A fun ride

I have never had a dull train journey; no matter how near or far, how familiar or strange the destination. Every time I came back with tales to tell. This time was no different. I was out to meet dear family and friends in the southern part of God’s Own Country. The onward journey from home was pretty much uneventful as it was quite late in the night for adventures, having had boarded the overnight train from Shoranur to Trivandrum. I was at the capital city, early morning the next day and my time there, was, as always, a gorgeous one. I love the royal splendor which Trivandrum still carries with it and I love spending time with my friends there.

The next leg of my excursion was to Tiruvalla in Parasuram express to meet my beloved Penguin aunts (nuns of the Bethany Order who have been affectionately christened so by my creative cousin). This trip of two and a half hours was more or less ordinary except for the excitement that I was unable to control each time the TTI came to chuck the overtly confident passengers out of their wrongly claimed seats in the reserved compartments. Occupying and 'sharing' reserved seats was a practice that has been flourishing for as many years as I have started travelling by trains in Kerala and it used to irk me all the time whenever I was so authoritatively asked to “move” or “push” to accommodate one or two more prosperous - bottomed women on my single seat which I took pain to reserve for myself. I would end up hanging by the edge of my seat holding on to whatever I could then to ensure I still ‘sat’ on my seat. So when you now re-read about my excitement you would begin to understand why I almost gloated or at times, almost even stood up from my seat, to laud the TTI when he did the routine 30 minutes check to ensure that seats reserved remain reserved for those who reserved them.

Tiruvalla rounds done I was back at the station promptly on time to board the train back home. The train was delayed for close to an hour and I whiled away time trying to figure out lives of people by staring at their faces as they walked past me. Finally there was an announcement about the train’s arrival and I rushed to the corresponding platform not wanting to reach there late and miss the train. Trust me, that too has happened to me.

Once at the destined platform my next task was to figure out the coach position. Like many others who enjoy the people aspect of train travel, I too never looked at boards or screens to confirm details like coach position, platform information et al but went to the most credible looking, seasoned vendor with his stall on the platform and asked him for the relevant bits of information. Believe me, it had always worked… till that day.

The book store vendor told me that the AC coach was to be right at the front of the engine and he said this with such confidence that I bought two magazines from his store as a token of my gratitude. Magazines tucked in to my bag I walked to the front and almost reached the end of the platform when I heard the train arriving. I was all set to board. As the train started slowing down in front of me I realized to my horror that the AC coaches were right at the end and I had over 800 metres to cover backward to reach my coach before the whistle went off. Tiruvalla is a small station and this was a super-fast express already delayed. My chances were slim so I took to my heels, almost literally. I cursed my decision to wear heels for the journey and ran with all my might, suitcase rolling behind me. By the time I reached the beginning of the AC coaches the train was about to leave so I was yelled at by a passing vendor to get in to the nearest coach and move from there, once I got in. I don’t know why it did not occur to me. I did not dwell upon my perennial challenge of thinking on my toes in situations of panic but obediently hurled myself at the first AC coach and let out a cry of relief as the train started moving. Now for my coach and my seat. I was in B6 and the next one ahead was A1, my coach, or so I thought. I huffed and puffed my way through the coach and voila, seat no. 17!  I was ready to plonk myself on to the seat when I noticed a confused young chap looking all the more lost with me standing in front of him. “Excuse me, but this is my seat”, I was waiting for him to apologize and walk off to his seat but he didn’t. He took out a scrap of paper from his pocket and told me very sweetly that the TTI had allotted him that seat for the day. Suddenly the TTI was not my hero anymore. I was so confident about my coach and seat no. that I started arguing with him. My confidence did the trick and this poor guy was ready to move out of his own duly reserved seat before I thought of double checking. Squinting at my phone, at a sans- reading glass- reading distance, I must have looked a sight as I ultimately figured out that my coach was indeed not A1 but A2. I felt like an inflated balloon and scooted from the scene after profuse apologies to the sweet guy. So, A2 it was and I marched ahead, heels on toes and suitcase in tow. I get in to the next coach and aim at the 17^th no. victim, once again. But this time, there was no sweet chap. This time it was an Ayyappa devotee who has seen many like me before. When I announced it to him that he was in my seat all that he asked me was to check my coach no. I was an obedient child this time and found out that I was in B6. That’s when I looked up to notice the three berths as against two and realized that I was in the wrong coach, yet again.

Will this never end? I marched back, past my sweet guy who took pity on me and who even offered me his seat. I embarrassingly refused the offer and finally landed at A2. Home! Tired, sweaty, out of breath I came face to face with the TTI right at the entrance of this coach who angrily presumed that I was in there trying to be a smart unreserved passenger. I breathlessly barked back at him, feeling like a tube of toothpaste with gaps of vacuum in between, that I had a seat a little ahead and did not wait for his response. He would have been really taken aback for he never came to check for my ticket.

I took off my shoes and pushed the suitcase under the seat. A watery coffee later I was feeling like myself again and I decided that I had enough of fun for a day. It was a very peaceful - close to two and a half hours - after that. 

But it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make my exit felt.

After Thrissur I knew that I had to get off at the next station. The distance is normally covered in about an hour. I have traveled this route for so many years and yet, I always panic wondering even to the extent if I had boarded the wrong train. So, this time, as the train was slowing down, fifteen minutes after Thrissur I was gathering my bags to walk towards the door. Two women who were my fellow passengers in the same coach came to look out of my window trying to figure out where they were. I already knew that they had to get down at Ottappalam. The decibel levels were high enough and one of the repeated topics in their conversation was how to figure out where was Ottappalam. 

To give you a little bit of background, I consider this part of the state, my home. Ottappalam, which is the heart of Valluvanad culture, is one among the few towns I spent a lot of time studying, teaching and getting ready for life. A vestigial name from the days of the kings and the landlords, Valluvanad, I feel, is extremely elegant and refined when it comes to people and culture and language. I wasn’t born and raised here but I spent the best years of my life here that I almost feel a native. I even adopted their way of speaking and have traveled across the region trying to get a deeper  feel of the place. The novels and stories from writers of this region which have been my best friends over my growing up years have only added on to this sense of strong belonging to Valluvanad. 

Anyways, all that said, I had to be the authority to tell them when and where exactly they needed to de-board.  So I got in to a conversation with them and told them that I know this route and the place like the back of my hand. Another five minutes later, all three of us were marching towards the exit as I was confident that our station was fast approaching. The train had slowed down but gathered tremendous speed after that and I had another panic attack wondering if we missed the station. What if we had to jump out at the train when it had really slowed down? What if Ottapalam wasn’t an approved station anymore? I couldn’t express my fears to my trusting companions and that’s when I get a call from my dad who wanted to know where we had reached. He saved the day for me but I had to convey the news to my aids that the station wasn’t approaching for another 20 more minutes. The women didn’t appear too worried. They looked relieved that they found someone who actually has heard of this place called Ottappalam. Well, I can claim a little more than that.

Ottappalam finally arrived and it hadn’t disappeared anywhere. The platform was well lit and there was much happening there. I was extra courteous to my new friends, let them get off the train first while I waited patiently. I even introduced them to my dad and we packed them off in to a waiting auto that was to take them to their next destination. I am sure the auto driver would do a much better job than what I did. But then, like the good bard always said, All’s well that ends well and I couldn’t wait to get home.