The Journey

"Three half kilo packs of halwaa please, and make it fast!" I said to the sweetshop owner, who seemed to take his own sweet time to pack the sweet. I kept glancing nervously at my wrist watch every few seconds. I thought I was late, and if I missed the passenger train to Maniachi, I'd miss the connecting train from there to Bangalore as well, and I had to be at Bangalore at any cost the next day.

I paid for the Tirunelveli special halwaa and stuffing it hurriedly into my bag, sprinted towards the railway station. My friend who had come to drop me at the station was waiting at the platform ticket counter, gesturing me not to worry as we still had a lot of time.

A few minutes later, I got into the train and placed my bag on a window seat next to an old man. My friend suddenly said, "Hey, you have an admirer! That guy with a goatee seems very excited about having found a seat next to yours."

I casually turned around and caught his eye. He grinned at me stupidly. Stark idiocy was writ on his face. I shot him a blank stare and turned back to my friend, with whom I exchanged a few pleasantries till the train chugged out of the platform sluggishly. I waved enthusiastically to my friend who was standing on the platform till he was completely out of sight.

Then I took out the sealed bottle of Bisleri and tried to open it. I struggled with the tamper-proof seal that refused to open. I fidgeted with it for a few seconds till a helpful hand suddenly appeared before my eyes. I looked up to see Mr. Goatee standing before me with his most charming smile. I nonchalantly handed the bottle to him, which he heroically opened and handed back to me with a triumphant look on his face. There was a huge crowd of rough-looking boys with Mr. Goatee, who booed encouragingly. I uttered "thanks" coldly as I took the bottle from him and sipped the water, looking out of the window. Mr. Goatee's noisy friends continued to cheer him with songs and hoots.

Apparently, he was all set to impress me, and his friends were evidently 'supporting' him. Encouraged by the group's unconditional support and cheerleading, Mr. Goatee cleared his throat and initiated the million-dollar conversation with me.

"Uhm… Are you going to Maniachi?" came the stupid question.

"Does this train go to Delhi?" I asked sarcastically.

"Uh… no. What is your name?" was the next earnest question. He was getting bolder. And why not! He had a whole troupe of ruffians backing him.

"Why do you ask?" I asked innocently.

"Won't you tell me?" his tone was almost intimate.

"Sure, why not?" I flashed him my most charming smile and said, "My name is Mangamma."

He flinched lightly, but went on, "Ah, nice name! So what do you do?"

"Me?" I gave him another of my disarming smiles and said, "I am training to be an IPS officer. My uncle, Mr. Sangliana… you must have heard of him. He's the chief of Police in Bangalore… he's guiding me."

Mr. Goatee got nervous at the mention of the police chief. He quickly excused himself and joined his friends in the adjacent row of seats. I smiled contentedly as I noticed the old man watching me with an amused expression on his face.

I smiled warmly at him. "Boys will be boys!" he said, shaking his head. "If you are taking the Bangalore train, you may walk with me," he offered. Only then did I notice that he was a Catholic priest. "Thanks Father, but I think I can manage," I said gratefully. The train reached Maniachi just then, and Father wished me a safe journey. "God bless you, child. In case you need anything, I am in S2 coach. I am Father Kurian," he said as he alighted. I thanked him and walked across the track to the far end of the platform, where the AC coach was expected to arrive.

In a few minutes, the Bangalore Express arrived. I strode up to the reservation chart and was surprised to find only my name in the list. I got in.

The whole AC compartment was deserted. My heart began to thud wildly in my chest. I was just considering going to S2 coach to travel with Father Kurian, when the train attendant came by. I asked him, "Why is the train empty?"

He replied with obvious indifference, "Because people in Maniachi can't afford the AC. The other compartments are full."

"Oh? Can I exchange berths with someone?" I inquired.

"Don't worry madam. Many people will board at Madurai," he assured me and left.

I settled at berth 17 and pulled out my Walkman. I was listening to some refreshing music when the TTE appeared. I handed him my ticket and asked apprehensively if anyone else would be joining me in this compartment. He confirmed that a family would board at Madurai and instead of reassuring me, he warned, "Madam, please be careful with your luggage. Lot of thefts lately, particularly in the AC compartment. Use a chain lock," He then wished me a happy journey and went away, leaving me alone in the eerie, deserted air-conditioned compartment.

I swallowed hard and tried not to think about anything terrifying. But the previous week's horror serial replayed in my mind. I was literally trembling with anxiety. I tried to distract myself with a magazine. It hardly helped. I prayed to every God I knew. "God, make Madurai come fast," I pleaded. Then I felt stupid. "I mean, God, make the train reach Madurai fast," I corrected.

At long last, the train reached Madurai and sure enough, a family of four got in. The parents were gigantic and the children were noisy and irritating. Ironically, now I wished I had been alone.

Soon it was dinnertime. I bought some chapatis and hogged on them, with the boisterous children looking at me. Once I finished eating, I prepared the 'bed' on the berth.

Then I went to the toilet where I was amused to see a small stainless steel mug chained to the tap. This was not the first time I had seen something like this, but it struck me as amazingly shameful at that point. This was possible only in a country like ours, where sheer poverty drove people to steal every odd thing under the sun. Govinda's popular song - It happens only in India - came to my mind as the most appropriate one to describe this situation.

Humming the tune, I returned to my berth to find that the two recalcitrant children had made a mess of my neatly laid makeshift bed. I stared at them and grumbling loudly, I made my bed again. As soon as my head touched the pillow, panic struck me. I did not have a chain lock. How was I going to sleep with so much tension? What if someone stole my bag? Just then a brilliant idea occurred to me. "Operation Duppatta!" I squeaked much to the surprise of my co-passengers who gave me a skeptical glare.

I ignored them as I took my duppatta and tied one end of it to my bag. I fastened the other end around my waist and settled down for a nice cozy night's sleep. The husband and wife exchanged incredulous glances and then looked at me. I smiled sweetly at them, wished them goodnight and turned around.

The next thing I knew was the familiar voice of local tea and coffee hawkers shouting "Chaai chaai…koffieeeeeee" on the platform. I sleepily gazed out of the window. It was Bangalore Cantonment. I got up, unfastened my Duppatta and went to brush my teeth. I came back to my berth just a few minutes before the train reached Bangalore city. When it did, I waved goodbye to my co-passengers and hopped out of the train. "Home, sweet home…" I muttered cheerfully as I made my way to the auto stand.