On Sunday nights in the months of August, September and October of the year of their Lord Twenty Hundred and Ten, I am to be found travelling by train. It is always the same train (I'm loyal: my dhobi, tailor, shoe brand, jeans brand, shampoo have been steady for a while as well): Dakshin Express, numbered 2722 by the guys at the Railways, or by their forefathers. If you are guessing that the train goes all the way south to Madras, which is anyway what South means, you are dead wrong: good for my self esteem. The train goes to Andhra but if I were to ask where, you would again be wrong. Pleased smile. The train doesn't go to one place at all. If you are imagining things like a surprise destination every day, well, things haven't evolved as much yet. Thing is, somewhere down the railway line it splits in to two, one part goes to Hyderabad and the other to Vijayawada.
I don't go that far. Journey begins in Delhi, quickly crosses over to Haryana (curiously, I live in Haryana), flirts with MP, trundles for an incredible length of time in that chicken's neck of UP that is forever in MP's iron grip, finally breasts the tape to enter MP proper and dies just thereafter. In case you are underwhelmed by the lack of grandeur of the journey don't be. For the journey transverses some impressive territory. It of courses starts in that seven time reborn capital of ours, never mind commonwealth. Agra, of the Taj and the original red fort; Gwalior of the Scindhiyas and Jhansi of the Rani are on the way. No bad for a night's journey, isn't it.
Normally, I enter the train, invigorated by excitement, make a phone call to wifey and/ or family, wait for the train to start, some times eat pantry egg biryani (it isn't biryani but they call it that), spread out my bed roll and sleep off. I always get the side lower berth, which because of the thick curtains, doesn't give the winter snow feeling that air conditioned compartments of Indian Railways normally provide but the rest is business as usual. Wake up two-three times to visit the loo, use the occasions to check on my baggage lest some do gooder had decided to lighten my worldly load and I was at my destination. I was becoming increasingly complacent. Fate played it's proverbial hand and I'm out of practice in poker/ teen patti.
This time, in seats facing my permanent side lower, berth number 35, were what seemed to be members of an office group returning from some off site/ country level mela. For a while, I was regaled by their office gossip, then bored, then irritated as sleep began to descend. At this point I made bleating sounds. I see you smile. Yes, bleating had no effect. Then I roared, or so I thought. They say something about dogs in a pack hunting the lion. I was cornered. A black coat appeared and all the years of greasing the palms of the black coats all over our great country, paid off. Silence or rather train's rhythmic sounds reined. This was at 1 am. The good times lasted till we arrived at Jhansi at 5:45, pre dawn as per me. High noon as per the modern day Rani who alighted at Jhansi. Her high pitched, high decibel out pourings would surely have made many a generals quail. I had no recourse but to do Suryanamaskar for the first time after first year ragging at IIT. Had tea when the vendor arrived and a headache for the rest of the day. God give good sleep to my fellow passengers on my train journies.
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