The title looks exaggerating but somehow it was one good day for me…
The day 08.08.08, the day the Beijing Olympics started and the day “Singh is Kinng” was released. Also the day that was to come only once in a lifetime (quite logically), assuming I wouldn’t be there when this date unfolds again.
Getting on, the day started in a sweet alarm carefully planted in my cellphone, exhorting me to get up at 0500 hours for my daily jog around the ridge. Faced with the customary problem of forcing myself out of my so called cozy bed, I let the “morning celebration” tone by Karunesh play twice before I decided to step out. Dewy eyed, I banged the room next door where another one of god’s children was lost in his own world. Still finding it difficult to get my senses under control, I casually stepped out on the terrace. It was then that my first sense of touch woke up and I felt wet on my head, it was raining. Without waiting to even confirm if it was impossible to go out, I decided on the morning celebration of all times and quietly and quickly dozed off again. Not a perfect start for a day on which the greatest sporting event ever was going to unfold, I guess.
Well, lost in my own world, I felt a pang of separation, separation from something I did not identify. So quickly gathering my senses in search of the separated soul, I realized that it was the ‘Separation’ tone on my cell phone informing me that I had been terribly late. I picked up the phone and without so much as caring for what he had to say, shouted ‘5 minutes’ and got into my damage control exercise, meaning super fast preparations. It was 0735 and my car pool partner would be here in exactly seven minutes (we had calculated that earlier). It would not have made much of a difference had I been going in my car and not vice versa. Anyways, fighting with time and two calls later, I ran to find him waiting. After the customary apology, we were off to college. So far so good.
The college was no different from the other days. Creativity ended in a few minutes and was thrown open for questions (its entrepreneurship paper that I am talking about). I was as always, silent and quiet, thinking if it made sense to go back home in the evening or should I stay back for the night SIK show that all my flat mates wanted to go to. Suddenly, an informal announcement made my decision easier, it went ‘third year on mass bunk, to watch 0930 SIK’. Some frantic meetings and calls later, the entire third year was in the nearby mall to revel in the glory of the King of Bollywood, none other than AK. The movie was fantastic; the entire hall kept laughing and hooting through the course of the movie. When I came out, I found some sad souls critically analyzing the movie and concluding that it wasn’t worth 110 bucks and three hours of their precious time. The time, they said could have been used to give another Mock-CAT, as if it would make a difference. I have a simple philosophy when it comes to movies. It’s not a book to keep you hooked for the rest of your life. It’s a three- hour fun and a subsequent way to be happy thinking that you’ve had fun. Any learning, lessons are just incidental and can be taken to be just add-ons. Now if you spend three hours on the movie, two hours to analyze it, and the entire day to brood on the crime you’ve committed by watching a movie that had no lessons to provide, that is a waste of time and money.
Anyways, after the movie, a superb chhole-bhature at Dilli Chat and a chilly potato at Keventer’s made our day. There is one thing about Indian snacks, that they are tempting when it rains. I am yet to establish why it is so but since it is, we savored the dishes. Meanwhile I discovered that I was late in reserving my ticket, and the person at the reservation agency promptly reinforced it. It meant either going without ticket or standing in the queue at the Old Delhi Railway for a ticket to board the train. Deciding that the latter was a definitely better option, I ran (actually it was the rickshaw and the metro that ran, but for literary qualification, I ran) to my room. As fast as I had decked myself for the day in the morning, I packed my bags and ran again to Old Delhi.
Old Delhi, as the name suggests, has an old charm to it. The adjoining Chandni Chowk market represents a typical euphoria of India. I’m not getting into it now; all I saw that day was the station. The station was abuzz with people, and lots of them, all going on their respective chores. Coolies running here and there, women sitting in hurdles with each child placed strategically on every suitcase, bag et al. This ensures that bags do not stand exposed to thieves. Men generally throng around the enquiry counters or the ticket counters. Almost one-third of the crowd there seems to sit idle, as if they had come to revel in the hustle-bustle of the station. The ticket counters present a different spectacle. Alongside the queue, there is another story to be told, there are people waiting in the queue, commenting on the speed at which these tellers dispense tickets, and on the other hand there are people who think it’s beyond their dignity to stand in a queue, they simply surpass the line paying no heed to the others. It takes a shout from a person in queue, supported by the subsequent shouts here and there for such a person to be forced back on the queue.
Anyways, after my ticket was in the safe custody of my wallet, I found that I had half an hour to spare. What better way than to have a sumptuous meal at “Comesum”, one of the best eateries of Delhi at the Station. After delighting my stomach, I made my way to platform no. 12 where the ‘Uttrakhand Sampark Kranti Express’ was waiting to take me home. Before boarding, I made sure I had some essential elements of a journey- a magazine, newspaper, and some water.
Within minutes, the train chugged off the station and it was just a matter of time when the concrete jungles outside were replaced with lush green fields, rivers, canals and the peace of the Indian Countryside. I passed through a ‘Friday Bazaar’ (the name is imaginary, but all weekly bazaars are named after the days on which they are held, so I safely assume it would be Friday Bazaar). It made perfect scenery, goods laden on bikes, moped’s, on the ground, on trucks and the entire village gathered to spend some part of their hard earned income and contribute their part in the growing consumerism of the nation. There were some rides playing along, where the children were enjoying every rupee. Some were even happy just running around the entire area beating a worn out cycle tyre with their sticks. The revelry just coincided with the lush greenery outside. Sitting on the door of the train, my eyes feasted the changing vegetation, from shrubs and bushes to sugarcane to paddy, even at times odd stretches of eucalyptus plantations (I could have gone on with this list and included pine, oak, deodar and others had the train gone up to Nainital). The houses alongside the track drowned in the monsoon water showed the other side of the beautiful monsoons. However, I must salute the spirit of our villagers who even then went about their usual business.
After an hour or so, I came back to my seat reading about the most unusual startups covered by Outlook Money. There was Emu-farming, Egg-powder manufacturing among others. It made a nice reading when coupled with the sound of the train and the sight of the fields outside (I was on the window seat). Alongside me was a suspicious looking person who kept on looking at his bag and praying. I tried to ignore him and continue with my reading. At the Moradabad station, he got off with his bag, only to return in two minutes and sit again in that same posture. He repeated this act twice, which was when I decided it was enough. I went to the next compartment to find a policeman, who as usual refused to act since this was out of his area and instead asked me to contact the TTE. I did that to find that the TTE was least interested, and in turn asked me to contact the GRP (railway police). By the time, I was able to get the GRP to the spot; the person had absconded with his suspicious looking bag. The train moved ahead, it was sunset time; the sun was not visible, but the moon atop lent a graceful charm to the scattered clouds, more than making up for the sun’s absence. The far off lights of a village twinkled in the dark as the train steadily moved ahead. I came back to my seat, and started reading “The Great Indian Novel” from where I had left it. IT made an unusual combination, the soft drizzle, the reddish sky, the constant humming of the train and Shashi Tharoor. Somehow it was an experience that I cannot put down into words. Two chapters and one station later, I came back to the place where I feel at home (literally). I took tea and stood at the door gazing at the stars, the vehicles on the adjoining highway, the trees that loomed large in the darkness, the grass that moved vigorously in the darkness from the impact of the train. The hills were visible, lights shimmering and cradled in the lap of the hills was visible the Haldwani station. Meanwhile, the same “not my area” sepoy came and stood next to me with his SLR. I made some enquiries about the range, the load time etc of the rifle when the train slowly chugged into the station. Anxious eyes everywhere, a sight of reunion, of hugs and kisses, of cries and tears. I struggled ahead, my eyes constantly searching my loved ones- and a voice “here”, My dad and my brother were there to receive me and soon I was on my way home thinking about my favourite dishes that would have been prepared so lovingly by my mom. I just melted in my thoughts, I was home.
