My train protector

It was one of those train journeys. I was heading back from Madras (it wasn’t called Chennai then). I must’ve been 19 or 20. I was used to train journeys because I had been living in hostels in Calicut since I was 15. I was happy in hostels. I had friends. I could read. More importantly I didn’t have to clean the house, do the dishes or do tons of laundry. I only had to take care of myself. I got good at that fairly early. I also instinctively knew that since I could take care of myself, I was allowed to so I just went ahead and did things on my own. I miss that. I wonder what happened in the intervening years to take that spirit out of me. But anyway, that’s not the story I wanted to tell.

So here I was, rumpled and sweat-stained from spending the night on the train. My house was in Kanhangad way up north in Kerala. It took 18 or 20 hours to get to Chennai from home. I went with family friends to write an exam at the IIT in Adyar for a PG course. My friend and her husband’s family treated me with so much love that the trip was fun. The exam was terrible but I didn’t mind. I was quite pampered. I was also fascinated by the IIT campus where I met my classmate from college. Her father was with her. She had come to write the same exam. Neither of us got through but then back then we didn’t quite mind all that. We chatted over lunch – hers was some pitiful leaf-wrapped store bought lunch. Mine was a feast because my sweet friend had carried a huge tiffin carrier with five dishes and piping hot rice. We gorged ourselves. I probably dozed off in the exam hall but like I said I didn’t care that much – I was very unlike my current anxious self.

My friend and her family sent me off on the train. They were concerned because I travelled alone. I pooh poohed them and thanked them heartily. Aunty had even packed some yummy pickles for me to eat and I was so touched – for me pickles equal a very special kind of love.

I sat watching the scenery which was primarily a lot of factories and a terrifying dead brown. I slept off eventually to wake up to a verdant, impossibly green Kerala. It was early in the morning. I could smell the metal-tinted air that is peculiar to trains. I washed my face as best as I could and tamed my waist length hair that weighed almost as much as I did. I wrestled it into a plait and sat in my spot reading. I was feeling dreadfully hungry as well. But then at that age I was pretty much hungry all the time. And more skinny that anyone would’ve thought possible.

Just about then a corpulent ticket collector arrived. I pulled out my ticket and showed him. We had reached the last leg of the journey where there were maybe just two other people in the entire compartment. He looked at my ticket and then at my sorry self. He asked me where my parents were – more specifically my father. I was a bit confused. I said he was at home in Kanhangad. He sat down abruptly opposite me and enquired if I had eaten. He would get me some coffee if I wanted. I said no thank you. After all I didn’t know a thing about him. He kept urging me to drink something and when the coffee seller came by he got coffees for both of us. I still didn’t figure out why he was doing all of that but I was almost home so I wasn’t scared.

I told him about the exam when he asked why I was travelling. He made it a point to ask if I travelled alone then too. I said no, I had friends. He seemed relieved. He then launched a verbal attack on my absent father. How could he let a young girl travel alone? Didn’t he know how dangerous it was? The last stretch was especially so with no women to serve as company even. My mouth fell open. I mean I was so used to it that I never gave it a second thought. So I couldn’t understand the fuss.

My father got berated for a full forty-five minutes till the train stopped in our little station. I grabbed my bag plus the other stuff that a lot of friends had sent for the Ashram in Kanhangad where we were all devotees. He shooed me away and took everything down for me. And asked me if my father was on the platform. I pointed him out. He glowered at my father like he was the worst monster in the world. I’m pretty sure that he would have turned to ashes if this were the mythical age. I just grinned as the train left and waved goodbye. My father and his umbrella found me the next minute and he asked me who I was waving to. I replied cheekily “Your worst enemy I think – it’s a good thing he didn’t get you close enough to do any real damage!” A bewildered father followed me as I went to hail a rickshaw for home.

Out of nowhere this memory struck me. I have loved my train journeys because of the unexpected and frequent acts of kindness that had come my way. So many people have shared food, dreams and space with me. There was such sincerity and love in those encounters. Maybe seeing a skinny girl struggle standing in a crowd for hours or drag baggage by herself made people want to help. Maybe it was just because I was so innocent that like my son today, I had a light shining from within. Maybe it was because the times were simpler and you could help and be helped without worrying about consequences. I miss those journeys today. And you know what? I met the same ticket collector during another journey (yes I got coffee and baggage help) and then too my dad wasn’t around – not in the station either and I am pretty sure he must’ve felt my protector’s burning disapproval no matter where he was!