From Bhubaneswar to Konark

“Coldddrrreeeanks, chai, kafi, idli vada…..chikeeeeii.” Bhupathi was used to the general commotion of the mobile tea and coffee valaas (vendors) in indian trains as he was traveling from Bubaneshwar to Konark. The rain water was gushing into the berths through the windows. The water had an eerie smell of rust and dust. The rainfall was like a blessing after last season’s famine. One could sense an urgency among people as they placed their buckets outside their thatched huts to collect and store as much water as they could. Kids loved playing in the rain while their moms made fierce attempts in bringing them back home to prevent them from getting sick. Bhupathi cherished the cold droplets on his facial skin. The breeze as the train gained speed brought in a chill that made Bhupathi enjoy the moment of joy until the frustration of the passenger sitting on the opposite end was curmudgeonly demonstrated “Hello Meeshter. Would you be sho kind enough not to drench my clothes by shutting that bindow? We are not the billagers in the movie “Lagan” waiting por the crops to grow or something. Be conshiderate.” Bhupathi was a little taken aback by this young man of maybe 20 something. He also looked foreign or at least pretended to be foreign with his jeans, nike shoes, and the attitude. But he still had a strong bengali accent when he spoke english, of course, who else could say ‘hello mishter’. Bhupathi thought that this guy must be "In-Sen".

But Bhupathi was kind enough to oblige to the young man’s request or rather his order and said “Oye, I am sorry. I was just in my own world. By the by, my name is Bhupathi. I’m a townie traveling to Konark. How about you Mr…?”

The young man was a little suspicious to be interrogated so easily. He was always advised by his elders to be careful with strangers in the train and was warned not to give out any information. He even remembered his grandmother’s last few words on her death-bed “Beta, don’t ever listen to anybody in the train. The biggest mistake I ever made was when I started chatting with your grandfather 65 yrs ago.” Sadly, these were the words that she uttered before her last breath. The young man said “I’m Saleem.” Saleem had always wondered what his grandpa was like. He had only seen his villainous pictures where strings of white hair that could be drawn into wires poked out through both of his nostrils and ears, a patch of white stubble attaching his neck and chest was conspicuously reflecting back light from the flash of the camera and all this made him look like an old grizzly bear in his 70’s. Something from the photos also intuitively hinted that his grandpa had more hair on his back than his chest. The only place where he didn’t have hair was his head. Saleem really felt sorry for his grandmother as she was so pretty and that they had four beautiful kids, one of them being his own mom. The fact that Bhupathi reminded Saleem of his grandpa made him all the more wild and angry. So he refused to make a conversation and turned his face in the opposite direction after mentioning his name.

Bhupathi on the other hand was curious to meet young people and loved to learn from their experiences. But since Saleem’s hostility was blatantly demonstrated from the start of their meeting he decided not to prod further. The train was now passing corn fields by the sides and Bhupathi watched the workers in their colorful clothes. Some of the workers paused for a moment to observe the passing train. Occasionally little boys and girls would run close to the railway tracks and wave to the passengers. Just as Bhupathi was enjoying the scenery he felt a pat on his shoulder. It was the ticket-master. Apparently he had been shouting out his name for the last 2 minutes or so and proclaimed him deaf. As Bhupathi turned around, the ticket-master voluntarily came close to his ears and began yelling “EXCUSE ME SIR. CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW.” Bhupathi wondered if the ticket-master was recruited by the Indian railways on a special quota for the mentally-ill. The ticket-master shouted so loudly that his mouth opened in a maniacal fashion as though lord Krishna was showing the whole world to his mom in the Mahabharath, the difference being that the ticket-master’s mouth smelled of Meeta (sweet) pan. He also felt a shower of his watery mixture of secretions from his salivary glands and for a moment Bhupathi wished he had glasses equipped with wipers like the college student in the movie Mein Hoon Na. The ticket-master took a deep breath and started to yell again but Bhupathi was just in time to lift his hands and cover his face. But he would have been glad if he had covered his ears. Bhupathi wasn't sure whether to shut the ticket-master's mouth or his own face, eyes and ears. He finally yelled “I CAN HEAR SIR. I CAN HEAR. I AM NOT DEAF.” It felt like the whole train was quiet after his yell, but that was more psychological than anything else. It was impossible to bring the attention of a thousand people with a mere scream. Bhupathi sometimes felt that India needed more than just one prime minister to manage all of the nation's problems to bring in reforms. Bhupathi immediately handed the ticket to avoid further discussion. The ticket-master took Bhupathi’s ticket and tallied it with the list he had on his notepad. The ticket-master had the look of a strict school-teacher with huge black framed spectacles with strings hanging by either ends of his face and his glasses would constantly fall down the bridge of his nose at regular intervals, he wore a black coat over his white shirt and white trousers. Even though the ticket-master didn’t have a photo to tally he gave Bhupathi multiple looks that were a combination of fear, suspicion and anger. Within 20 minutes of handing the ticket back to Bhupathi the train was coming to halt and he could see the sign for Konark. Saleem was glad to get out of the tumultuous milieu in the train while Bhupathi was glad to be back to his town and they parted their own ways.