Spice of life | Adventures of the drenched man on the train
Rather than being annoyed at him for murdering my write-up in its infancy, I suddenly found myself eager to unravel the mystery surrounding the strange man.
It was pitch dark outside when I slid into my seat on the Amritsar-Chandigarh Express around 5 am on a Sunday. The pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the glass window, lightning flashes and the rumbling thunder were making me uneasy.Usually, the train is full jostling passengers heading to Chandigarh for work, but as it was the weekend, the compartment was mostly empty.
The train would not leave for another 10 minutes, and I began thinking of ways to distract myself over the five-hour journey. Eureka! Why not write something? After all, the train and the rain make the perfect setting, I thought. My mind wandered, taking me to my schooldays in the 60s, where our language teachers encouraged us to pen down essays to develop our writing skills. The most common topics would be: your school, favourite teacher, visit to a historical place, a rainy day and a train journey. Words began tumbling from their hiding places in the long-forgotten crevices of my mind, ready to be arranged in meaningful sentences.
A shrill whistle was heard and the train began leaving the Amritsar Railway Station. Just then there was a commotion, and all eyes were drawn to a small bag that came hurtling down through the half-open door. A drenched man staggered into the compartment soon after. He had a bewildered look about him, which was explained when he shouted: “Will this train go to Chandigarh?” With water dripping from his shiny bald pate on to his soiled white shirt and striped shorts, he made quite the sight.
On gaining composure, he changed into a dry shirt and asked, “Chah milegi ethe?” I looked around hoping that a ‘genie’ would appear with two cups of steaming hot tea, one for the shivering man, and the other for me. Sadly, I was no Aladdin and neither did I own a magical lamp. Rather than being annoyed at him for murdering my write-up in its infancy, I suddenly found myself eager to unravel the mystery surrounding the strange man.
A video call helped me tie the loose ends. “You don’t sound well! Could you catch the train in time?” the voice on the other side of the screen asked.
“Do not lie! There is this cab service in India... What! You borrowed your friend’s motorcycle to reach the station at 4.30 am. You are neither in Canada nor the young boxing champion who left Punjab,” the concerned voice went on.
“Unbelievable! You boarded the wrong train, which was bound for Delhi? Timings being the same is a lame excuse. Yeah?... You even picked a fight with a passenger who told you to vacate his reserved seat in the Delhi-bound train!” At this point, I could almost visualise the person on the line shaking their head in disbelief.
“Now, listen carefully, no more adventures. I should not have allowed you to travel to India alone!” the exasperated well-wisher signed off.
aswantkaur@yahoo.com
(The writer is a Tarn Taran-based freelance contributor)
