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…)

Chapter 17_The Railway Cross

Chapter 17

The Railway Cross

Thank God, there were no vehicles behind me, except for a scooter guy. He stopped his vehicle, came to me and helped lift Batman off me. “All okay”, he asked with a smile. I nodded. My brain had gone numb after the sudden turn of events. The protective gears ensured that I didn’t suffer any injuries. It was not the case with Batman though. The handle bar had bent inwards slightly. However, there were no hindrances for riding. At a distance, a jeep full of people were chilling by the side of the road. All their eyes were on me. ‘Attention’ being something I’m averse to, I gathered myself and continued the ride.

Batman’s disoriented handlebar did muddle the peaceful waters of my mind. I had to distract myself. “How shall I break the news to the guys?” I role-played the scene in my head, with different dialogues. Finally, when I met them, Khan and Thorappan, after fifteen minutes, this was what I uttered: “Guys, I kissed and bid farewell to NH 10.” Unfortunately, the dialogue didn’t bring about the desired effect. Dumb fellas couldn’t crack it. I had to then tell them plainly that I fell down. Sigh!

We had stopped for tea. The sun was already passing the baton to the moon. Mahesh arrived after a while. Unlike the three of us, he hadn’t been tested by the road. To look at it another way, he had one less story to tell.

We had another 20 kilometers to Siliguri. New Jalpaiguri Railway Station was our destination. We had to enquire about the procedures for parceling bikes. The traffic thickened as we entered the outskirts of the city. Google Maps led us to the railway station via alternate routes. It was a pretty big station; in fact, a very important junction that connected the north eastern states to the rest of India. Khan and I walked into the station, in search of the ‘parcel office’. We had our riding gears on – jackets and knee guards – which turned people’s attention towards us. Perhaps, we looked like terrorists – the conventional ones. The parcel office was at one end of platform one. Khan spoke to one of the guys there, who said that it wasn’t much of a deal; we just had to bring the bikes three hours before the scheduled departure of our trains.

We walked back to our bikes, as numerous stares pierced through our armours. During their wait, Mahesh and Thorappan had met a soldier from Kerala. He had approached them after spotting the Kerala registered bikes. He was delighted to have met someone from ‘home’. 3000 kilometers away, the concept of home was broader.

We had booked rooms at the very same place we had stayed during the onward journey – Shibani Homestay. On the way from the railway station to the homestay, my bike ran out of fuel. I was shell-shocked. The last warning hadn’t come. The first warning is when the last bar starts blinking. After about 50-80 kilometers, this bar disappears and the fuel sign starts blinking. This is final warning after which a maximum of 40 kilometers can be covered. This critical warning wasn’t given this time and it was the first time in his life that Batman ran out of food. The other three were ahead of me. I rang up Thorappan, who took a U-turn and came to me. He had stock in his jerry cans.

The deedi at Shibani Homestay was surprised to see us again. So was her little brother. Like last time, Thorappan and I settled into one room, while Khan and Mahesh took the adjacent one. We took much-needed baths after the no-water morning in Gangtok. Khan and Thorappan went out to get food. We were longing to have some chicken and therefore their task was to get something Arabian. However, Siliguri didn’t have much options for that; besides the prices were too high as well. Nevertheless, we didn’t leave our desires unfulfilled. Grilled chicken, dragon chicken, fried rice and fermented grains were there on our menu that night.

We sat together on one bed for dinner. Four hands went into one platter. The food was good. We spoke about our best memories of the past one week. We pulled each other’s legs. We laughed. The grains did their job quite well. This was our last night together in this trip.

The next morning woke up to us sevenishly. Thorappan and Khan went down to the garage to get ready their machines for the long ride. Mahesh and I gave them company. At 9, they were ready to leave. We hugged each other. Over the last thirteen days we had built a strong bond among us – one that was cast in times of dreaming together, moulded in times of happiness and thrill, tested in times of distress and disappointment, and finally polished in times of fulfillment and hope.

Adios!

After Thorappan and Khan left, Mahesh and I went back to bed. Deedi served us breakfast after a while. We did not have elaborate plans for the day. After noon, we planned to drop Mahesh’s bike at the railway station and get the parceling processes done. If time and mood permitted, we would visit Hong Kong market, a popular street market in Siliguri, on our way back. The next day noon, we would leave to the station on my bike. Mahesh’s train was at 4 PM and mine was at 9.

Shibani Homestay, Siliguri

At around 2 in the afternoon, we went to the railway station. I parked my bike in the parking lot and went with Mahesh. The station had numerous platforms and a foot over bridge stretched across from the first platform to the last one. We had to ride on this bridge to get the bike to the parcel office. Mahesh started to sweat. This was perhaps the greatest challenge he had faced on a motorcycle. People walked up and down the bridge. They gave him stares, as it was not normal for a bike to be rode on a foot over bridge. His speedometer didn’t reach the double digits. I couldn’t but help laughing. I controlled myself though, after suddenly realizing that I too would have to undergo this test the next day!

At the parcel office, they asked us to get the bike packed first. We approached the porters there who told us that the packing would cost us 700 bucks. They emptied the fuel from the bike, till the last drop. As per rules, the vehicle is not supposed to start after that. Two litres of petrol was retrieved, which we gifted to the porters. The bike was then covered with carton boxes and plastic sacks. We were not very satisfied with the packing; we didn’t have better options though. Back in the parcel office we were asked to fill a form, with details about the travel and the bike. Additional details such as “petrol tank empty; not packed with wooden crates; old and used” etc. were dictated to me by the officer. After filling up the form, we had to take it to another officer, a lady, sitting next to the dictating officer. She was busy with some other work and we waited patiently. After a while, she took our form, referred her handbook and made some calculations. The transportation cost was nearly 5000 bucks. Mahesh had a mild attack.

Paperwork for Mahesh’s vehicle…

After payment, we were asked to get the receipt number written on the bike. This was done by another guy who charged us 100 bucks for that. The number was written on a tin slate and hung on the bike. As we were getting this done, the officer who had made us to fill the forms came to us and told in a low voice that he had not written the actual specifications of the bike on the form as it would cost us around 18,000 bucks to transport it then. He explained how he was doing a favour for us. I read between the lines. We paid him 200 bucks. The bike was then moved to a godown.

Wrapped up…

Mahesh and I went back to the homestay on my bike. There was very little fuel left in it. We realized that we could have used some of the petrol from Mahesh’s bike to fill mine. We were not in a mood for Hong Kong market. We spent the rest of the day in our room.

The next morning, we hired an electric auto with the help of the homestay family. We loaded our luggage onto this auto. We bid farewell to deedi’s family and left for the station. Mahesh came in the auto. I filled petrol worth 30 bucks on the way. I was worried whether I would run out of fuel before reaching the station. At the same time, I did not want to waste fuel either.

The receipt that sent a shock wave down Mahesh’s spine…

Today it was my turn for the foot over bridge test. Luckily, there were very few people walking the bridge that day. I quickly got Batman to the parcel office. I then went back to help Mahesh bring all our luggage to the platform. By the time this was done, we were dripping wet in our sweat.

We then got my bike packed. Despite negotiation, the packing charge was the same. As there was very little petrol left in my bike, it was not pumped out. It was left on until it burned out. Meanwhile, I went to get the billing work done. There was a railway police officer sitting inside the parcel office. He enquired about our travel and helped me to fill the form. When the ‘dictating officer’ said that I need not give the actual specifications, the police officer intervened and said that it was better to give the actual details. In case of theft or damage, this would help me claim the maximum amount. Moreover, changing the details would not save me more than two or three hundreds. I looked at the dictating officer. His ‘18,000’ story had been exposed. He was visibly unhappy with the presence of the police officer and his intervention.

The destination on my form was MAS, which expanded to ‘Puratchi Thalaivar Dr. MGR Central’. “These southerners add their dad’s, granddad’s and great granddad’s names to their railway stations and bus stations,” mocked the unhappy officer, as he filled my details in his register. He assumed that I didn’t follow Hindi. ‘Third Language – Hindi’ in school never proved useful. However, he should have known that my roommate in EFLU was from Varanasi and two years with him had capacitated me to comprehend much of the Hindi that I heard. Most importantly, he should have known that I was quite proficient in Hindi swear words – “saaleh kauwah!”

(to be continued…)