A JOURNEY IN TIME

Short Story of a Stranger – A  JOURNEY  IN  TIME

Short Story of a Stranger – A  JOURNEY  IN  TIME

The Rajdhani Express landed at the New Delhi station at 10 a.m. sharp. It had left Howrah station the previous day at around 5 p.m. These trains , especially the one mentioned, bring to mind the long-lost glory of the Indian Railways. I , of course, do not want to dwell on the topic on its political fulcrum, neither on the accident-prone state of the railways today in recent times, but  to treat a railway journey just for the sake of the bag of happiness that it offers. Going past the countryside, crossing unknown and god-forsaken (seemingly!) railway junctions, alighting to have a smoke or a cup of piping hot tea or coffee  are some of the unaccountable pleasures that a journey by train offers.

Right from my childhood through adolescence to more recent mature years, train journeys had been and still are occasions for overall and unalloyed fun and merriment. One of the reasons for these joys, were of course the banter with co-passengers ( who in some cases landed up in one’s homes) that it offered, but also for the consumption and enjoyment of food and meals that these journeys automatically precipitated.

In earlier days, it were the passengers themselves who carried with their belongings and luggage, the lunch,  dinner , as well as snacks to be consumed during the entire journey. One of my favourite train –journey-dishes used to be chicken curry with rotis. Mother used to prepare them in a delicious gravy and the rotis used to be wrapped in aluminium foils to keep them warm.

“ Didi, apka khana,” (here’s your dinner) said the uniformed staff on duty.

“Dhanyavad,” I tried to sound courteous.

Gone are the days of packed dinner or lunches from one’s own home kitchen. The dinners/ lunches/breakfasts served on trains comprise of aromatic rice/ roti , lentil soup or dal, a vegetarian dish and a spicy non-vegetarian curry( who are so bent in their food habits). The food  served on the Rajdhani Expresses  are in a class of their own. Those who have travelled on this gem of the Indian Railways, would surely agree with me.

I was travelling  to New Delhi, alone, for the first time in my life, in response to an interview call from a reputed daily of the country with head offices in the capital, for the position of a sub-editor. The eventual outcome of that interview would make another story altogether. I was in the second class two-tier coach of the Rajdhani Express. My co-passengers comprised of a Hindi-speaking elderly couple and a young lad , who had immersed himself in a book , as soon as he arrived and had till now not exchanged a single word with any of the remaining three of us in the compartment.

“ We are going to our son’s place in Delhi. He is in a secure position in the corporate sector there. He lives in the Karol Bagh area. Though we live in Kolkata, we are originally from U.P.,”

Revealed the aged husband who was being addressed as “Mr. Sahay” quite respectfully by his wife, Mrs.Sahay.

“ I am going there for the first time and will stay at my uncle’s home who would come to pick me up from the New Delhi station,”

I replied , in answer to questioning glances from Mrs. Sahay. In no time, we had struck a rambling conversation between ourselves. The young lad, I later noticed, was reading Orhan Pamuk’s novel, Istanbul. Mr. and Mrs. Sahay were the most amiable couple I could ever have encountered  with, on a long train journey. They had made repeated efforts to start a conversation with the youth who must have been of the same age as their son.

We ate our dinners quite peacefully , amidst and enjoying the rapid motion of the train. In these days of air travel, the railways are comparatively much cheaper means of communication. Not to mention, the opportunity to strike and make new acquaintances which are hardly possible in super fast air travel. The icecreams were served. Mine was of the butterscotch flavour, one of my favourites.

We ( the elderly couple and myself) noticed that our co-passenger for the journey, the young lad, had hardly touched his food. His dinner lay on the table. Neither did he open the foil nor did he make any endeavour to return it. I switched on my reading light and started reading my copy of The Readers’ Digest , which I had bought from Wheelers, the mobile bookstore at all Indian railway stations.

I was occupying one of the upper berths, while the guy had occupied the other in this two-tier air-conditioned compartment. I read for about an hour or so. Because when I switched off my reading light situated just above my head, it was 10.30 p.m. by my watch. And my watch is quite accurate.  Dreading about my impending interview and the somewhat spicy dinner , kept me awake for a little while more. I donot remember when I had drifted off to a deep and dreamless slumber.

When I woke up, it was early dawn. I looked at my watch, which showed 4.30 a.m. I looked down and saw Mr. and Mrs. Sahay, still asleep. But the berth next to me was empty. Since the berths are situated at the same level, in the Rajdhani, I could see an overcoat lying on the Spartan bedsheet and pillows supplied by the railway staff.

“ He must have gone to the toilet,” I thought.

I closed my eyes and sunk my self in the excitement of my first footstep at the capital of the country , all alone.  Our teas had arrived.

“Good morning, Ankita,” said Mr. Sahay.

“ Did you have a good night’s sleep? This motion of trains generally, induces a restful sleep so far as I am concerned. But my wife, I think, would not agree with me. Just because of the glaring fact that she is always quite cautious of our belongings. We do not want to be robbed in a train. For that matter, who does?”

“ The train will arrive at the New Delhi station at 10 a.m. sharp. It is running on time,”

informed the pantry car attendant when asked about the expected time of arrival of the train , by Mr. Sahay.

“Don’t you find it odd that our co-passenger didn’t arrive yet? You two shared the upper berths. Don’t you feel  that we should enquire about his whereabouts?”

Mr.Sahay, sounded quite and genuinely anxious. Though we tried to sound normal, all three of us were quite disturbed by the peculiar behavioural pattern of the lad who seemed to be a few years younger than myself. The train was a few hours from its final destination and we had all completed devouring our breakfasts , which comprised of a fried omelette, two idlis, four slices of buttered bread , satchets of ketchup, a vegetarian cutlet and of course, a flask of coffee , per passenger. I decided,

“ Why not look into the jacket which is resting on the berth? Under the circumstances trespassing on other’s belongings, would and ought to be permissible.”

The jacket had numerous pockets in it. In one , I found a half-empty pack of Goldflake cigarettes . But the inner pocket revealed the biggest surprise and shock which would go on to be etched in my memory for the rest of my waking days. The contents of the inner sanctum of his overcoat disclosed a big card , addressed to whom? Me. It was a birthday greeting card superscribed to  “Dearest Ankita”.

In a flash, I remembered that my birthday falls just two days after. It could have been another “ Ankita”, who could have been the lad’s ladylove. But the card also wished the  recipient a good and smooth interview. Flabbergasted, was the emotion that I had experienced when I realized the entire situation. I had never before encountered with such an experience in my life. I had never come across the lad, as far as I could recall.

A kind of déjà vu started operating on me. Who could it possibly be? If he had known me beforehand, why did he abstain from introducing himself? And why, oh ! why, did he disappear from the train , after wishing me good luck? It was a coincidence which was beyond mortal belief. To paraphrase Shakespeare, there are more happenings between heaven and earth, which we humans can hardly decipher.

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