THAT TRAIN JOURNEY

‘Home is where you belong to, that is where your heart is. Where your soul takes you when you want to reach there’

 So that might be the sole reason for me boarding the right train on the wrong day. Cut to few years back, I had just joined college in Chennai. It was an overnight journey to my place and there are two scheduled trains for the commute. One leaves at fifteen hours twenty-five minutes from Chennai Central while the other at nineteen hours fifty minutes. The tickets had to be booked right in advance, 120 days before to be precise. As college students, we would mark the exact day and book for all the major holidays.


It was right before Pongal, soon after wrapping my internal exams I would be going home for four days. My exams would finish on a Saturday and I was bound to go home that day, or that is what I presumed. I had already packed my bag and was set to leave soon after I came back from college. I reached the station by three in the after noon twenty-five minutes before the scheduled departure. I found my seat and sat there then checked for my e-ticket print. That is when I went through the ticket once again and found that the ticket was for the next day. I felt numb at first; I took my bags and got out of the train. At three twenty five I saw the train moving and I stood clueless on the platform. I was sure of not going back to hostel so the only option left was boarding the next train few hours later. That was not a cakewalk.

 I had to take tickets for my journey in the unreserved compartment for getting back home. I joined one of the long queues for buying the ticket. It had been almost 2 hours after the train had left. So I bought the tickets and found a place to sit in Chennai Central railway station listening to the advertisements that kept playing in the televisions in the station. The train was to reach the platform, (which was usually No: 5) by seven or so. But by six-thirty I saw a long line forming on that platform. I got suspicious and went there to ask what the line was for. The reply sent shock waves as I quickly joined the line counting the numerous heads that lead the line in front of me. The fact that consoled me was that the line was getting longer behind me. But there was more to worry.

The ladies compartment, which we were queueing up for, was less than one-fourth the size of a normal compartment. There were just two divisions, which would normally seat sixteen to twenty people at the most. Since things were not so normal from the afternoon, I stood there preparing for the worst. The time was twenty- five past seven, and there we saw the light and yes it was approaching the platform. Everyone became alert as if the race was about to begin with the train stopping at the platform. Even before it stopped police had come to make sure we maintained the queue. But then, you can’t stop those who were bound to win the game. I also got ready with my bags. The train stopped right next to the first person in the line who had been standing there since four o’clock in the evening. She had all the rights to step in first. But that never mattered, as for many their right then was their destination. There was pushing and pulling, pushing harder and then new entrants joining us. Amid the push-pull I gave a quick scan to the compartment and there, shock waves again. It was a lot physical puncture happening and I was not sure whether I would be able to get in as I saw the seats getting filled. But no backing out, it was home calling and I should nail it. I tried to squeeze in. With my thin frame and bony hands I was able to score ahead. I reached the foot board, struggled my way in. I could see heads everywhere sitting and standing. I put my trolley under a seat near the door where a lady was sitting. Being precise, in a compartment, which was about twelve steps in length, I moved about five steps ahead and found a place to stand. There were still many of them to get in, requesting us to squeeze in further to make room for them. We tried our best, so more entered and with almost 70 of us in that tiny compartment, the train started moving.

I had my backpack on and was still standing waiting for the train to reach the first station. Few got out but we did not get space to sit. The time was almost two in the night and we were reaching Salem. There were many getting down there, so the one’s still standing got alert again. Quick scans and eye contact could batch a seat and I tried the same. A girl getting down offered me her seat, which was in the upper berth. Unlike the normal berth in the normal compartments, due to the absence of middle berth, the upper berth was little higher or seemed to be. So getting on top was the next hurdle. I couldn’t stand anymore so I was up for some acrobatics, which finally gave me a seat on top. I sat there gratified, as I found a place to sit as well as to watch my bag that I had deposited underneath.

I slipped into sleep mode in between but couldn’t. It was after all ladies compartment and it doesn’t sleep. There were cat fights, seat fights and what not. I peeped underneath the seat once in a while and saw that my bag was still there.

Time crawled and crawled for the sun to rise, and in a few hours I would be home. The crowd was not getting any lesser as mornings invited more people for a journey afresh. So sitting up there I made plans how to get down from the pinnacle of success and make way to the foot board the station before mine. As per my plan I got down and paved my way through the crowd, to reach my black bag and there I got shock waves for the third time during this journey.

I couldn’t find mine; it was somebody else’s; the lady who sat there was not there anymore. I would reach my station in sometime and I couldn’t find my bag. I requested everyone there to check but in vain. My eyes welled up. I had to get down. I saw my father standing there to receive me. The bag didn’t have anything valuable in it. Just some clothes and a few donuts I got for my sister. Nobody scolded. I cried for being irresponsible and careless at the first place but it was the lack of space that made me do so. And so it dried, but if not for the lost luggage, it would have been a successful journey.

 I was an experience that gave me courage to head home even if I did not get a reserved ticket. The rules I learnt in the line that helped me carryout few more successful journeys over the years. Cheers to the lost black trolley and the person who got the donuts.