TRAVEL II

We skulk out of college, two large, suspicious looking men. We catch an auto (four auto guys ignore us, one almost drives over my toes when I suggest a decent fare, and the guy who finally took us, well, the son of an owl charges us 80 bucks), and we go to Central station.

Why? Because the next day is a culturals in Coimbatore. I like culturals. Nitish, the other large person, likes Coimbatore. Simply because he grew up there. Of all the strange reasons, I ask you…

So there we were at Central station, minus Rs. 80 ( Nitish comments bitterly, "another 40 bucks and we could have gone to Coimbatore") and we stand in a line to buy tickets. We're going to travel unreserved. The queue is short and very soon I am in possession of two tickets to Cbe, Rs. 125 each. Now, we have two hours to kill. You see, the train is only at 2:00pm, and there we were at 11:45 am. All because some ass told me that the queue for tickets would be horribly long.

Our gigantic friend has not had lunch, and neither have I. So we go to saravana bhavan. Why? Don't ask me, ask him. I hate the bloody place. It's an antithesis of everything a restaurant should be. There is no peace and quiet. There are men in dark grey shorts running around cleaning up spilt sambhar and almost poking decent customers in vulnerable areas with the blunt end of their dirty mops. The waiters either have too many teeth, or look like they're going to spit in your food before they bring it to your table. ( they probably do, too). The floor reminds one of toilets and hospital corridors. Phlegm blocks the washbasin drains. The kesari looks radioactive. The green chutney was probably invented to repel superman. And worst of all, two entire walls are made of glass, so I can see a fat, black, hairy man on the other side of the restaurant dig his nose vigorously and then smear the results on the underside of his table.

So yes, I refuse to eat and wait till Nitish is done with his mini meal, dosa and idlis ( I'm probably leaving out a couple of things here). Then we go to Marrybrown on the ground floor (What? We're growing boys!) and eat a burger and fries and the usual nonsense. While we're there, four men dressed in white shirts and dhotis come in and order dosa. I don't blame them. I wouldn't go to saravana bhavan either, given the choice.

After we're done eating, we go sit on the platform that the train is supposed to arrive on. Nice and early. Should definitely get a place on the train. First come, first served, right?

Wrong.

Very very wrong. Turns out, in the Southern Railways, it's more of first push/kick-out-of-the-way/elbow-in-the-wrong-place/poke-in-the-eye, first served. So when the Kovai express whistles in, A thousand people come rushing on to the platform and scramble for the doors. Nitish and I try to push our way in, but we were both too well brought up for our own good. I step aside for women, as does Nitish. The husbands, brothers, acquaintances and suchlike of the women immediately sneak up and deposit themselves next to the women. So, ten seconds later (I swear it was ten seconds, not more) every single seat in the unreserved compartment is full.

So we shoulder our way into the next compartment. And the next. And the next. They're all full. There's no standing room. We couldn't even put our suitcases on the floor and sit on them. We finally decide to lean against a wall and look cool and uncaring. A few minutes later I catch Nitish looking at a little girl longingly. I am shocked. However, he hastens to explain that he was only wishing he was that small. You see, the kid was sleeping stretched out on the seat next to it's father. Approximately one foot tall. Here we were, one six two, the other six four, and we couldn't find enough space to breathe. I haven't fit on a bed since 12^th standard. Nitish has probably slept on the floor of an empty hallway since the age of ten. Probably.

Time wears on (it's an eight hour journey) and we get hungry. Ok, so I eat every two hours. Mind your own business. So we push our way to the pantry car, where they are making hot parotas. I drool and rush forward, but the giant grabs me by the collar and points towards the other end of the pantry car. I can't take my eyes off the parota, but a large hand whacks me on the side of the head and points insistently. I look. It is the TTE. The dog has been eluding us since the beginning of the journey, when we realized that we had to purchase a berth each or die standing. So we run towards him frantically. He looks alarmed ( So would I, if two tall, menacing guys charged at me down a narrow corridor) and a railway guard comes running from one of food storage rooms, looking important. He sees us and goes back inside. We reach the TTE and explain what we want. He listens to us politely and then says that he doesn’t understand Tamil. We explain in terrible, probably offensive Hindi. He nods sagely, consults his clipboard for a long time, and then gives us two tickets from Salem onwards. Not very helpful, seeing as Salem is only a short distance from Coimbatore, and half the people will get off anyway and we’ll get place to sit. But still, we buy the tickets for safety’s sake, and wait another ten minutes while he calculates and writes a bill. As soon as he’s done, I head to the parota end of the pantry car.

Predictably, the shutters are down and the parota man has disappeared. I can still smell the kurma from the other side of the shutters. It very nearly makes me break down and weep. I curse Nitish and five generations of his family, and go and buy four packets of hide & seek to comfort myself. The only consolation is that we find a little space at the end of the pantry car and can finally sit. After a while, a guard happens upon us, decides we look dangerous and orders us out. He fingers his gun as we quickly scurry away. This time, we find place to stand, right near the door. I stick my head out like a dog in a car, and for a few brief moments, all the frustration of the trip is gone. Then there is a massive splash of sprite on my face and I see Nitish grin like an idiot from the doorway upwind. I ignore him for a while. Eventually, we reach Salem and find our seats and play word games for the remainder of the trip. We reach Coimbatore at around 11:00 pm, and we get an auto to my uncle’s place, where I’m supposed to stay. He has hot, yummy food. Thank god for unconventional bachelors who can cook. I fall asleep reading a book on the corollaries of Murphy’s law.

The next day was good.