Leaving the Station

 A rough day at work. Correction – another rough day at work. Listening to stupid supervisors, directing the laborious labourers, and uploading everything on the sluggish system – this train journey was a break blessing from the hell that was my life of being a junior construction engineer.

As always, I was stuck at work for longer than expected and had to rush through the train station crowd. I had so dearly wanted to pick a Dhruv comic book on my way but then I would have surely missed the train. With a slight regret, I made my way to my seat – only to find the entire lower berth occupied by a family. “Uncle, this is my seat. Can you check your ticket once? I am sure there has been a mistake,” I said to the man who was busy eating a banana.

“Yes, it could be your seat. We will sit here for some time and, once the train starts, we will be on our way. Our seats are too crowded right now. Just let us finish our lunch,” he said calmly and took another bite of his banana. For lunch.

I sighed, looked around for a place to sit and found one on the side lower berth. I did not want to miss out on the fun of looking out at the neighbouring train when the train started moving – its slowness kept one guessing about which one was moving.

“Are you always this kind or just too silly to believe that they will leave?” In my eagerness to observe the trains, I had not noticed the girl sitting opposite to me. She continued reading her comic book even while I struggled to make sure that she was talking to me. It was a Nagraj comic book and I felt slightly jealous.

“They’ll leave, right?” I turned my gaze away from her to see the man take out his chappals, and get comfortable by folding his legs under him. The banana was in its last stage.

“Of course, they will. Once they reach their destination,” she replied as she turned a page, “Just ask them to leave. Unless you plan to sit on my seat for the entire journey, which, frankly, is out of the question,” she smiled.

“Can you guess which train is moving right now?” I asked her – as I saw the other train move, or was it ours that was leaving?

She looked at me oddly, narrowing her eyes as she shook her face, “Just look at the wheels?”

Instinctively, I saw our train’s wheels moving and thought, ‘What a killer of joy! The idea is not to look at the wheels.’ I saw the girl place her comic book, still open but face down, on her backpack as she stood up and left. I noticed that her backpack was exactly like mine, except for a little keychain of the Hulk dangling by the zip on its side pocket. What a character!

Meanwhile, my berth’s colonizer was collecting his family’s banana peels in a plastic bag and was shoving it under my berth. I returned to look out of the window – it was time to enjoy the backward flow of numbers on the poles near the station. 37… 36… 35…

“These ones?” I heard a man say as he pointed at the family. The girl, who had spoiled my guess-the-moving-train game gave a little nod, and the ticket checker immediately asked the occupant family to show their tickets. The banana guy tried to reason with him but, eventually, all of them stood up to leave. “Take your trash along,” said the girl as she got back to reading her Nagraj ka Badla. The man looked at her in anger, picked up the plastic bag, and shepherded his family away.

“That was well done,” I picked up my backpack, kept it on my now-empty berth and took my seat while smiling at the girl.

“You should have done that yourself. And you are welcome,” I was getting used to this sarcastic tone.

“Oh yes, thanks. I didn’t know it would work like that. Did you have to bribe him?” I asked her while taking out my wallet.

“Not everything works on bribes. Sometimes, you just have to act,” she said, still refusing to get her eyes away from the comic book.

The view outside the window from my berth’s side was not so engaging – just plain grounds and meaningless trees. I had lost count of the poles of course. Nagraj’s queen had cost me the thrill of two games now.

I was about to take my earphones out of my backpack when I saw the Hulk keychain dangling in its side pocket. Oh no! Nagraj lady was surely going to spit venom at me now. Just as I picked it up to return it to her, my eye was caught by the envelope peeking out of the bag’s front pocket. I recognized its peculiar pink and that offensively filthy floral design. I immediately picked up the backpack, approached the girl, and said, “Excuse me. I am sorry but I picked your bag by mistake.” She took the bag and kept it behind her. As I continued to stand next to her, she simply looked at me and raised her eyebrows in question.

“Are you going to Delhi for Unnati’s wedding?” I asked.

“You had no courage to talk to the ticket checker but you had enough of it to go through my bag?” she asked as she snapped shut the adventures of Nagraj.

“Wait, wait. I didn’t go through your bag. I just saw that ugly invitation card in its front pocket,” I said pointing at the bag.

She looked back at her bag and said calmly, “Hmm, yes. I am going to Unnati’s wedding. More like Bipin’s wedding. I mean I am going from the groom’s side.”

“Do you mind giving Nagraj a break? I have something to tell you about Unnati and standing in this passage is a bit awkward,” I said. The train had come to a random halt – quite usual with Indian trains.

We were soon sitting next to each other. “Well, so… before I start,” I said as I took out the same invitation card from my backpack, “I am going to the same wedding. Unnati happens to be my ex. And I don’t know how to put it mildly but she is a horrible person!”

“Wait, you’re going to your ex’s wedding?” she asked looking at me in amusement.

“I know how it seems but her family is like a friend of my family’s and I am going as the representative. But if you are the friend of the groom’s, I thought I’d let you know about Unnati - an attempt to save him? Consider it as a favour for what you did for me, maybe.” I left my words hanging.

“Well, this is awkward. Bipin is not my friend. He is my ex,” she let out a loud laugh, “And thank you for letting me know that Unnati is his perfect match. How I’d love to see them both suffer! I am Preksha, and you are…?” she asked.

The train’s wheels were set into motion.

Goa Trip

Somewhere around in June, a friend whom I had last met around five years ago, messaged to ask if I am free in the last week of July for a three-day road trip with two other friends. I instantly decided to join in. We kept going back and forth while finalizing the plan. Eventually, the full-fledged road trip plan was cancelled since a soon-to-be-married friend's family/soon-to-be-family told him that a road trip might not be safe. Finally, we decided to meet in Goa and take things up from there. Meanwhile, we asked friends on social networks about the best pubs, places to visit, etc. knowing fully well that we won't be going to any of them.

The anticipation for the trip showed itself in the form of countdown messages like 'Only a month to go', 'Just a fortnight more', and 'Next Saturday it begins' that we sent each other on the messaging group.

I had a stopover at Mumbai airport for a couple of hours. If you're looking for an in-your-face scam, look no further than the prices at an airport food-court. The ideal place to sit at the 1A terminal food-court is the long table that has charging points. It's an enjoyable experience to watch people roam around looking at the foodstuff, checking out the prices, getting disappointed and going back hungrily to their seats in the company of their gadgets. If only WiFi connections could feed us... Look out of the window and there's a thoroughly contrasting life of slum-dwellers.

"Can I make a call from your phone? I don't have STD on my phone," somebody said while I was lost in the dark world of A Feast for Crows.  "Sure," I said and asked him the number. He turned out to be from Hyderabad as evidenced by his Hyderabadi accent. I chirped a bit with him in Hindi only so that I could amuse myself with his Hyderabadi accent.

The flight was as bland as the cookies that it offered. The only chuckle arrived in the form of an aunty's question. She asked if she could have a look at the book that I was reading.
"Which number book is this in the series?", she asked.
"It's the fourth book," I answered.
"Have you read the previous three too?", she asked.
I was stunned as my soul rolled in laughter.

I had heard that summer and monsoon are off-seasons for Goa. However, the Dabolim airport didn't bear any testimony to this. It was abuzz with passengers. I remembered what our pilot had said after landing - "There's no off season in Goa." The toilets were full and there was at least a kilometre long queue at the ladies' toilet - a rare disadvantage of being a lady.

The taxi rules seemed to have changed at the airport and I could take a taxi only through the prepaid counters. I remember the last time I was there, I had ventured outside the airport building and the drivers had offered cheaper fares.

"So when are you leaving?", the taxi driver asked me as soon as I sat. Of course, he was desperate for more business and I managed to extract a Rs.100 discount on return fare. He asked if I wanted a place to stay or a vehicle on hire or cheap alcohol or some company of girls. Such a diversified business was last displayed by the Tata group. Traffic is a funny business in Goa. The taxi driver brought excitement into the seemingly boring task of driving by engaging into smoking, talking on his phone about getting a Portuguese citizenship, and leaning out of the window to clean the windshield. There was a time when he did all three of these together and I was thinking which of my possessions would interest the first person who finds my body. Then the taxi-driver asked me where Nagpur is. When I told him that it's near Hyderabad, he asked if there's no direct flight from Hyderabad. I was on the verge of drawing the map of India in order to explain him that Nagpur and Hyderabad are two different cities.

By the time, I reached the hotel, my friends had left for a beach. They promised to return within thirty minutes and asked me to freshen up. "People with clean souls don't need to freshen up," I told myself and roamed around the hotel to see if I could dig into some fish and pacify the parched throat. Alas! Goa off-season struck. Most of the places were closed. Fish was at exorbitantly high prices. Thankfully, friends arrived soon after. Meeting somebody after years comes with this extra discomfort of hesitant hugs where you don't know if you have to hug or shake a hand and land up awkwardly somewhere in between.

We went to Chapora fort to revive the memories of good ol' Dil Chahta Hai. Parking a car outside the fort is a bitch thanks to the steep slope and I had to struggle while making the car stop. It was so damn difficult that I almost decided to jump out of the vehicle while it was still rolling down. Thankfully, a friend took the reins and parked it as desired. The friends who had gotten down kept giggling throughout my battle with parking.

Chapora fort, did I say? More like Chapora wall. There's nothing that resembles a fort except a keep in one corner and a mighty gate. Well, whatever it is, the view from the top is amazing. We spent a few moments looking at the sea and pondered over thoughts like if one starts swimming from here, how long will it take to reach Africa. We got out of a small door of the fort and walked down a bit further into a flat area that looks into the sea. A friend decided not to come down because he'd had a 'life-threatening slip on the pebbles because of his slippery slippers'. This became our teasing weapon throughout the tour and we kept asking him if he's comfortable in the car and is sure that he won't slip.

The off-season ghost haunted us during dinner too as most of the roadside little eateries offering nice yet cheap meals and accompaniments were closed. I asked the sea-food craving monster inside me to go to sleep and not to wake up until this trip is over.

The next day we decided to go beach hopping in South Goa. Our hotel had a complimentary breakfast. It included the cheapest and worst tasting jam and butter. Anyway, we had to have something to replace hunger with food.

We started off with Pallolem beach. It was quite breezy and the sea seemed upset. We saw a few fishermen taking their boat out of the water. It was a struggle to keep it calm in those restless waters. They had a long rope going into the sea. A fishing net was obviously at work at its end. We asked a fisherman how quickly the net would be drawn out. "An hour," he told. We walked around with the aim of reaching a group of rocks at one end of the beach. The walking trail took us through a small village and we were lost for a few minutes. Walking through densely grown plants showed us that the mosquitoes weren't having an off-season. The rocky place turned out to be surrounded by extremely dirty water. The villagers had been clearly using it for purposes other than fishing.

Dudhsagar falls were on our plan but we were not quite sure about how to reach there. We met an uncle while looking for the way back from the rocky part of the beach and asked him about the way to Dudhsagar. First he said, "You have phones, right? Look up the maps in your phone and go." Wow! Then he said that he provides jeep for the tour but not in this season. More uncertainty. By the time we made it back to the beach, the fishermen had taken their net out and it was full of fish and crabs. It didn't seem to be a big loot though.

We left the Pallolem beach to reach Agonda beach. It was quite remote and there was absolutely nobody except for the four of us and the lifeguards. This one was more beautiful and serene than the Pallolem beach.

It was late afternoon by the time we reached the town of Margao. We parked the car near a sweets shop that also offered samosas and kachoris. The search for a decent eating place turned out to be rather disappointing as almost everything, except the bakeries, was closed. We decided to stick to the sweets shop. Being so starved meant that the first few sips of tea seemed like the first drops of rain on a sap in a desert. The shop had run out of samosas. But the kachoris were quite decent too and turned out be our only lunch.

Next, we headed our wheels towards Aguada fort. We saw the Kingfisher mansion on the way. A couple of us toyed with the idea of having a look at the vintage cars inside but then rain and our tired bodies made us decide against it. It was almost sunset when we made it to Candolim beach. This one had a few people. The breeze was extremely pleasant; one that'd make you look deep into the sea and think about useless things like the purpose of life. We decided to eat a little something at the 'Sunny Side Up' restaurant at the beach. Here we learnt that fishing is prohibited at many beaches during monsoon and they have to transport seafood from the beaches where it is allowed. This shoots up its price during the off-season.

After our dinner, we roamed around in the seemingly hip areas that host pubs like Titos, Mambos, Mambas and similar sounding words. The streets were full of guys. The looks on their faces suggested that they were expecting to be swooped up by girls in bikinis arriving straight from heaven. We kept driving until we reached a place that was so deserted and had the airs of being haunted. The walls around had words like tantra/mantra and we hurried back to the hotel. Dudhsagar was on the cards for the next day and based on inputs from rather untrustworthy sources, we decided to leave for Kulem station early morning.

The dread of the horrible breakfast was soon overtaken by the joy of the lovely road that leads up to Kulem. It was surrounded by a dense cover of trees on both sides and had frequent ups and downs that made the ride thoroughly delightful. Even when we reached Kulem, we didn't quite know our way to Dudhsagar. A few locals offered to take us pillion on bikes for around Rs.700 for a two-way ride. At the Kulem station, more uncertainty followed as there was only one train to Castle Rock and it didn't even stop at Dudhsagar which was inconveniently located mid-way between Kulem and Castle Rock. The only solution was to take the train to Castle Rock and take another train back that halted at Dudhsagar. But from there, there was no other train and we were to walk back 12.5 kms.! The stationmaster heard our disappointment at the prospect of walking and gave us a line to keep our hopes high - "Kuchh paane ke liye kuchh khona bhi padta hai."

We pleaded the train driver to make a stop at Dudhsagar. Some dude quoted a figure of 200 people who wanted to get down at Dudhsagar but the train driver refused plainly. During our journey to Castle Rock, we got a good look at the falls. It was funny how people at the falls hi-ho'd at us train passengers as if they were teasing us. Castle Rock station seemed to be on the verge of being taken over by plants. Almost every exposed area was under a carpet of algae. We had tea on the station and got the much needed tar-o-taazgi. We asked the stationmaster if there'd at least be a goods train to carry us from Dudhsagar. He said that there won't be any more trains in the day after the passenger train that dropped us off at Dudhsagar. The unreserved compartments of the train from Castle Rock to Dudhsagar were completely packed and utterly filthy so like law-breaking posh citizens, we entered the reserved compartment  The ticket checker dutifully asked us to go to the unreserved compartment. We merely switched from one reserved compartment to another.

We reached Dudhsagar falls and what a sight it was to have a look at it up close! I have never seen any waterfall as big as this one. It was big not just in height but also in width. We oooh-aaah'd at the fall for sometime. Now the toughest task began - walking back to Kulem for 12.5 kms. There is no separate walking track and one has to walk along the train tracks which is full of rocks.

Walking through tunnels is a different experience altogether as they're pitch dark in the middle portion. Also, their narrowness doesn't make a happy experience. If you're on the side of the track and a train approaches, all you'll be able to do is cling to the nearby wall (which might be soaked or worse still - have snakes or rats on it). While we were about to enter one such tunnel, we heard a train's horn. We thought that it was far way away. But towards the last few meters of the tunnel, it became clear that the train was quite close and was coming at us at a scary speed! We dashed out of the tunnel just in the nick of time and had a hearty laugh about it. Talk about being Aamir Khan in Ghulam!

We saw a small automatic carriage carrying a bunch of people on the track. We asked them to let us get on it but they turned us down. "You're too many," one of them said. Four of us? Too many? In India?

Sonalim is a station between Dudhsagar and Kulem which offered us the much-needed shelter during a slightly harsh rainfall that appeared just as the automatic carriage ignored us. The stationmaster told us that the falls had hardly any visitors until they were recently featured in the movie Chennai Express. He also told us that the automatic carriage is only for saahibs. This one had come from Hubli. May his shoe lose its sole for not taking us on-board! The writing was clear on the wall of this small station. Kulem was a good 8 kms. away. The stationmaster then asked us to go away because our talking was disturbing him in his communication with the aliens.

After walking a few more kilometres (around 4 which seemed like 400), an old man was walking with us. He asked us to stop the approaching goods train. The goods train passed us and we requested the person in the last carriage to make it stop. But it kept running away from us. We had gotten used to this kind of disappointment by now. But then it magically slowed down. We unleashed our inner Usain Bolt and started running towards it. Then it picked speed again. Bloody hell! We thought the train driver was playing a trick on us. And then suddenly it stopped. We made a dash towards it again and caught it. Phew! After walking 8 kms, the joy derived by catching something that would carry you for 4 kms is difficult to put in words. The crowd on the train had a cruel laugh at us. They had walked back to Dudhsagar station and had asked the station master to flag down this goods train. We reached Kulem, made it back to our hotel, dined and slept.

The next day was the day of departure from Goa. We talked about going for a similar trip again. We all knew that it won't happen any time soon. May be it won't happen ever. But if a chance arrives, I'll definitely be in.

Besides the whole experience of visiting amazing places, this short trip was memorable because of the endless talks that touched important topics like why are there no girls in bikinis in this season, why's this an off-season in Goa, how can we improve access to remote touristy places, evolution of life, end of world, etc. All the talks were kept alive and kicking by random lines from Andaz Apna Apna, Vicky Donor, Khosla ka Ghosla and Dil Chahta Hai.

Wish there are more such fun times with friends. With a nice company, there can be no off-seasons.