Nightmare on ‘Link Express’

Nightmare on ‘Link Express’

Travelling second class by the mid-night train on eve of Diwali is one of the myriad blunders I survived to write. It was a mad rush to enter the general class compartment, as the ‘link-express’ halted for only a couple of minutes. I was soon to find out why was it called the ‘link-express’. All through the night compartments were attached and detached at different junctions. Overheard conversations and misguiding hooligans led me to switch trains; and I could have easily ended up in any part of the country. Luckily, after jumping out of moving trains and sprinting across tracks, I eventually made it to the right train. Ironically, it was the same one I was initially advised to get off.

Not being the type who likes to make friends while traveling alone, I learnt that some friendships are made by compulsion. There were all kinds of people out there – dirty, half dressed, breast feeding mothers, frivolous drunkards, annoying and fidgety children and then there was me - a ‘second-class-rookie’- wondering why I was doing this to myself.

We might have played this game at parties- where you begin dancing on a piece of newspaper and at every round you fold it. While the space gets smaller, you keep dancing till you are just clinging to your partner who is standing on his toes. It was literally the same drill except for that there was no prize and it was no dance. The space kept decreasing and human bodies ultimately carpeted the compartment flooring.

That night I confirmed three long-established truths of travel in India.. However filthy, unhygienic or scanty the situation is, there are those who can’t live without a visit to the toilet. Second they need to munch on tobacco and finally when the drug hits them they just fall flat anywhere and conk off to sleep like a tired canine. I watched with awe and consternation, as they swung across the cabin like circus monkeys. Men, women and children, they climbed and hopped and you wouldn’t believe the leaps they could achieve, to satisfy an unrelenting bladder.  

They slept on each other like homeless puppies, not bothered who they were or where they were from. Some sat by the doorway, swaying and howling with the wind, as they munched the leaves. One slither and they would never wake up again. Soon the drug kicked in and the hoodlums were snoring away to glory. 

There was nothing masochistic about my choice to stay on board.  It’s like the famous psychological clinical case where you are faced between the deep blue ocean and Satan on the shore. I had to choose between jumping into the dark night from a speeding train and surviving a potentially plagued compartment, reeking of spilled DNA. 

The basin next to the toilet was clogged with tobacco and the maroon colored liquid mixed with the latrine stench was making me nauseate. Why is Indian railway such a disgusting place? So what! If it’s a general compartment, why can’t we have cleaner and better equipped trains? Can’t we have better drainage systems and more spacious travel in our railways? Again, can’t we get rid of our addiction to munch and learn toilet manners? For those who travel often in these situations, it is just another day of cheap and speedy travel. Life goes on- no complains, no regrets- with the pushing and shoving and the in-enviable feeling of moving on.

This is one of those moments when your brain decides to hibernate and your heart’s the only thing pumping you on. I tried distracting myself with dreams of how I would have a very long bath, followed by a king style breakfast and then hop onto my cushioned bed. My psychology classes on sleep-deprivation popped up in my mind; and suddenly, one year down the line, all those lectures on micro-sleeps and REM began to make sense. But, how can you dream if you are not asleep? This was a nightmare!

My apologies! for the abrupt ending of the story. That I eventually slipped into a coma must suffice to justify this incomplete and delayed narration.