I was at a station that holds a record. I saw railways
staff of the day-shift go home, and I saw them come back to work the next day.
I witnessed a dawn and almost the previous dusk. All the trains of the country
through that station passed by, two of them twice. About a thousand passengers
came and went. It was like men may come and men may go, but I stay on forever.
Yeah,
my train was late. Historically.
Some people
have the habit of walking as they wait for something or somebody. Likewise, I
walked 5.1075 kms waiting – there’s not one meter of exaggeration here. I took
3 strolls from an end to another, each 1.7025 km. this length is what makes the
kharagpur station world’s longest. You can imagine my desperation that took me
to such extreme lengths (5.1 km to be exact).
Many long
hours later, confusion wreaked havoc. My prudent train was numbered 18615. They
announced 18616, same name, different direction (down train) – at a platform
far away. It took me moments (many) to gather the truth that it wasn’t the
train I was waiting for, it was the one I came in a day ago.
Limits had
been crossed. The meaning of the word patience had been put to test. Rekindled
hope named ‘hatia-howrah’ was splashed with a tank full of water, over and over
again.
I realized,
I was setting off for the kharagpur station when this down train left from
ranchi. I was still in kharagpur, when this train travelled all its way to from
RNC to KGP. Limits had been crossed. Now, the limit tended to infinity.
There’s a Hindi
saying ‘dene wala jab bhi deta hai, chappar phaad ked eta hai’. I observed that
the inverse is also true. True-er.
Staying
awake was a losing battle against the ever invincible drowsiness. I had limited
weapons. Walking- I had used (to an excess). Talking to anyone, even someone at
the platform meant waking him up, everybody was asleep.
Yes, people
at the platform waiting for a train were asleep- no announcements were missed,
as none were made whatsoever. And over that, people were hopeful, that the
train won’t arrive while they slept. [Later, I found that the railways stood up
to their expectations. It arrived much after daybreak, when the sun was blazing
and the birds were already tired of tweeting their larynxes out.]
I took out
the last weapon. Blaring music was being played inside my earphones, and even
through that, I caught a sleep or two. It was then that I saw god. I usually
don’t believe in god. But it changed. he was sitting inside a mechanical
engineering marvel now obsolete. He was dressed in light blue shirt and black
trousers- the driver of the train. I would have leapt at his
feet, had I not been intimidated by the size of the contraption that the engine
was.
I felt
relief once inside the train. Momentary pleasures are the best. AC was on, and
the sheets that the catering endowed me were wet. Not damp, but wet. I didn’t
allowed shiver to get better of me, and wrapped my thin self like a cocoon with
the only dry thing, that brown disgusting blanket. Despite all, I slept. After
all, I had slept only for 4 hours in the last forty. Momentary pleasures, as I
said, are the best. A demon of a woman had brought a kraken of a baby. You can
imagine the events that followed.
The train
crept as if hell bent on breaking all records of being incredibly late. It
slugged like a tricycle, halting at every insignificant station for an hour or
so. I could have eaten at the restraunts and dhabas of all the town/village the
train stopped at, within the halting interval. Had these areas not been naxal
affected, that is. And financial constraints, of course.
Now it gives
great pleasure to my eyes to see lush green hilly areas, reminding the fact
that hometown isn’t far off. Yet, the speed of the train scares the sh*t out of
me.
As of now, I
am waiting with bouquet of flowers and that ruddy blanket to honour those
delegates of Guinness and Limca records organizations who would be arriving
soon to check the credibility of the fact that this train has set a new record
for being late. I am their unfortunate witness.
