingling, effervescent smell of nitrogenous waste. Secondly as I approached the doors though the narrow corridor I noticed a person lying down covered with a shabby shawl from head to toe, occupying the space between the two stinking rooms.

“How can someone sleep beside a dirty place such as this?” I asked myself in awe.

“Hey you!! Get up! I need to close the doors.” I said, waiting for a minute so that he would move or allow me to shut the damn thing but there was no answer from the veiled human.

“Hey you! Get up now, I say!” I said raising my voice to a higher decibel.

“Argggghhhh! Go away! You idiot!” the stranger grunted muttering out few sin words, scaring the wits out of me.

I had no choice but to find a way out to close the doors. The unpleasant odor by now had choked by lungs to death as I gasped for fresh air in an in-satiated manner. The decision had to be astronomical, I moved closer to the living being precariously standing directly over the unknown gender by stretching my legs and planting them on the edges of the toilet entrances as I tilted my body sideways in each direction once at a time getting hold of the slider lock screwed on both the doors, slamming them shut. A few more snorts from the concealed human, below, followed as the jarring noise irritated the person, seeing which I backtracked immediately in a hurry. I held my pose for a second, composing my balance just in the nick of time as the grunts horrified me further, inducing me to almost fall unintentionally over the individual.

“Mission impossible made possible! Who is this dirty creature? Bloody beggar! ” I said to myself, coming back to my compartment. As far as the rest of the journey goes the lesser described the better, the summer season was at it’s peak and being in the sleeper class the loo winds blowing in the hot dry summer through the rusted bars of the bogie windows made matters discomfortingly worse.

++++

The train finally reached it’s destination halting with a mild jerk at New Delhi railway station, a day after, as we all alighted from it lazily to gather a sense of the unfamiliar surroundings.

“We have to wait for three hours here. It is not safe to go outside now.” my father warned sleepily with a big yawn at the end of it as it was three o’clock in the morning.

My mother and sister occupied a few vacant seats as my father as usual disappeared for a brief amount of time to allow his lungs to inhale the cigarette smoke, with me strolling up and down the platform in excitement. The dawn ultimately broke through as the clock ticked six in the morning signaled by the chirps of the early birds singing aloud harmoniously.

“Let’s go! The taxi is waiting outside.” my father said as we all strained our bodies once again to pick up the luggage bags and dump them in the trunk of the standing taxi.

“Oh Bhai Saab!! Where? Which hotel do you want to go?” the Sikh driver wearing a colorful turban, emanating a sweet smell from it, inquired, realizing instantly from our appearance, of our inhabitancy from some other place.

“Take us to Pahar Ganj. Hotel Presidency.” my father said promptly.

“Do you have a booking there? Or else I could take you to some other good hotel. You know…” the sardar asked politely, searching for means to enhance his income.

“Yes I have already booked the room there. Just take us where I said.” my father said agitatedly.

“Ok Sir ji. As you wish.” the Sikh driver said reluctantly as he stepped on the gas boisterously.

We arrived at the hotel, settling in peacefully after my father completed all the required formalities. The extravagant breakfast was laid out invitingly as I attacked it, wildly stuffing my plate and stomach with hot aloo parathas (stuffed bread) and dahi (curd) to an innumerable extent, like I had been famished for food whole my life. The long journey had taken it’s toll on my body as I was tired and deprived of good sleep. The gut being full and the cozy bed to add to that made me slip into unconsciousness, dreaming and preparing my physique for the hectic days ahead.

The days ahead jaded us as we feverishly paced all over and around Delhi, viewing the widely acclaimed monuments of attraction, the Red fort, Qutub minar, Jama Masjid, Agra Fort, the magnificent Taj Mahal and the list goes on and on…

How could the memorial monuments (samadhis) be left behind? Coming this far and not visiting the memories and buried souls of our freedom fighters and eminent personalities of their time would have been an utter disgrace on our part, therefore in all respect and humility, joining our hands ceremoniously we paid homage to all the ghats, sthals and bhawans established extensively.

A trip to the holy cities, Haridwar and Rushikesh, and a two day visit to the cool sublime hills of Nainital marked the end of our vacation as we came back to Delhi to catch the return train to NJP, in a somber mood, halting for a day to get over the weariness our bodies had bore through these fifteen days.

++++

“Thank God! The train is on time!” I exhaled joyfully, reluctantly remembering our long arduous wait encountered at the start of the vacation.

The return journey seemed to be smooth as the 2506 DOWN North-East express cruised through the country side stopping periodically at major junctions running on impeccable speed and time as we were scheduled to arrive at NJP at ten o’clock in the morning.

“What kind of food is this? Isn’t there anything better to eat here?” I grumbled looking at the ugly pale color of lentils and rice served with an enormous price.

“Stop your complaints and eat as much as you like. Behaving like a king… eh!” my father said admonishingly.

“Why do you have to scold me always?” I said reacting angrily to my father’s coarse words.

“Why do you grumble always? Can’t you compromise; we are outside not at home. You will not get good food everywhere!” my father shot back frowningly.

“Yes we are outside not at home, so don’t scold me everywhere. Understand!” I said angrily now making my father raise his eyebrows and his hands along with it, in a bid to slap me at that very moment noticing my abrasive behavior.

“Will you please sit down? I will handle him!” my mother intervened with authority.

“No I will not eat now! Go away! I am going to sleep!” I said lamenting, climbing up to the top tier, creating a woeful scene in the compartment, in front of other travelers for my parents to bear.

“Son, come and have your food!” my mother said gently touching my forehead, coaxing me to come down and be normal.

“Leave him. He will come down by himself when he is hungry. Idiot!” my father deplored.

“No I will not come, I am not hungry and never ever will I eat again!!” I declared childishly.

My mother begged me few more times to come down from my perch and eat but I was adamant and did not heed her words. The hunger enraging inside me made my stomach pain acutely, emitting strange never before heard sounds from it as I struggled to close my eyes and sleep peacefully.

The train stopped abruptly with a vigorous jerk, characterized by an extended, noisy, screeching sound caused due to the intense friction between the wheels and the rails. People in deep early morning sleep in my compartment were jolted out of their senses, fearing the unknown, with some instantly predicting it to be a calamity of some kind, guessing intently, manipulating a disaster without knowing the actual facts.

“What happened?” my mother shouted without a delay, as soon as she was woken up by the jerk.

“Son, are you there? Are you fine?” my mother screamed as she and my father got up to view and confirm me and my sister’s safety on the upper berth.

“I am fine maa! What is the time now?” I said rubbing my eyes trying to view my surroundings.

“It is five in the morning. Get down.” my father ordered in a hushed tone.

“Must be some sort of a problem. I am going down to check.” my father said as I descended down amidst all the high pitched chatters and turbulent atmosphere early morning.

“I am opening the windows.” I said looking at other people sliding them open curiously in order to find out the problem.

I opened the dusty windows, carefully enough, evading the dirt accumulated on them as the cool morning fresh air stimulated my senses and blew into the compartment dissipating the heat and gases accrued overnight.

“Barsoi Junction? Where is this place?” I questioned myself inquisitively as I pulled out the bag containing the railway time table book.

The search for my train began as I glanced through the pages of the railway thesis.

“2506… huff!!” I remarked, exhaling in frustration due to the intensive search early morning.

“We are just five hours away from NJP. So we should reach by ten.” I thought, calculating the time from Barsoi to NJP.

“Shit!! Bihar!!! Oh no! Crap!!” I said in my mind, locating Barsoi in the India map, stitched in the same book, as my father came into the compartment carrying two hot cups of tea in each hand in a mud cup.

“Baba is this station in Bihar!” I asked trying to reconfirm it’s geographic location.

“Yes! It will take five hours from here to reach NJP.” my father ratified.

“What was the noise outside?” my mother asked.

“Not sure. A crowd has gathered near the engine. Must be some sort of a problem.” my father answered.

For the next one hour we finished sipping our tea and performed our daily morning chores, in turns, anxiously waiting for the train to resume it’s onward journey.

“Baba, why is the train not starting? It has been halted here for the past one hour!” I complained looking at the watch, the hour hand of which had just struck six in the morning.

“What! What do you mean to say? We are stuck here for twelve hours?” a man shouted as he went past by our compartment window.

“I will go and check what the problem is.” my father said as he distinctly heard the man’s voice.

“Sit… sit my man, where are you going? We are stuck here for eternity!!” our neighboring traveler said as he entered looking dejected.

“What is the problem?” my father asked hastily.

“Travelling through Bengal and Bihar does become a real pain sometimes, these guys are jerks and they can never progress! Uncouth fellows!” he abused raising my father’s apprehensions further.

“What is the problem?” my father asked again in a soft tone.

“I told you several times not to carry lime pickle in journey. Ridiculous!! See now what bad omen it has brought us!!” the superstitious man blamed his wife in a hushed way turning his attention to my father’s question.

“What else can happen? Some political party has called a strike and we have to suffer now! They are not letting the train move until the strike ends.” the traveler said.

“For how long will the strike carry on?” my father’s asked predictably.

“Twelve hours! We are stuck! They have beaten up the driver and dared him if he tries to start the engine.” he said echoing the rowdiness in the workers of the political party.

“Damned!! Why? Why does this happen to me always?” I sobbed silently cursing the political party.

“These guys do whatever they like! What will they gain from the strike God knows! By the way where are you guys going?” the traveler queried.

“Now what should we do?” my mother asked the dreaded, rhetorical question as I recollected her voice asking the same question at the start of the vacation.

“NJP.” my father answered curtly distressed by the situation at hand.

“That is just five hours away from here. You are so unlucky!!” the stranger said rubbing salt into our wounds.

“And where are you going?” my father questioned him back as they seemed to be bonded by the awful circumstances.

“IIIII…. I have a long way to go. I am going to Guwahati, it is thirteen hours from here. You see…” the traveler said beamingly as if the strike did not bother him. All we could do was nod back to him, with uncertainty writ large over our long faces.

The atmosphere was sticky and humid, the sweat dripping off from my forehead and back made matters even worse. I grew impatient trying distastefully to wipe off the foul, typically train smelly dirt emerging with bucketful perspiration pouring out of my face and body parts. We waited and waited and desperately waited…, every second felt like a minute, every minute an hour and every hour agonizingly seemed like ages.

“All right, it is time now!!” my patience subsided as I grouched in my mind, sitting like a sloth, idle for three long hours, boring me to death.

I got up from my seat, walked through the narrow empty corridor and stepped heavily on the cemented platform with a thud, determined to an extent to traverse the small station.

“Don’t go anywhere far!” my mother instantly warned me, keeping a keen eye on me. I had to comply…, therefore simply nodded in obedience without much fuss.

The adverse situation had it’s not so desirous effect on other travelers as they sat casually occupying the worn out wooden benches of the railway station, playing cards, cracking witty jokes at each other, some strolling nonchalantly to far flung corners of the station in an effort to pass their time, discovering and knowing every bit of the station as time ticked at snail’s speed.

All the station shops shut, no hawkers in view in far sight, the train’s taps eventually dried out with no railway employee available to supply water abode the desolated train. Life had come to a complete standstill, fearing the outbreak of unwanted violence from the party’s supporters roaming vigilantly in the area. The pantry personnel had stopped serving food and water after a while, the reason? Their near expenditure of the limited food stock and water possessed.

With my father in close proximity, I made up my mind to take the plunge, forcing my mind not to heed my mother’s words. The engine was far away from sight and as a kid I was always fascinated by it’s mammoth presence and aura, with the luxury of time being available at my disposal I determinedly paced towards it, thinking of minutely observing it today in every possible detail.

“Wow! What sound!! Hmm…But? The steam engine was more appealing.” I thought scrutinizing it as I came nearer to it.

The next moment I was hopping and jumping animatedly trying numerous times to peep inside the cabin when I finally managed to realize the absence of the driver.

“This is a good chance. Should I go near the cabin?” the dilemma hit me, the greed in my conscience now dictating me to trek up the stairway preceding the narrow path in the direction of the cabin.

“Should I go or just stay here and look?” I thought wrestling with the inquisitiveness growing in me exponentially, scaling dizzying heights.

I turned my head right and then left like a pedestrian waiting to cross a busy street at the right moment, scanning the boundaries searching around calmly, in an attempt to notice any undesirable movement.

No one in my detective eyes seemed to watch me or even look at me carefully. I put my right foot on the stairs as I tip toed sheepishly, hastily reaching my destination.

“God!!What are these?” I asked myself as I was amazed by the array of switches and colorful controls beautifying the cabin.

“Beware! Don’t dare touch anyone of them.” I notified myself in my mind about the potential unknown risk involved.

“What a great job it must be?” my infantile mind exercised trying to figure out speechlessly the operation of all the controls. Two hours flew in a jiffy as I stood there groping, vividly starring at the controls.

“Oh!!! Shit!!!” the thought of my parents momentarily clicked in my minds.

“I am a dead son now!!” the notion of hallucinating my parents panicky search sent shivers in me as I leaped from a dangerous height and ran with all my might towards the bogie. I could see my mother from a distance, standing at the coach entrance, gripping both the handles, peeping out in a coerced manner in all directions with a fiery look in her face.

“Where were you?” my mother interrogated, alighting from the coach.

“Why didn’t you ask my permission before straying?” my mother barraged me with questions, starring angrily, squeezing my ears annoyingly in full public glare.

“I… am Sorry!!” I said admitting my mistake in resignation as she loosened her tight clutch.

“Sit inside, until your father comes.” she said, pushing me inside with contempt.

The hunger in me bellowed, more because of the small sprint, knocking my stomach repeatedly as I recalled my previous night’s encounter, the appalling food then, suddenly appeared decent and edible to me. The starvation growing inside salivated my mouth unconditionally, as I pondered over the immature denial, filling me with heartfelt remorse.

“Maa is there something to eat?” my sister quietly asked.

“Good that she asked!! Thank you so much!!!” I thought letting out a sigh of relief.

“Send them out. Come, come outside!” my father said, appearing again in a short while, signaling from outside the coach conveying to my mother feebly to free me and my sister.

“Are you guys hungry?” he asked.

“Yes! Yes!” my sister and I said shaking our heads in the affirmative.

“What if the train leaves?” my mother said over hearing our conversation thereby raising a valid point.

“Please stay put. Nothing can move from here. It is a strike, they are not letting the train move, so how will it leave?” my father overruled in a harsh tone, dousing her suspicions.

We trotted the steep stairs, traversing the over bridge crossing the railway lines and platforms below to jog down and arrive at the main gate of the station. The air was filled with the inescapable, offensive odor of urine as people squirted their liquid wastes on a fungal wall located at a corner of the station street. I observed a small shanty eatery shack opposite to the wall presumably serving hot food to the people, being the only shop opened, it was packed like a can of sardines.

“What a place to eat? I did better go hungry than eat at such a dirty, unhygienic place!” I wondered making up my mind to bear the consequences.

My father made his way through the crowd ordering three plates of rice with piping hot daal and one plate to be packaged to go with it for my mother.

The food was on it’s way and I did not want to create another ruckus with my father by denying it, considering the efforts he undertook to feed our hungry souls. We managed to procure a small table at a less filthy side of the shop as a man came up with three leafy plates of daal rice dressed in a lungi folded in half from his feet with no cloth covering his black stark naked body.

The moment the food was served, the aroma of it blanked any inexplicable or foul thoughts in my mind. I ate like a hog ordering an extra two plates of rice and daal as my father and sister waited forever, for me to finish up my grand feast. The stomach was full to satisfaction and it was time to trudge back to our refugee camp.

As we slogged down the same path from where we came from, we heard the dreaded noise; the train’s horns were blowing in full animosity as if it was crying out to all the passengers to board it so that it could speed away any moment from the quaint station.

“Run!! Run!! Be quick!” my father uttered out a helpless cry as we the trio scurried through the over bridge to descend down to the platform where our train seemed to be halted for ages.

“Wait, wait for a second! No one is moving.” I shouted seeing the other travelers still sitting on the platform in their own lazy self.

The duo stopped abruptly on their tracks after getting a hang of my words and the surroundings as we all walked slowly towards our bogie to see my mother seated on the berth with a worried look on her face. I held out the packaged food that my father had bought, in front of her as she unpacked it and gobbled it up with content. Soon we realized that the horn was of a goods train which had also been kept waiting at the outskirts of the station.

Another four hours passed with us doing nothing, still waiting in intense anticipation for the train to resume it’s fateful journey.

“Twelve hours halted!! Man!!! This is cruel stuff!” I said in my mind. By now, we all had surrendered to the afflictive situation; our hopes had evaporated out by then.

It was five in the evening and the supporters of the political partly probably would have decided that it was enough for the day. Our bogie yanked slightly, I gazed out of the window demeaningly feeling the small movement. I noticed the objects going away from me ever so slowly in opposite direction, a ray of light flashed in me out of nowhere.

“The train has started!! Get in! Get in!” I uttered out a cry to my father who by then had boarded the train.

The horns blew in full blare, to the extreme as the train had finally resumed it’s forgetful journey, picking up top speed leaving the camped station behind, flaring the rails, encroaching the scenic countryside. We finally stepped foot on our NJP station at ten in the night, twelve painful hours delayed as we rushed to our home, sweet home, which had seldom looked so appealing to me, until then. Our eventful and deplorable vacation had at last ended with strike creating havoc and accompanying us wherever we went as the fifth member of the touring party.