I was distraught. Clutching the ticket, my bag strap biting into my shoulder, I stared unbelievably at the reservation charts. It clearly said W/L 9. That was waiting list 9. I could not fathom the reason as to why the reservation had not" moved up".This, despite having booked my tickets three months in advance.
I felt close to tears. A large lump in the throat already threatened to spill out tears from the eyes. Finally, I tore my eyes away from the charts. Mere staring them down, wouldn't change my unreserved status.
Right then the train chugged onto the crowded platform.
The crowd surged towards the doors. Helplessness began rising like a tide . I had never travelled unreserved before. Neither had I ever travelled alone before. I rose on tip toe and saw two islands of black and white clad TTEs(Travelling ticket examiners), in this crowd of swirling humanity.I made a beeline for the closest TTE.
To my dismay , he was already besieged by several unreserved ticket holders like me. After what seemed an eternity, I mananged to push my way through the clamouring crowd and pushed my ticket in his hand . He promptly shoved it back in my hand, and shouted the dreaded words through the din, for all of us desperate travellers-"jagah nahin hai"(there are no more seats). Refusing to be browbeaten, I screamed back " Yeh first class ka ticket hai."(this is a ticket for the first class).As an answer, he gave me a half grin , revealing betel nut coloured teeth.Disgusted, I used my last argument, somewhat half-heartedly" Mein railway officer ki beti hoon"(my father had advised me to throw my weight around, he said it might help.He couldn't have been more wrong ). To which, the TTE tilted his head (to avoid splattering others with his paan spittle) and let loose a hideous guffaw. Others in the crowd joined him and turned to look at me , jeering. I wished the earth would crack and swallow me whole.
The TTE shrugged and turned away,' seatless ' guys in hot pursuit. I didn't join them. My humiliation was complete. But missing the train was not an option.
I had to board the train back home. I had paid for a ticket alright, I consoled myself.
The first class compartment door was locked, from inside. It was ominously dark inside. The train was about to leave in a few minutes. Panic welled in my chest as I hammered onto the door, screaming' open up" in four different languages,(hindi,marathi, english and bengali ; in that order).The bengali did the trick. God bless the car attendant's bengali soul. Groggily(it was only 2130hrs, and this guy had hit the sack) he proceeded to interrogate me, as to who I was, why was I creating such a din etc .I took a deep breath as I planted my feet in the corridor and began my tale of woes. I was cut short in mid first sentence and was asked to curtly "sit in here", as he disappeared in to the darkness after having locked the gate.
The train heaved and quickly gathered speed.
I had dismal visions of being bundled off on some godforsaken station, bag and all; and left there to perish in anonymity.
In olden days , the first class(non-AC) had a windowed corridor bordering the doors to the cubicles. I was waiting in one such corridor, for the attendant to return. It was a warm summer evening and the open windows brought in fresh air to the rattling train. A single yellow bulb, above the entrance to the washroom ,threw a sickly pale light into the place. Audible and ominous snores emanated from the shuttered cubicles. The entire corridor was deserted . A part of me was relieved. At least I had boarded the train. And I was sitting on my bag outside the first class berths,that should have been mine.
The breeze, the chugging train, and the hectic day(practical exams on the final day before summer holidays)and relief at having boarded the train took its toll.
Next thing I knew, I was staring at a pair of chappal-ed feet , standing next to me, and bright sun streaming down on me from the windows.
Igot up hurrriedly. I had slept off in the corridor!!(when recounted to merciless classmates, some one, callously wanted to know if there were coins,as alms, lying next to me.)
This was a whole new low for me. The pampered daughter of a railway surgeon, sleeping in stinky dirty train corridor!!Shaking with indignation, I faced the owner of the feet, a middle aged man in pyjamas waiting his turn at the washroom, toothbrush and towel in hand.Hurriedly, I proceeded to unburden my sob story on him. Having patiently heard me, he informed me that this bogie was about to be detached at the next station, that we were in the middle of Madhya Pradesh and that in order to reach Howrah ,one had to shift to the next first class bogie.
It was nine o'clock when we reached the next stop. The TTE I met in the next bogie was more friendly and found me a berth in no time. God bless him. The next night I slept in my own berth and reached home eventually the third morning.
Note:
This journey was undertaken two decades ago, when shatabdis and rajdhanis existed on paper and a journey from maharashtra(pune) to west bengal(howrah) spanned 72 hours and 1539kms, across the width of the Indian nation, crossing five states and at least ten dialectic zones.
I felt close to tears. A large lump in the throat already threatened to spill out tears from the eyes. Finally, I tore my eyes away from the charts. Mere staring them down, wouldn't change my unreserved status.
Right then the train chugged onto the crowded platform.
The crowd surged towards the doors. Helplessness began rising like a tide . I had never travelled unreserved before. Neither had I ever travelled alone before. I rose on tip toe and saw two islands of black and white clad TTEs(Travelling ticket examiners), in this crowd of swirling humanity.I made a beeline for the closest TTE.
To my dismay , he was already besieged by several unreserved ticket holders like me. After what seemed an eternity, I mananged to push my way through the clamouring crowd and pushed my ticket in his hand . He promptly shoved it back in my hand, and shouted the dreaded words through the din, for all of us desperate travellers-"jagah nahin hai"(there are no more seats). Refusing to be browbeaten, I screamed back " Yeh first class ka ticket hai."(this is a ticket for the first class).As an answer, he gave me a half grin , revealing betel nut coloured teeth.Disgusted, I used my last argument, somewhat half-heartedly" Mein railway officer ki beti hoon"(my father had advised me to throw my weight around, he said it might help.He couldn't have been more wrong ). To which, the TTE tilted his head (to avoid splattering others with his paan spittle) and let loose a hideous guffaw. Others in the crowd joined him and turned to look at me , jeering. I wished the earth would crack and swallow me whole.
The TTE shrugged and turned away,' seatless ' guys in hot pursuit. I didn't join them. My humiliation was complete. But missing the train was not an option.
I had to board the train back home. I had paid for a ticket alright, I consoled myself.
The first class compartment door was locked, from inside. It was ominously dark inside. The train was about to leave in a few minutes. Panic welled in my chest as I hammered onto the door, screaming' open up" in four different languages,(hindi,marathi, english and bengali ; in that order).The bengali did the trick. God bless the car attendant's bengali soul. Groggily(it was only 2130hrs, and this guy had hit the sack) he proceeded to interrogate me, as to who I was, why was I creating such a din etc .I took a deep breath as I planted my feet in the corridor and began my tale of woes. I was cut short in mid first sentence and was asked to curtly "sit in here", as he disappeared in to the darkness after having locked the gate.
The train heaved and quickly gathered speed.
I had dismal visions of being bundled off on some godforsaken station, bag and all; and left there to perish in anonymity.
In olden days , the first class(non-AC) had a windowed corridor bordering the doors to the cubicles. I was waiting in one such corridor, for the attendant to return. It was a warm summer evening and the open windows brought in fresh air to the rattling train. A single yellow bulb, above the entrance to the washroom ,threw a sickly pale light into the place. Audible and ominous snores emanated from the shuttered cubicles. The entire corridor was deserted . A part of me was relieved. At least I had boarded the train. And I was sitting on my bag outside the first class berths,that should have been mine.
The breeze, the chugging train, and the hectic day(practical exams on the final day before summer holidays)and relief at having boarded the train took its toll.
Next thing I knew, I was staring at a pair of chappal-ed feet , standing next to me, and bright sun streaming down on me from the windows.
Igot up hurrriedly. I had slept off in the corridor!!(when recounted to merciless classmates, some one, callously wanted to know if there were coins,as alms, lying next to me.)
This was a whole new low for me. The pampered daughter of a railway surgeon, sleeping in stinky dirty train corridor!!Shaking with indignation, I faced the owner of the feet, a middle aged man in pyjamas waiting his turn at the washroom, toothbrush and towel in hand.Hurriedly, I proceeded to unburden my sob story on him. Having patiently heard me, he informed me that this bogie was about to be detached at the next station, that we were in the middle of Madhya Pradesh and that in order to reach Howrah ,one had to shift to the next first class bogie.
It was nine o'clock when we reached the next stop. The TTE I met in the next bogie was more friendly and found me a berth in no time. God bless him. The next night I slept in my own berth and reached home eventually the third morning.
Note:
This journey was undertaken two decades ago, when shatabdis and rajdhanis existed on paper and a journey from maharashtra(pune) to west bengal(howrah) spanned 72 hours and 1539kms, across the width of the Indian nation, crossing five states and at least ten dialectic zones.
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