Confessions From the Train Floor

After facing a highly eventful and exhausting semester it was the time of the year to make the heart soaring journey northwards. Journey back home has always been a cherished longing for me since my days in Kota. Sitting there in auto I reflected on the burning issue in hand – My ticket was not confirmed. Despite slogging my guts to get a confirmed ticket, all efforts went in vain. Perhaps this time somewhere in heart excitement had rendered defeat to Reluctance.
Flashing message of 2995 AII-BDTS Express. departure caught my eye as I placed my foot on the platform. It was one hour wait before the train arrives. after making my customary visit to the book stall and returning empty handed, suddenly a thought stimulated me. I rushed to the notice board where list of the confirmed travelers was on display. Today, when of all days when I had no idea to travel in which coach, I decided to pick the coach this time with more F’s in it (I mean more female passengers). I finalized S4. Depressingly for me share market discussing uncles, gossiping Gujarati aunties and extra weeping toddlers are the ones ever who have kept providing me company since time immemorial. This time I decided to get the better of situation by infiltrating the coach with sufficient gals.
At last on the arrival of the train (on scheduled time once for change!!) I heaved my luggage into S4. After chaining my bag safely under a berth, I initiated my seasoned campaign to look for those glamorous entities for whom I was in that coach. But after one round of the coach my world had came crashing down. The ‘glamorous gals’ turned out to be a Marathi aunty, two nuns in customary habit and a young girl with lots of brothers. Fate has thwarted me once again and I decided to have my vengeance on return journey. With defeat lurking on my face and the feeling of adventure dead, at last I came on terms with the uphill task of sustaining myself on this 14 hour long over night journey.
The big question now to be encountered was how to get myself some place to place my bottom down. I was left with no doubt after status of the coach that today I have only one last resort left i.e. THE TRAIN FLOOR. But still pursuing resistance and showing that last bit of Indian optimism I decided to stand as long as possible. Already past Baroda mundane sceneries passing by were getting dimmed as night was falling. A Marwari family took sympathy of my plight. They asked me to sit beside their flowing-nose twins. I finally sat down. Alongside my berth a heated discussion seemed to be waging on. Unable to resist myself I finally went closer to have a look and I realized the topic under fire was the abysmal service of Indian Railway. I had wished for a lighter topic for the night. Though unasked yet I jumped in the argument explaining how overburdened Indian Rly is. With the bluffed looks on their faces I can easily chalk out that I was not invited and too intellectually young to speak among such a ‘coveted’ crowd. Embarrassed, I pulled myself out of the discussion. The Marwari family has finished its dinner and was preparing to pull the middle berth, which meant I had to vacate the compartment. With no place to sit and sleep I decided to kill the time by reading a book. So I pulled ‘Dreams of My Father ‘by Barack Obama out of my bag. Reluctantly my feet took me to the corridor besides the toilet as it was the only place which was now lit. For about an hour I enjoyed it but suddenly it was an effort to keep an eye fixed on the copy. I had begun dozing. Literally my wall of resilience was now wavering under the pressure of keeping my eye open. At around 1:30 my struggle was finally rescued by arrival of Ratlam railway station, I decided to take a stroll on the platform and to have a coffee if possible. When I alighted at Jab We Met famed station I was again hit by a surge of disappointment as there was no tea stall open and was left alone to wonder how everything could go wrong so horribly?
Once again boarded on the train I took the brave decision to sleep on the floor. I decided to occupy the passage within the two lower berths. Finally around 2 a.m. I settled on the floor with a layer of newspaper and a bed sheet. it would have hardly been 15 min since I had pulled my blanket when someone tapped me . I rose up to see the old Gujrati uncle on alongside lower berth with no friendliness in his eyes. With open hostility he asked me to remove my lodgings from the passage as I was hindering his movement. I knew arguing will not help my cause as people will not support me, I decided to try the pleading technique but that idiot seemed to be made up of some harder stuff, He had gone berserk and started to spell out the unwanted abuse. I refused to leave. He caught me by surprise when all of a sudden he got the hold of my arm and pushed me and this was the moment of showcasing my strength (although not much but sufficient for that fellow). I pushed him by double intensity and he fell on his own berth. Secretly I was impressed by my own self as the fellow showed no further protest. This drama almost lasted for 20 min...Cursing him, again I tried to lie down. Disturbed again this time the intruder was in my own pocket as my mobile vibrated to my msg alert. Reluctantly I pulled it from my pocket to notice the message of Airtel welcoming me to MP. Only one word crossed my mind “Goddammit’. No further clue was required for me to guess that heavens have conspired against me vehemently. I tried to keep my peckers up but I started to sense a commotion and it struck me that Chittorgarh was nearing. I was aware that 60% of the passengers were to alight at Chittor. With Such turbulence I could hardly manage to close my eyes. At last train halted at Chittor.
Now With last 3 hours to go and half of the berths vacant I grabbed an upper berth. Most of the passengers woke with the dawn but I slept with it. That lie down was a boon to my now aching muscles. If Any dream visited me I don’t remember. Finally I got up after listening to the irritating song of those train singers singing in the honor of KhwaJa Sahab’ Dargah at Ajmer. Now I could sense Ajmer coming. My heart was already on a rock and roll. Sleeping anymore was out of question as the up downers had resorted to Antakshri. I got down and within minutes standing on the gate I saw a yellow board with AJMER JN written in black. That was a million dollar moment. On reaching platform I easily found I saw Papa waving at me . Laughter on his face lit up the arena. I was finally home. To my own Ajmer. Despite a memorable night the feeling of homecoming overpowered every other feeling. It was my HOME SWEET HOME