A tea seller passed by screaming- "Adrak chai, garam chai, chai le lo, chai'. Loud enough to bring me out of my fictional world of Hercule Poirot- the greatest detective in the world. As I turned my back in that cramped upper birth, I carefully put the novel under the pillow and climbed down. Looking at my watch and out of the window of this Third AC coach simultaneously, I figured out we had reached Nagpur station at sharp 3:30 pm right on scheduled. Timeliness is a rare virtue for Indian railways to be honest. But Telangana Express has been the shining poster boy for South Central Railways.
I came out to stroll at the platform meanwhile. It's my second favorite pass time during these solo train journeys. Whenever I get bored of reading an Agatha Christie novel (the most favorite pass time), I come out to observe the ocean of humans waving noisily around. The leisurely walking hawkers and hurriedly going passengers, some running to catch the train, others running along the windows to say those sweet goodbyes. Oh, and eavesdropping into their conversations is such a pleasure! specially, when in a local regional language. I like to soak this ambiance, as if I can steal just a tiny fraction of their lives with me. Trust me, a train journey from Delhi to Hyderabad pretty much covers a holistic palette of North to South. And it can be an enriching experience if you carry an interest in observing human behavior, like I do.
As I bought those famous Nagpur oranges and returned to an empty lower birth to sit, I saw a mother and daughter making their way to our compartment. Since morning, I had befriended an old gentleman Sharma ji on a lower birth and his two grand-kids on both middle births. Rahul the software engineer was placed on the side upper and a business owner Murad bhai on side lower. A young stylish dude immersed in his own world with his JBL headphones on, had occupied the upper birth opposite to me. One of the lower births was still empty where we had been sitting. Contrary to popular beliefs, I find it rather safe to break the ice with fellow passengers and throughout the journey feel assured that we've got each others' back, in any possible unpleasant situation.
Now in the middle of this journey, these two ladies came to occupy the so-far-unoccupied lower birth. One seat and two passengers, I glanced around and saw Rahul, Murad bhai and Sharma uncle having the same puzzled look. I brought out my own inner Hercule Poirot- the great detective and tried to draw deductions. The elder lady in her early 40s, by dressing looking like either Gujarati or Rajasthani. From her manner of speaking, she appeared bossy and oblivious to the scrutiny of her passengers. The younger girl in her teens, perhaps a college goer kid and most likely her daughter, mostly just answered in affirmative.
I nodded at the other three co-passengers and took the burden to break ice with the new additions upon my capable shoulders- "Ahhmm, Ahhmm! which seats are yours, ladies?"
"Who the hell you are to ask? Are you the TT? If not, then mind your own business."- the elder lady retorted back tersely.
For a moment, I found myself at a loss of words. Very tough to find a comeback in such an embarrassing moment. But I didn't cede the ground just yet, and inquired further- "No, no, nothing. I asked just like that. I see one empty seat and two people to share. Are you sure you are in the right coach with reserved seats?" I emphasized on the last two words extra long. And miraculously, her tone softened swiftly.
"Beta, This is my daughter's seat here. her father was supposed to travel with her, but couldn't at the last moment. I booked then in Tatkal but could only get a seat in General. How do I leave my poor daughter lonely at night here? I would die out of worry itself. So, I am sitting here with her."
Listening to her story, I looked at the daughter again who was well grown up and seemed like could manage a train journey easily. I asked- "Hey kid, what class you are in?"
The girl replied- "Bcom- second year."
A collective facepalm could be heard from Rahul, Murad bhai, Sharma ji and myself.
By this time, I had inquired that this lady was a super insecure marwadi mother (a very rare and dangerous breed indeed) and was travelling to drop her daughter to her college in Hyderabad, meaning she had an journey overnight at her hand. In her good interest, I tried to reason with- "see aunty, nobody has a problem here. But if the TT comes and catches you, he might levy a heavy fine. Just saying."
Now this lady was a true marwadi, All the reasoning out so far by my fellow passengers on how girls half her age can travel safely and how she could take our phone numbers, just to be sure and all- didn't work on her. She remained conveniently ignorant and played out the hapless victim card.
But the moment, I brought the fear of a monetary fine, she allowed the gravity of the moment to sink in. Oh, but I underestimated a true marwadi. She in turn asked me only- "Beta, you look like travelling solo. Would you be a good Samaritan and exchange seats with me, so I could travel with my daughter free of worries. May God grant you a wife as beautiful as the full moon."
I couldn't believe my ears. I had to admire her guile and guts. I sympathized with her poor daughter what level of emotional blackmail she might have gone through all her life. I responded- "Look aunty ji, I am already married, thank you very much for your blessings. And I don't think TT will anyway allow an exchange between AC and non Ac coaches." I sought refuse behind the railway rules. Dodged a bullet there.
Seeing me nearly getting trapped, Rahul and Murad bhai quickly turned their necks and put their headphones on, like the other nameless fella on the upper birth. A seasoned Sharma uncle winked at me and I passed a smile climbing up the nest at my own upper birth.
I woke up in the late evening by the sound of an argument. I looked down to find the same marwadi aunty arguing now with the catering guy over the rate of Biryani packets. The poor guy was not even charging anything extra, just the regular price of 60/- per plate. But our forever suspicious aunty wasn't listening to any of it. The catering attendant finally gave up arguing, handed over their meal boxes and moved ahead. He knew it was not over yet. This battle will be continued tomorrow, while collecting the meal charges from passengers.
But all this commotion and an unwanted attention from strangers, made the daughter reach her ticking point and she broke into a bundle of tears. None of us dared look down, but we could hear the daughter sobbing and her cold hearted mother scolding her back for crying about nothing. Indian mothers you see -_-
I detached myself from that painful picture and submerged myself in the adventurous world of Agatha Christie and didn't realize when I slept.
Next morning I woke up very early in the morning by my wife Neha's phone-call. I climbed down towards the washbasin area to share with her how eventful my journey had been so far with these two colorful characters. As I returned, I observed the mother sleeping in a sitting posture with the daughter's head in her lap, as they both rested on that lower birth. As my whole compartment was still snoring, my eyes drifted to two still unopened Biryani boxes. Apparently, the daughter didn't have her meal because she was visibly frustrated of her mother's embarrassing miserly behavior by now. The lady, however angry, was still her mother. How could she eat while her child slept hungry?
I sat on the corner of the opposite lower birth, which Sharma ji was sleeping on. In a little while, the sleeping train came alive as hawkers came buzzing in with tea, breakfast snacks, water bottles etc. Folks in my compartment too woke up soon and got busy with their own stuff. As I stopped a tea seller, the mother too bought two cups of tea for them, but not without marking an observation how these vendors loot us passengers for 10 rupees and give this lukewarm water instead of a proper tea. Well, for a change, I nodded my head in agreement with her. But the daughter just shook her head in disappointment only. The mother noticed her disapproval, yet pretended stubbornly as if nothing happened.
The cheerful morning buzz in the compartment all of a sudden dimmed down, as the catering guy entered and called- "madam ji, 120/- for your two Biryanis." Uh ohh! Rahul, Murad bhai, Sharma ji, the nameless dude on the upper birth- all of us held our breath awaiting a hellfire to break lose now.
But this time the daughter looked at the mother longingly, as if challenging her. For the mother it was next to impossible paying for the food they didn't even consume. But the girl continued to stare at her. And eventually won in this staring game, as the mother brought her purse out and handed a crisp 100/- over to the caterer. The daughter pressed her palms on her mother's elbow and stared again. The mother brought 20/- more with a heavy heart, as their total dues were cleared.
At this point, the girl's face lit up magically as she embraced her mother. The cold exterior of the old lady too softened out and she hugged her back. With a peck of kiss on her cheeks, the young girl said- "You are the best mumma in the world. I love you mumma." The mother's face too lit up magically.
I peeped from the corner of my novel. My eyes met with Rahul, Murad bhai, Sharma ji, even the stranger dude's eyes- we all were smiling together. We all had just witnessed a ruthless heart being conquered by the sheer magic of love. A real miracle. There could hardly have been a sight more powerful than this in life. So simple and yet so profound.
As I flipped the final few pages of my Agatha Christie novel, I stole a glance through the corner and treasured that magical smile on both their faces. This train journey had been the most enriching one I'd had so far. For I had witnessed magic in Telangana Express.
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