Kuttikkuppaayam (The Small Shirt)

Kuttikkuppaayam 

(The Small Shirt)

'We all need memories to remind ourselves who we are.'

-                                                                    - Memento (2000)

6^th February, 2003

I stood at the gate, teary-eyed and fuming.

“I’m telling you for the last time, do it!” papa said. I just stared at him. He glanced at mummy, revved his Vespa and sped away.

I was shocked. My calculations had gone wrong. I had expected him to give in.

“Why are you so arrogant? Shut the door and come inside,” mummy said, as she went into the house.

 

29^th April, 2020

“… from concrete to representation to abstract – the CRA approach. Rote learning abstract concepts, rules, and facts don’t lead to understanding; it burdens the child…” All were in agreement to what Karthi said. “A good example is,” he continued, “the multiplication tables…”

We were discussing in our work group, the pedagogy of early Math teaching. My stream of thought took a detour and time-travelled to 2003.

 

5^th February, 2003

I winked at it. It stared at me for a few seconds and looked away. I shook the branches of the tree, on which I stood, in a bid to win back its attention. It stared at me again. I smiled. After a few seconds, it turned its head the other way. I waited. 5 seconds. 10 seconds. 15 seconds. Ah yes, it threw a quick glance at me to check whether I was still pursuing it. Success! I had gotten into its head.

I was perhaps ‘the psycho kid’ in the world of the dogs in my area. Leaning on the branch of the tree that stood by the boundary wall, I would play such mind games with the dogs in the vicinity. It was one of my favourite pastimes.

“Where are you kid? Come inside; take your Math textbook and learn the tables up to 5. I’ll give you half an hour’s time. Quick!” It was mummy sounding the siren.

I waved at the dog, jumped off the tree, and dragged myself towards the study table.

The lunch box was still inside the bag. I took it to the kitchen. The sugar jar smiled at me. I opened it and took a spoonful. The sound of approaching footsteps had me fly back to the study table.

“Three into two is equal to six. Three into two iseequal to six. Three into three seeqal to nine….” The recitation went on.

There was a two rupee coin lying on the table. I started to trace it in my rough note book. “Three into five is equal to fifteen. Threento six is equal to seventeen. Threento six is equal to seventeen….”

After the stipulated 30 minutes and a grace period of another ten, mummy walked into the room.

“Hand over the book and start reciting.”

“One into one is equal to one.”

“Start with two’s table.”

I managed the two’s table with the repeated addition strategy – adding two to the previous number, which did not take much time. However, things fell apart when it came to the three’s table. Of course, three into six wasn’t seventeen!

“I’ll give you another 15 minutes. Up to five’s table - any mistake, and that’s it for you.”

“Three into three is equal tooo…”

***

Ten minutes had gone by and I hadn’t made much progress.

The newly bought sketch pens were lying on the table. A bulb flickered in my head. I wrote down the three’s table on my left leg, the four’s on my right and the five’s on my left palm. I still had the right palm free and so took the luxury of writing down the two’s table as well.

I placed myself in the little space between the television and the window. When mummy walked in, I asked her to sit on the chair in front of me.

“Begin with the three’s table.”

“Three into one is equal to three; three into two is equal to six; three into three is equal to nine; three into four is equal to, is equal to, threeee into four is eeequal toooo…”

I slyly referred my notes.

“Fast…” she was getting impatient.

“Three into four is equal to sixteen.”

“What!”

I referred again and realized that I was looking at the right leg instead of the left. Before I could rectify my mistake, I saw a shadow looming over me.

***

My ears were burning. She had almost pulled them out. I had to rub off the tables from my body and etch them on my brain in another fifteen minutes.

“Three into five iseequal to fifteen… three into five is equal to…”

The State Bank of India calendar, hanging against the wall, oscillated in the breeze.  The bulb flickered yet again. I wrote down the tables on the calendar. I then positioned myself on a chair, facing the calendar.

“Ah start… make it fast.” Mummy walked in. She came and stood right in front of the calendar, blocking my view.

“Please sit down.” I requested.

“Make it fast.” She did not move.

After ‘three into five is equal to fifteen’, I leaned my head sideways to catch a glimpse of the calendar.

She turned back and looked at the calendar.

As mummy stormed out of the room, I knew what was coming. She would go out and get a stick from the tree near the boundary wall, and in a matter of a few seconds my feast would begin. I prepared myself for it.

***

“Let papa get home. I can’t wait to tell him what you called me.” I said, wiping away the amalgamation of liquids that flowed from my eyes and nose, before they entered my mouth.

The ball was in my court now. During the treatment with the stick, an unparliamentary word had slipped out of her mouth. And I seized the opportunity.  She threw the stick away and walked out of the room. The momentum shifted my way. I followed her to the kitchen.

“Let papa come home and I will teach you a lesson.”

“Ah, let us see who is going to learn the lesson.”

***

I knew that papa would favour me. Of course, that was the larger scheme of things. Mummy was the antagonist of my study time episodes and papa my savior. The roles reversed when it came to eating food. For instance, I would hesitate to drink the mandatory glass of milk before leaving for school and papa would lose his temper, before mummy came to my rescue. At the end of the day, the house revolved around me and I knew that very well.

***

There were red patches on my hand. A few numerals were also visible. Vengeance boiled inside me. I walked into the bedroom, opened the cupboard and took out her eyeliner. I had gifted it to her on her birthday.

“I hate you. I am taking this back.”

She laughed. “I am not craving for your love. Do what you want. Also, it is a very bad habit to take back what you gifted someone.”

“Fine, I am bad.”

***

I heard the honking of our vespa. Papa was home. I ran outside to narrate the events of the evening.

“Ah ha… did she do like that! Come, I’ll ask her. We’ll settle it right away.”

I had a smirk on my face as we walked into the house.

“Why did you beat him? And he says that you used a particular word as well.”

“Did he not tell you why he got the beating? And the shameless guy has also taken away the eyeliner that he gifted me.”

***

The panchayat was settled by papa. It was decided that I wouldn’t be asked to recite the tables for another three weeks. He would write it on a chart with colour pencils and hang it in front of my study table. He assured me that I would pick up the tables on my own after a few days. All I had to do was to look at the chart once in a while, and refer to it while doing sums.

 

'Kuttikkuppaayam'

(Illustrated by Baby Parvathy*)

6^th February, 2003

It was their wedding anniversary. Both papa and mummy were in the kitchen as I got out of bed. I wished papa.

“No wishes for me?”

I did not respond. My vengeance was not over yet.

I got ready for school. The smell of biriyani entered my nostrils and I knew that it was one of those rare days when I would be waiting for the lunch break.

“Give mummy a kiss and come fast.” Papa had already started the scooter.

I walked towards the scooter.

“Go and give her a kiss. Don’t be so grumpy.”

“No, I will not kiss her.”

“It’s getting late. Let it go. I don’t want his kiss,” mummy said from the door.

“You are not going to school without giving her a kiss,” papa’s mood was changing.

I stood my ground. Tears started flowing down my cheeks.

“I’m telling you for the last time, do it,” papa said. I just stared at him. He glanced at mummy, revved his Vespa and sped away.

The larger scheme of things was a little different from what I had understood it to be.

                                      ***

(The story is based on memories from different points of time in my childhood. They have been woven together into a single piece – colourful little pieces from my childhood, stitched together into a kuttikkuppaayam. 😊 )

_______________________________________

*About the illustrator: Baby Parvathy is a lawyer by profession and an artist by passion. Her artistic concentration lies in addressing issues of social relevance and appreciating the little things in life. Here’s the link to Babie’s world of art.

 

The Angry 90's Kid

The Angry 90’s Kid

1999.

The world was a very different place then.

I had just completed my Lower Kindergarten (LKG) in Bethlehem Primary School, a small school 3 kilometres away from my home. My parents wanted to put me in another school, which was just a few meters away from Bethlehem – Loyola. For them, it was a better option; however, for me, it was a different world altogether and I was in no mood to leave Bethlehem.

Other than the obvious reason of not wanting to come out of the comfort zone of a familiar habitat, there were two particular memories from Bethlehem that I hold responsible for my reluctance to leave the place.

'The Happy Bethlehem Kid'

One. The winter of 1998.

Given that Bethlehem was a convent school, Christmas used to be celebrated grandly. On the last working day, before the school closed for Christmas holidays, we celebrated Christmas. A tableau of the nativity scene was staged in front of the school and I was to take the role of baby Jesus, being one of the smallest kids in the school. Dressed in white and an ample amount of make-up on my face, I was the centre of attraction of the day. Students, teachers and parents waited in a queue to catch a glimpse of the baby Jesus and co. My parents and a few of our relatives too came to see their baby devil. Smiles, attention, camera flashes and fun; needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed the day.

Jesus and Co.

Two. The summer of 1999.

We were on our way back home after the annual visit to our native place – Kottayam. Every summer vacation, we would go to visit our relatives and spend a few days there. The return journeys were always painful, after all the fun and frolic with my cousins.

I was sitting by the window in a general compartment of our very own Venad Express. The wind caressed my hair and I was lost in thoughts. It was then that my parents met an acquaintance of theirs on the train and soon I was called to meet this lady and introduce myself. The typical questions that were thrown at 90’s kids, and for which we had ready-made answers, came to me from her. “What’s your name? Which class are you studying in? Which school? Who is your best friend?” I blurted out the replies to all those questions, when an unusual question was thrown at me – “why is she your best friend?”. I did not need time to think though. For, kids don’t think much; they don’t worry about the consequences of what they say. And I said, “because, she is beautiful.” Let’s not worry about defining ‘beauty’ or ‘friendship’ here. After all, our protagonist is a five-year-old kid who is ‘innocent’. Anyways, I was very fond of her.

So, this Christmas of 1998 and ‘she’ were two possible reasons that rooted me to Bethlehem.

However, parents have their ways, don’t they? I was assured that I wouldn’t be taken out of Bethlehem against my wish. Along with assurance, it was suggested that we visit this other school. “What’s the harm in a casual visit,” and I readily agreed. So one fine Sunday, we went to Loyola. It was a huge campus with buildings ten times the size of our little Bethlehem, vast playgrounds and a fish pond – none of which impressed me. So when the question was asked again – “do you want to join this school?” – as always, I did not need to think much. It was a plain “no”. It was then that my father brought out the trump card. “You know what, behind that huge building is a playground for kids. And there they have a toy train, like the one at the zoo children’s park. You know, your favourite one!”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“Can I see that?”

“Of course, you can also go on rides, after you join this school.”

“Hmmm?”

“So would you like to join this school?”

“Maybe.”

Thus, my innocence was exploited. Bethlehem and ‘she’ were to become memories.

***

As part of the admission formalities, we had to get passport-sized photos of mine. As we walked into the darkness of Ogeena Studio, the little toy train of Loyola School was taking jolly rides inside my head. There was a dressing table in one corner of the studio room and I sat there as my father applied talcum powder on my face and combed my hair, both of which I had an aversion to those days (and the former to this day). I kept pushing his hand away, and he lost his cool soon enough. Like father, like son, I too lost my cool.

The photographer kept asking me to cheer up and smile. He even asked my father to go out of the room. I did try my best to smile. In fact, after a point of time, I wondered what was wrong with the photographer, “can’t he see that I’m smiling?”

“Onnu chirik monee… (please smile little one…),” he said, one last time before the lights flashed and a couple of ‘click’ sounds were heard.

The processing was done, and we got the photos after a week.

I do not know how they felt submitting the application form with this photo on it.

It doesn’t matter though. After all, it was sweet revenge.

***

PS: I went on to become a Loyolite and grew up there for nine long years.

PPS: Of course, Loyola did not have a toy train. The one at the children’s park in Trivandrum Zoo too went in ruins after a few years.

PPPS: I haven’t seen ‘her’ or heard about ‘her’ after LKG. Also, ‘she’ is one of the angels in the Christmas tableau.

***

First day as a Loyolite…

***

Chapter 20_Discovering Heaven

Chapter 20

Discovering Heaven

Indeed, it was an ambitious target – 985 kilometers in a day. But, when the roads are in your favour and you partner has the same ‘wavelength’ as you, Herculean tasks can become a cakewalk. That sums up the last day on road for our guys – Thorappan and Khan. By 2 PM, they were in Hyderabad. They had only one commitment in the ‘World Capital of Biriyani’ – eat biriyani. However, the roads had got them high and all they wanted to do was keep riding. That the ‘outer ring road’ could not be accessed by bikes, they had to make their way through the city traffic. But when they exited the city and entered the highway to Bangalore, they were to taste the icing on the cake – the best road ever. After a quick snack from Udupi Hotel, that included a special chocolate coffee which seemed to have impressed the both of them, they entered the last leg of their 7000 kilometer trip. Keeping a constant of 100-120 kilometers per hour, they were in Bangalore before night life began there. After a cup of sulaimaani at ‘Thalassery Biriyani Restaurant’ in Electronic City, they shook hands, hugged each other and parted ways, to their respective rooms. Adios brothers!

Khan and Thorappan on the Hyderabad-Bangalore Expressway…

That same day, at around 10 PM, the Aronai Express reached Ernakulum Junction, a few hours later than the scheduled time. In fact, it is not for us to expect the train to reach a station at the expected time; Indian Railways are beyond our expectations! Mahesh was picked up by his friends, who then drove him home. A week later, he would be picking up his bike from this very same station. How the bike reached there so soon and on which train, is still a mystery unsolved.

That same day, at around 3 PM, the New Jalpaiguri-Chennai Express reached Chennai Central station. After forty-two hours of ‘eat-sleep-repeat’, I stepped out of the train. There was task at hand – to get Batman on road – one that wasn’t going to be an easy one. The luggage compartment was locked and there wasn’t anyone around. The parcel office was about a 100 meters across the platform. I walked to the office, carrying all my luggage. It was a dingy room with only an officer in there. I informed him that my bike was there on the train that had just arrived. Unlike the nasty guys in Siliguri, this man was a straightforward one. He told me to get the bike to his office, without involving anyone else. He warned me that I would have to encounter quite a few individuals, whose intention would be to extort money out of me, rather than help. He allowed me to leave my luggage in his office as well. I walked back to the train. The luggage compartment was open and two men were unloading stuff on to the platform. I showed them the Batman’s documents and requested them to unload the bike from the train. They did so without any reluctance. They offered the same piece of advice that the officer at the parcel office had given – “don’t let anyone touch your vehicle”. They then asked me to pay them for unloading the bike and I paid 100 bucks.

I took Batman to the parcel office. The 100 meters to the office had railway lines going hither and thither, line those veins on your hand – around six tracks coming from Basin Bridge side split into fifteen or more ones as they went into the station. I had to cross all of them. But for some curious glances, no one approached me. I parked the bike outside and finished all the formalities at the office. A guy appeared out of nowhere and the officer told me that he would help me unpack the bike. As we walked towards the exit gate, another guy came towards me and whispered in my ear that I shouldn’t pay the other guy anything more than fifty. I felt like being in an alien world – there were people around me engaged in some work or the other and every now and then, they were giving me looks; I was being guided by a stranger whom I had no option but to trust; and then there were strangers giving me strange advises!

Outside the station, the guy helped me remove the packing of my bike. I paid him fifty bucks and he was happy. While I was googling where the nearest petrol bunk was, he offered to help me. I gave him hundred bucks and he took a ‘share auto’ to the nearest petrol bunk. He was back in another 10 minutes with a liter of petrol, but I had started Batman by then (the porters at Siliguri hadn’t burned out the entire fuel). The rear view mirrors had to be fixed and I asked him where the nearest mechanic shop was. He told me that he could fix it himself and did so. He asked me to pay him another thirty bucks. I smiled, paid, and thanked him for all his help. Finally, we were back on the road, for our last leg of the trip – Chennai to Pondy, 160 kilometers!

The initial few kilometers through the Chennai roads were hectic. I suddenly became conscious that Batman was handicapped owing to his bent handlebar. One of the rear view mirrors kept coming loose as well. I did not feel very comfortable riding Batman through the city in such conditions. And therefore, I was relieved when we entered the East Coast Road.

I rode cautiously, as I didn’t want any mishaps to come my way right at the end of an otherwise eventful trip. At an average of 60 kilometers per hour, we cut through the sea breeze blowing in from the east coast. The customary tea break was taken at Kalpakkam. The next seventy kilometers would take no more than ninety minutes.

The last leg…

At 7:30 PM, on the twenty-ninth day of September 2019, after 3670 kilometers on road, I was back home after my dream trip. As I unloaded the luggage from my bike, I felt very tired – physically. However, within myself, I felt that I had grown a little stronger. Sixteen days back, while loading the luggage onto Batman, I had been full of apprehensions. And it was never a cakewalk all day long either. The weather had been harsh at times, the plan had to be changed many a times, there were plenty of nightmares on the road, OYO and the Indian Railways had given us quite a bit of trouble and so on. On the other side, we had made beautiful memories that would stay with us the rest of our lives – times spent with all those lovely families in Siliguri and Lachung, exploring the Himalayas, off-roading, seeing snow for the first time in our lives and so on. And in the end, it was all those bits and pieces put together – the highs and lows – that made this dream a worthy one to chase. And every successful dream is a call for a bigger one!

On the way to Pondy, about forty kilometers from Kalpakkam, you could see a vast stretch of white desert on your right – the Marakkanam salt pans. That day, I passed the area at around 6 PM. The sun was setting, and the view was mind-blowing. The salt pans and the sky blended together to form a huge canvas. And the artist had made gentle strokes of different colours – red, orange, yellow, blue, grey and white. I just stood there, imbibing the beauty. Nature is beautiful, everywhere – up there in the Himalayas and down here in the east coast. One just needs to open his eyes and see. Needless to say, “beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.”

And that’s the truth that trips like these validate for you. That heaven is here. You just need to explore and enjoy it as much as possible. And that’s what I believe too – that,

‘The world is a better place, if you keep exploring…’

-         The Curious Kid

(The End)

_________________________________________________________________________________

Please take a couple of minutes to share your feedback on the blog. Thanks!

Feedback Form

_________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 19_The Endurance Ride

Chapter 19

The Endurance Ride

“No…”

I replied, as the train chugged out of the station. As I walked back to the dreaded room - the cloak room - on platform number one, I met the railway officer who had helped us in the morning. I narrated to him the unfortunate turn of events. He then accompanied me to the office of the arrogant guy, to enquire about it. After a brief conversation with the arrogant guy, the officer assured me that Mahesh’s bike would be sent home on the next train, the following week.

I walked to the godown. My bike was still there. And what would be its fate? I would know in another couple of hours. With very little energy left and a terribly aching head, I walked to the ‘waiting room’. At around 8:45 PM, my train came to the platform – platform number three. I ran to the godown. Luckily the porters who had packed my bike in the morning were there. They were busy loading stuff onto a trolley. I asked one of them whether he could load the bike onto the train. He ignored my question, as well as my presence. I asked again. This time, without looking at me, he replied: “we asked you guys to pay us in the morning; you didn’t; why do you come to us now?” So that was it. You either bribe 100% or you don’t bribe at all and face the consequences. 99.9% bribing is as good as not bribing. I pleaded and he said that I would have to pay 200 bucks for it. I readily agreed.

The bike was taken from the godown to platform number three. The luggage van was already open and other stuff were being loaded into it. Batman too was loaded. I breathed. I paid the porter his money and thanked him. I clicked a couple of pictures of Batman inside the luggage van. Getting him to the Himalayas or the Zero Point was an achievement; but getting him inside this coach was an even greater one!

Batman inside the luggage compartment…

I walked to my coach. It was adjacent to the luggage van. I had a side lower berth to myself. I stuffed my belongings below the seat and sat down to remove my shoes. Right across, through the window, I could see the luggage office. The train started on time – at 9 PM. The luggage office slid out of my view and I prayed that I would never have to see that place again.

Adios New Jalpaiguri Luggage Office –never again!

I ate the snacks that I had bought for dinner and went off to sleep. And this was what I would be doing for the next few days – eat, sleep, repeat.

Khan and Thorappan halted at Malhar in Madhya Pradesh on day 2. After the terrible roads of Patna, an expressway welcomed them as they entered MP. They rode another 150 kilometers on that highway to reach Malhar. While the Himalayan roads had ‘water crossings’ intermittently, the plain roads had ‘cattle crossings’ once in a while. They got a decent hotel to stay in Malhar. It had a secure garage and the boys left their luggage on the bikes itself for the night.

After a tough ride (day 2) …

The destination for day 3 was Nagpur. After a quick breakfast from a roadside dhaba, they cruised along the highway. It drizzled once in a while, but the roads were too good for Goddess Rain to cause any trouble. But for those water breaks and fuel stops, they rode continuously during the day. When they had just around 60 kilometers to Nagpur, things took a turn. Of course, no day on the road has ended without a twist in the ‘tail’. There was a block on the main highway and they had to take a deviation, adding an extra 60 kilometers to Nagpur – 120 in all. This alternate route was a ghat road. Khan’s Himalayan had been facing some issues for a while and was due for service. Apparently, when the chains were tightened in Gangtok, it was done disproportionately, which meant that the rear tire wobbled. As Thorappan arched a curve, he saw Khan sitting on the road, with the bike lying a little away from him. The back tire had slid and they had gone down. Luckily, he had been riding slowly and the fall hadn’t caused much damage. The knuckle guard and the center stand had broken. They continued to ride and got the damages repaired at a road side workshop.

The roadside dhaba where our guys had breakfast on day 3…

As they entered outer Nagpur, there was a Madhya Pradesh-Maharashtra integrated police check post. For the first time on this trip, the police wanted to check the luggage and Khan and Thorappan had a tough time untying the luggage for the police.

At around 4 PM, the boys reached Nagpur city. The revised plan was to get the bikes serviced and ride for another 100 kilometers or so before they called it a day. They received a warm welcome at the Royal Enfield service center. The manager of the place himself took care of the proceedings and Khan’s bike was given a priority service. They didn’t even want the luggage to be removed from the vehicle during the service. The riders returning from Sikkim were being treated royally!

Entering Nagpur…

As the bike was being serviced, Khan and Thorappan refilled their tummies with the local delicacy ‘chole batture’. The welcome was no different at the Duke service center. In a matter of two hours, both the bikes had been serviced. Both of them had to get their brake pads replaced. They resumed their ride at 6:30 PM and took the Hyderabad road. After riding almost 150 kilometers, their bodies were low on battery and they stopped at a highway hotel. However, as always, the first hotel is not our hotel. This one was too expensive. A stranger approached them and told them that he knew a hotel that was affordable and decent. The boys followed him and true to his word, the hotel was indeed a good one. They were in Pandharkawada, Maharashtra, at the end of day 3.

The hotel owner’s son was a member of the local ‘Avenger Riders Group’. This meant that Khan and Thorappan couldn’t sleep until they heard out all his adventure stories. Two other riders from Karnataka, who were on their way to Ladakh, too stayed the night in that hotel. One of them rode a Duke 390, while the other an Apache 200. Khan, who had already done Ladakh a couple of years back, gave them some useful tips. When they woke up the next morning, the guys had already left.

The plan for day 4 was a bit ambitious, to the extent that there wasn’t a day 5 in the plan! They decided to ride the remaining 985 kilometers to Bangalore in a single day – an endurance ride.

(to be continued…)

Chapter 18_Aane Kee Sambhaavana Hai

Chapter 18

Aane Kee Sambhaavana Hai

The lady officer did the calculations and I had to pay 1586 bucks – only. Mahesh had another mild attack. Besides, I saved another two hundred bucks as well, a sum which would have been claimed by the ‘dictating officer’ for his yet another ‘favour’.

Outside, Batman had been packed. Mahesh told me that the porters didn’t wait for the entire fuel to burn out. In a way it was good for us. I had been worrying about how a fuel-injection bike, without a ‘kick start’, would behave on attempting to start it after the entire petrol had been drained out of the fuel line. Now that some fuel was left in the tank, the creature in my head had one less thing to eat my head for. Nevertheless, it was against the law. The tin slate with the identification number was hung on the bike – hundred bucks. The porters then demanded another two hundred bucks for loading the bike into the train in the evening. We got a feeling that they were trying to take advantage of our situation. We told them that the payment would be made after loading.

 Batman all set to be entrained…

Around 1 PM, we were done with the formalities. We were tired and hungry. It was decided that one of us would go for lunch, while the other sat guard for the luggage, in the waiting room. The cloak room refused to accept our luggage, for some weird reasons (I am not able to recollect them now). Mahesh went for lunch. He came back after what seemed like a lot of time. He then sat guard, while I went out to attend to the calls from my starving tummy. There were plenty of shops on either side of the road outside the station. Shopkeepers waved from the entrances of their shops, trying to lure me in. I walked into one of the many shops that offered biriyani.

The Parcel Way Bill

‘Biriyani is an emotion’ could be a cliché. However, biriyani is indeed an emotion. In India, every few hundred kilometers the biriyani is different – from the colour, to the ingredients, the aroma and most importantly the taste. The biriyani that was served in that small shop in Siliguri was different in its own way. However, it did not make much of an impression on my mind.

ID card…

I had contracted a mild cough, and was a little worried about the next two days in an air-conditioned coach. I rang up Vishnu, one of my partner-in-crimes from school days. He had added a prefix to his name just a couple of months back - Dr. He asked me to get a cough syrup with a particular chemical composition. I went around looking for ‘dhawayi’ shops. The one that I managed to find did not have the type of syrup that Vishnu had suggested. I then rang him up again and got his approval to buy the medicine that was available there.

My phone beeped. It was a message from Indian Railways – my ticket had been confirmed. I had sought the help of Sreenath, my other partner-in-crime from school, for this. (Together Vishnu, Sreenath and I had done quite a lot of ‘crimes’ in our higher secondary days. They would qualify for a blog of their own). Waitlisted 6 in second AC was tough. However, I trusted the ‘MP quotas’. Not doing so would have been floccinaucinihilipilification.

Aronai Express was late, by an hour at first, two later and three after that. Mahesh kept visiting the godown, where his bike had been packed and kept, every now and then. It was still there, which worried him. It was supposed to be moved to the platform on which the train would arrive. I went to the luggage office to enquire about it. They told me that their part of the deal was over and the rest of the processes had to be taken care of by the office in the next room. The young officer in that next room, in white and white, was an arrogant fellow. When I asked him about moving the bike to the platform, he gave me a curt reply: “the train will come. We will look if there is space in the luggage compartment. If there is enough space, we will load the bike.” I got a sense that things wouldn’t be smooth. During the next couple of hours, Mahesh paid a visit to the godown every fifteen minutes.

Meanwhile, Thorappan and Khan were having a tough time on the road. Their destination for day one had been Patna. Soon after leaving Siliguri, they got company – the goddess of rain. Things were quite smooth until before they almost reached Patna, after sunset. The rain had intensified by then. The little TV in a tea shop in Patna told them that the city was flooding. The guys did not think much – they fled the flood. The Ganges had taken over the slums on its banks and the sights that they saw over the next few kilometers terrified the boys; they kept riding until they reached Aurangabad, 150 kilometers from Patna, late into the night. The (room) booking apps did not make their life any easy. After the initial confusions (which they were used to by then), they got a room in a hotel near the highway. The AC in the ‘air-conditioned’ room didn’t work due to low voltage!

Rain, rain, rain again…

The next day, as they were getting ready their bikes, goddess rain wished them ‘good morning’. She followed them for the rest of the day. The roads were… Well, there were no roads as such, apparently. They were able to cover only a couple of hundred kilometers before the sun punched out. “A guy at a tea shop told us that things would get better when we enter Madhya Pradesh. We are planning to cover some more distance before we call it a day”. They told us over phone that evening. Aronai Express hadn’t arrived yet.

One of their breaks with nature…

At around 6:30 PM, the announcement came, that “ghaadi number ek dho paanch shoonya aat Aronai Express from Silchar to Thiruvananthapuram via… dhodi bhi dher mem platform number theen par aayega”. We went to the godown. Mahesh’s bike was still there. We went to the office of the arrogant officer. He repeated his slogan. The porters were nowhere to be seen. We walked to platform number three, with all our luggage.

It was dark. The platform wasn’t lighted well, nor our hearts. The train arrived. Mahesh boarded. I then ran to the luggage coach at the front. I struggled to breathe, running with all my stuff – a bag each on my left and right shoulders, a cover full of things in my left hand and my helmet in the right. The luggage compartment was locked. I ran to the arrogant office. He causally responded that if not this train, the bike would be sent on the next train. I ran back to the platform. A guy came and sealed the lock on the door of the luggage compartment, like how they seal seized properties. I told him that my friend’s bike had to be loaded. He responded that he wasn’t informed about any such thing.

The train started to move. Mahesh called me. I picked up the call, worried what to tell him.

“My bike is not on the train, right?”

(to be continued…)