Thursday, January 19, 2012

Bits of life

I can hear the whistle. I am on board a train again. It’s the third time in 6 days. AC 2 tier upper bunk, Bengali Aunty travelling with her dad on the lower seats, young couple making faces at their adorable little kid on the side bunk, Chinese mobile phones playing “Aj ei din ta ke” at unimaginably loud volume, Air Conditioning at full blast right at my face. That’s the scene here. Add to it the fact that the only food I have had in the entire day is insufficient amounts of Jeera rice and Dal that was mostly soup. I am regretting the fact that I decided to skip breakfast since I was late. I have no idea what led me to be really confident that they must be serving dinner on the Yashwantpur-Howrah Express but since its 8:45 p.m already and I have not seen any signs of any of the IRCTC crew, I keep saying sorry to my growling stomach. The fact that the old man in front of me and the father daughter duo below me have all opened up neatly packed tiffin boxes seems to have driven the final nail in the coffin. Oh well, 6 months away from the luxuries of home has taught me to just accept certain situations.
The only thing that has kept me going through this journey thus far is Chetan Bhagat. Thank heavens I picked up the copy of Revolution 2020 as I had hurried past the entrance to the station. I was reluctant initially because it would mean parting with a major share of the Rs 250/- I was carrying with me (thanks to shitty SBI ATM at the station that dispenses no cash). Chetan Bhagat my man. That patent style of his. No I cant describe what stands out in the way he writes. It’s the entire package. The thoughts, the words, the euphemistic sarcasm and the weird brush on reality. I am not really a great fan of the stroylines he comes up with but I am definitely a fan of the little bits and pieces he so masterfully portrays from the eyes of a realist. I have only gone through about 80 pages now. I have no idea what this story is shaping up to be. But already I am in love with this book. The ironies, the sarcasm, the comic references, the pain and the natural human reactions…all of this expressed in words for which we never have to look up the dictionary. That is what is Chetan Bhagat. I don’t give a damn what this story eventually ends up to be (in my opinion except 5 point someone, all the rest of the stories were outrageously dumb) because in this book, once again I can feel the essence of Bhagat. The smoothness and the lazy lingering around simple thoughts that propelled him to stardom.
The IRCTC guy brought two trays filled with dinner for the Bengali father daughter. Must be the second course in their dinner. I asked him about mine.He looks at me flabbergasted and says, “Did you order?” “Am I supposed to?”, I ask him. Apparently, food is not included in the ticket fare. We are supposed to order it. When I asked him why he didn’t ask me for my order he enquires of where I boarded the train. When I said “Vizag”, he tells me that he had taken the orders before Vizag. God knows why do we have to give order for dinner before 4 pm! I was preparing to go back to Mr. Bhagat without any regrets (see what only 6 months away from home does to your sense of adjusting?) when old uncle in front of me says, “Sorry, I have finished my dinner already but would you like some butter milk and sweets?”. For a moment I didn’t know what to say. So I said the usual…”No its ok. Its not a problem”. ( I said it in an amazingly casual tone and surprised myself. See what 6 months away from home and working in a MNC does to brushen up your communication skills?). But he insisted. He was already thrusting two packets of buttermilk at my face. I made a few quick calculations in my head. Now, it is my principle not to take anything from any stranger on a train. This doubles up when I am travelling alone. But I quickly reasoned that the packet was sealed and from Visakha Dairy, I had seen him sucking on one such packet just moments before and the guy has been reading the works of Swami Vivekanada for the last 3 hours. The last reason trumped everything else. I have tremendous respect for Swami Vivekananda and the strength of his words. Any person who could read his works for 3 hours, was definitely not a goon trying to knock me out with spyked drinks and rob me. So I held my hand out for the packets. And then after the logical realist in me had succumbed to the genuine kindness of this man, the softer guy in me felt good. Actually, he felt great that you could still run into such warm people on random train rides (see what 6 months away from home does to the emotional part of you?). As I munched on the Milk Peda he had given me, I asked him whether he was from Vizag. A little conversation here and there…and I kept it simple…not probing too much (see what 6 months away from Bengal and nosy Bengalis do to you?). I asked him whether it was his first time to Kolkata. The UCO bank employee admited that it was the first time he was going to Kolkata…he had some training programme in Saltlake. I advised him to take a taxi from the station since it is very far.
He is fast asleep now. As I take one more look at him, I see a simple Telegu bank employee about 50 years old, using his worn out bag as a pillow and sleeping with a smile on his face. Nice guy, I say to myself. I think I should have told him “Thank you” one more time. I had thanked him thrice already though. The Bengali aunty below me has finished schiding her father about how he should eat his food and how he should do this and not do that. She never forgets to throw in those English phrases and words in her typical Bengali accent! She is now on the phone with her mother complaining about her husband and how insensitive and egoistic he is. I better get back to Mr. Bhagat…Oh wait, whats this…SMS!