Back to Kurla. The platform was crowded and you can make out even without the train as to who goes into which class. The thinnest, darkest and most crowded group who arrive quite early would be the third class passengers. They dont have much luggage and are mostly men in flashy clothes with big fake labels. The families with more luggage (definitely having the food to eat for the next 2 or 3 days), mostly VIP not Samsonite or American Tourister would get into the sleeper class. The ones with larger families and look prosperous (gold, silk saree for women and laptop,blackberry for men)would be in the Air Conditioned Coaches. Exceptions are retired officials or parents of software engineers in the US.
I was early enough and tried to put in my 85 ltr backpack and trolley below the seat. The head of the backpack stubbornly stuck out. A 60 rupee metal chain tied my luggage to the seat. My co passengers were a family of three, parents and their 20 year old daughter and a couple with 2 kids (1 year and 3 years). The first question from the first family was if i could move to another coach as they have seat there and they could bring his brother to sit along. I cited my luggage to say no. He said that it is a side berth, which is all the more a reason as it is too short for me. He did not bother to listen to my explanation as i was already classified as a self centered and inflexible product of big cities. The two families started talking as if i didnt exist. They had already identified each others addresses and occupations in 15 mins. I was fine to have a silent journey and to return to my Kafka, but the 2 kids took turns crying. It might not be an exaggeration if i thought that the 3 year old girl is the most stubborn/spoiled brat that i had ever seen. She wanted everything and she couldnt take no for an answer. Her stubbornness was matched only by her father's snores which echoed in the compartment the whole night. My fake coughs or kicking the roof could not break his snores for more than a few seconds. Sleep came at 3am and went at 6 with the wailing child...
Next day, the families spoke, shared food, took turns managing the kids and I sat like an invisible man. They used English to address me (the few times). By evening I was this scary uncle who would punish the kid if it doesnt eat. They even asked me to warn the child as she stopped listening to everyone sitting. I spent more and more time by the door breathing in a mix of fresh air from outside and the stink from the toilets. At one of the stations, there was a cleaning crew which actually cleaned the toilets, emptied the dust bins and wiped the glass windows. They even asked me to sign a satisfaction statement with improvement suggestions(what was going wrong with Indian railways).
Chatted up with a couple of young guys sharing the 'door view'. They were both MBAs. One was a sales guy with an auto manufacturer and the other one a finance guy who does project appraisals. They were quite pessimistic about Business Ethics. 'Make your killing when you can, let the NGOs sort things out' seems to be the general attitude. All the more reason for me to research this topic.
After 34 long hours, the train chugged into Coimbatore station. The family left with the children. I digged around for my socks in the left overs of biscuit wraps, water bottles and whatever else they left behind.
No comments:
Post a Comment