We have recently hosted international guests from London and it has been a great way of giving back to the community. They have been extremely cooperative and understanding of local culture and appreciative of the experience.
Kindly feel free to connect with me for any queries.
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While many of us want to tick off our bucket-list with a rustic enfield driven expedition to the Himalayas with one of those unknown road trip groups that brings out your MAN vs WILD moment from camping in the wilderness with a Maggi and Hookah to driving through the rough ghats with a Petrol Pump almost 100 kms away and all essential supplies of petrol, engine oil, puncture kits, cooker and boots packed well, there is a route that diverts away from Leh, Ladakh, Kasaul, Manali and Rohtang to a generation of tribals living back in time, about 8 hours drive from Shimla via Narkanda to Rampur and Beyond; Welcome to Kinnaur district! There are times when you go to a place at the wrong time and there are places where you are wise enough to go to but do not have the time. Kinnaur for me was two times the former expedition. Hence, forgive me if I do not give you a Sociologists account of events. and it begins... On our expedition, we stayed back in Reckong Peo which is the district headquarters, a few hours from Rampur. We decided to park here at the PWD guest house and visit the beautiful spontaneous people of Riba, Skiba, Chitkool & Sangla over the next few days at their homes. Our first house was of our neighbour in Shimla who belonged to Riba. The local yumm Rajma Chawwal was foodgasm and their apple orchards exported 25 lakhs worth of apples straight abroad way back in 2007. Most of Kinnaur had been swept away by the China Dam burst and subsequent flooding of the Baspa river forcing people to go up the cliff as much as possible to escape from the natural disaster. It was a tremendous experience learning about Kinnuar from the locals. Religion, Homes & Festivals This house in Kinnaur had both the influences of Buddhism and Hinduism. This relatively richer home had a Kali Mata temple along with a Buddha temple in their premises. Wooden Homes, Apple orchards, rice & Rajma fields, A fireplace for cooking and protection from the chill, narrow picturesque lanes made of bricks & stone leading to the innocent homes with the music of the gushing waters that came from the melted snow, Kinnaur looked unpolluted, serene, magical & ancient. This makes Kinnaur timeless. Amongst the more commercial areas is Reckong Peo where you'd have access to a Telephone Booth to make calls to Shimla at 2 rs per minute pulse, way back in 2007. The tribals here believe to be the descendants of the Pandavas & the Kauravas. On religious festivals, Kinnauri's dress up in traditional wear and take their 'Devi Mata' on a Parade..Two key people holding the Matas Pallaki receive omens from the Goddess and console people looking to answers.Their marriages are pretty interesting; a boy and girl can legally flee to an unknown place and are married off on their return. Women, yet again... However, with all the magic around, the position of women still remains backward; they do all the household errands, carry cylinders on their back for many kilometers due to lack of road transport available, make 'Angoree' (local alcohol like cider) for their husbands many of who go astray & Polyandry is also practiced here owing to the descent from the Pandavas. The Ancient Healers The next part of our Journey was to Skiba, a village few kilometers ahead of Riba where we had heard of an ancient healer. The pathway to the healers home also was beautiful with apple trees in their nascent stage where the plant looks like a Transparent Buttefly Wings in plenty. These partial blossoms on both ends of the narrow lane had fresh cold water from the melting snow flowing down towards his house. I could hear a dog bark, this one was a sure shot canine that was desperate to bite someone as if deprived. I reached his wooden home & waited outside in the rectangular balcony taken away at the spectacular topian world that I wanted to touch, hold and embrace. In a long shot large frame, I could see the panoramic snow clad mountains during the Months of April-May reddening with Apples that were in full blossom. There was a chair above a warm carpet, a nice cushion, blanket and red shawl with a few letters around, a pot of water and too many elements there with Buddhist influences. The hanging tinkling gongs that made an ear-gasmic musical sound (like that of the Talam) against the chilly winds injected life into me. It was nature at its fullest. A healer who treks to the Himalayas We met the ancient healer finally and saw him read through various ancient Buddhist texts while speaking to us, to continue to look for ailments for the various people who had visited him or written to him, yes there is a Post Office in Skiba. A triangular wooden hut in the backyard astonished my sense of discovery when I saw letters in Lakhs written to him by people who had come to know of him. The healer, nearly 60 years old, treks the mountains in search of healing herbs in order to create specially crafted medicines for the people who show him Love and write to him. An ancient healer that can cure a snakebite We had to move on from this place where Time stood still and get our clocks ticking. We left from the home to the neighbours home where the dog barked desperately. Amongst 4 sisters, the youngest one was given a Sacred Mantra (Religious chant) by here father on his deathbed. She was most loved and had the ancient solution to a snake bite. She could chant the sacred Mantra and one could see the snake & the pale poison disappear. One need not have to ampute the body part. She spoke to us of length of people who have come to her and offer her loads of money, that she couldnt take as it was against the boon received. A monk who could heal Fits And finally, driving through the rich fields along the Baspa river from Kalpa to Sangla PWD guest house where Sonia Gandhi had come over during the floods, we met the third ancient healer, the chief of a Monastry in Sangla where I sat amidst the newly inducted Buddhist Kids in their attire feeling at peace with myself amongst so much spontaneity. We spoke to the Monk who had a Mobile Phone, was around 40 years old, young & playful at heart with good humour and a charming wit. He introduced us to a kid undergoing ancient healing for Fits through his technique of placing a hot iron laddle on the kids head. To a layman, it would seem strange and raw but that was my last meeting with the ancient healer as he offered me Puri & Halwaa (a sweet).
There was another monastry left at one of the villages close to the China Border, Chitkool with a population of less than 1000 individuals. I could see kids play Cricket in the monastry with socks balls and remembered my Shimla home and friends, hailstones began to drop down and I had to rush back to avoid getting blocked in the snow filled roads. I lost all my photographs of the trip, as it happens to us during our best trips...However, the memory remains pure and unsullied right in my heart and I can feel it, recreate it and live it when the westernization gets the better of me at my job here in Mumbai.
I love the breeze that brushes past my face, making my hair fly while I stand on the 13th floor of building, watching the busy traffic down from my balcony
I love the sea whose gushing waters flirt with my feet in the early morning on an empty beach, when the Sun is just above to rise up red from the waters far off
I love the picturesque mountains that give me inspiration on my journey to the hills every summer
I love the deep Valleys that light up every night from the homes of innocent, spontaneous and humble people that reside there
I love the wooden bridges located above the white waterfalls that comes out of the melting snow
I love the Empty road that keeps my spirit curious when I travel to new lands or when I speed on my machine
I love the sun that comes out of the clouds and comforts me every wintry morning as I listen to the good times on my mother’s lap I love the dry leaves that layer up the sides of the roads in spring season just so perfectly crafted as if done by an artist
I love the trees that give me shade in the garden adding beauty to my fantasy while I sit listening to the grasshopper’s sounds I love the birds that chirrup every morning on my roof and take shelter under the tin when winter sets in
I love all the best things in life that lighten up my spirit and keep me going towards my goal… I love the creator and his creation and I pay my gratitude to GOD for sprinkling adventure and passion in my life!!!
The narrow gauge site recently got a heritage status. Once, you are here, you sure get a feel of the hilly ranges, the wilderness, the bird chirrups from hidings and the threatening monkey faces. It's nostalgic and indulging.
How I felt, I was done....untill I got a second life!
At 2 AM, Friday, an SMS comes beeping....... my eyelids fight with each other......I search lazily for my IM-MOBILE geek, unlock it and cry foul; "shit, silly SMS that gets forwarded from one cell to another," without giving a damn to it ot bothering to switch off the gadget.
At 2.02 AM, another SMS beeps in, my eyes do open, but my torso says, "leave it, just another silly one that gets passed on." But, curiosity kills the cat. I feel uneasy....stretch my hand to grab my IM-MOBILE again....This time, I unlock a treasure. It is the same friend.....but a typed SMS. The good news: SUSPENSE! I reply back to him almost immediately in affirmitive!
6 A.M. Next morning, I wake up early, do up my ablutions, help my mother at home at the same time waiting for the clock to tick and an important SMS to click. I do up some channel flipping, watch the INDIA-AUS series and look out of my door. Finally, the car arrives!
11 A.M. My friend had come. We had planned to go out to the hills. Our destination was undecided. Yet, we felt we had time to decide upon things. Two more friends joined us on our way uphill and we successfully passed the police barricades with circimspect eyes. The road from Chandigarh-Panchkula-Pinjore was a challenging one. Heavy traffic, loud noises inside the car, even louder sound tracks, polluting vehicles, truckloads, busses, irritating cycles, snail-paced tractors and sometimes egoistic chauffeurs unwilling to allow overtaking: all this is so typical, isnt it? However, the buzz was nice. Chandi-Mandir, the army base camp that looked immensely regulated, organized and peaceful was something interesting to watch amidst the noise.
While we gossiped inside the car, the hills were calling and the journey was altogether refreshing. It had been long since I acually thought of moving my body from my Internet connection and the daily college route. I was looking for a break and this one seemed just perfectly timed. There was none to stop me as my internet connection was down. LOL.
PINJORE GARDENS- EVERY VISITORS MUST-SEE At Pinjore, the lovely gardens on my left window captivated me as I had been there a couple of months back with a few friends. Infact, everyone visiting Chandigarh drops in here to watch the perfection with which these gardens are built with fountains and water in the midst and couples in hidings. We had strolled across these gardens with liberty, taken awesome snapshots, posed on the main bride across the water and had rested on the topmost point of the garden, where we did some role-play of the king, assuming we had gone back in time. We had ordered servants be brought, grass be cut, trees be shaped, damsels be called and what not! But, this was just fantasy and memory, when I looked back from the traffic that was now halted. The road towards Kalka and Parwanoo was a tight one as it has to pass through the busy Pinjore-Kalka market. For years there has been a talk of a direct road that would cut distances by several hours. However, leave aside materialize, I have never seen any such project commence.
KALKA To add irritation to the traffic, the Train barrier was closed. While I did see a few motorists and cyclists give a damn to the railway crossing, I did feel happy: I was to be on the track after some time. A few minutes later, in Kalka, being an Indian by heart, I looked outside towards the drivers window, where the DEVI MATA MANDIR is stationed. I quickly sent off a silent prayer and a small bow at the temple gate.
PARWANOO A few meters away was the Parwanoo Toll Tax Point with a board saying, WELCOME TO HIMACHAL PRADESH. WOW, I felt! The air itself was different. There was some chill, some childhood nostalgia, a different scent and an awesome feeling. It was bright, sunny and lovely. It looked like a dream had materialized and the world looked just perfect as the car gave a sharp turn at a hilly point on the National Highway from where nothing else except the distant mountains and the Timber Trail was visible. The rest was clear air.....A punjabi track was playing on the car stereo.
We had some good fun inside the car I remember. The topics raised were miscellaneous. And remember, They say, "friends are those who dont really expect you to talk sense." A cherry topping suddenly caught our eyes. A McDonalds outlet just near the Dharampur eateries area. We immediately got out from the car, stretched ourselves and got in. The scenery from the roof top eating space seemed immensely picturesuqe. The red Unmbrella bearing the Coca Cola logo with the chilling breeze and the shining afternoon sun. I sat under it and looked around it, to datant places. Trememdous! We quickly had some cool drinks, burgers, Ice-tea and eye feed: gorgeous girls! I know you must have already imagined things by now!
DHARAMPUR This is the point where every bus going towards or from SHIMLA for food. This place offers good commissions to drivers who halt their buses here; the reason why it is considered as a eating point apart from its central location. Just behind the eateries, you cant miss out the railway track, the KALKA-SHIMLA heritage track that was built in 1903. This one has 103 deep and dark tunnels through, a serpentile fashioned route, a mountain on one side and the deep valley below on the other, greedy monkeys at a few points and wilderness around the track. The tracks are comparatively smaller than usual train tracks.
TUNNEL NUMBER 15- HERITAGE RAILWAY TRACK built 100 years back This was our point too. Tunnel number 15 was a navigable one, which had a golf course kind of vicinity, a spine-chilling long dark tunnel and various other things that one imagines when one is all alone on an alien world. At once, we got down to the track through a slippery hilly path, with green pines welcoming us in a unique fashion. The bird chirrups, the busy road, the gusty breeze, scary tunnel and the valley below were clearly on our minds. We began taking aims at a point on the rail track and then a branch of a tree and then a hole in the tunnel wall and what not. We then decided to walk along the tunnel one-by-one. Macho-man, they say. But we all failed. No one was game. The first few steps seemd perfect. However, hallucinations scared the shit out of us. After much of screaming and confusion, we decided to hold hands and walk in together.
The spine-chillin 5 minutes The tunnel journey was something I cant forget. For the next 5 minutes, we talked about the possibility of the train coming and crushing us beneath it or a ghost coming out of the hiding, a leopard jumping from nowhere, vampires coming out from their hiding or just something unknown jumping up. If nothing else, I just imagined myself falling into the gutter and drowning. One of my friends, closed his eyes. The mobile light seemed ineffectve as we walked with snail-pace, with complete blindness, with no view of the other side, with ignorance, with the acceptance that we were done for sure and then came an unknown stink. It was a cow lying there, dead and half-eaten. Its killer, as we predcted was the train. However, the scavenger could have been something that could pull one of us into his hiding without the others knowing it. Well, fnally there was hope. It was broad daylight, at a stones throw distance. The tunnel was strangely semi-circular. The outside trees were clear and visible. Fallen pines and a KURKURE packet, did make me feel better, safe and back home on earth.
The rest of the time was spent in photography, mischief and fun. These little moments of laughter sometimes change your day. We then drank MANGO FROOTI, sorry if you thought VODKA.... And then, rushed back home, just when the classes get over around 3.30. Well, it was learning, but in a different manner. An outing, an adventure, a physical education practical, we called it, when we reached home!
I must say, the route was lengthier than this write-up!
-->Chandigarh is amongst the most happening cities in India. Be it the lush green view from the bus window or the attitude-filled damsels, Chandigarh simply amazes me and excites me. Rose Garden, Rock Garden, hang outs, crowd, sector-17, sec- 35, Morni Hills in the vicinity, IT park, upcoming Cini-plexes, growin' college population, wow, it cant get better! I am in love with it!
The Beginning
A few days back, I got a party invitation. Initially I was apprehensive whether I should be going there, or not. It was late and my pocket money was not at its best. Hmmm.. After some brain-scratching, I decided, I should give it a shot. I did up my party attire, got onto my vehicle and zoomed towards Madhya Marg, Chandigarh, the central highway that connects Chandigarh with various sectors and hill stations like Shimla. The drive was amazing, though a few disappointing potholes, yet it was fun to zoom past 80kmph on the busy track, against the breeze, across a Kalagram, a cultural destination, that has the first Condom bar in India. Further more, the traffic lights just seemed pleased with me for no reason; they went green when I approached and let me go without having to press my left hand brake or blow a horn. The lights on the road, gave me a feel of a tech-city with busy commuters, affluent people; not to miss out, Chandigarh infact prides itself on the fact that it has the highest per capita income in the country, for the 5th consecutive year.
Man on wheels…
I zoomed on to the Sector-26, Madhya Marg round about before applying my first brake and then drove across posh restaurants, coffee hotspots, up-market hangouts and busy roads. It was a pleasure to take a left turn on the Sukhna Marg, which cuts Madhya Marg at a right angle. The roads just began getting better and the open windows of sedans carrying beautiful people, zoomed passed me. It was a treat to drive at 9 in the night for the party, where the cake was waiting to be cut and candles waiting to be blown off.
The party…
Just when I thought that was it, my appetite grew stronger as the sector-35 market with posh showrooms, sinful party spaces, bars, buzzing nightlife, food chains and gorgeous girls came across. Wow, Food and party spaces! I was to go in there, into one of them. I was glad, this was coming. I reached the party in time, and there was a bigger surprise awaiting me there. The ratio, it was… The ratio they call it; 2 boys and 10 girls, the invitation pie chart. Wow, this was gonna’ get crazy. The host welcomed us all and we welcomed her back with a cakewalk on her face and hair. We gossiped, teased, ate, drank, laughed, party’d hard and part’d. It was time to be courteous and give the waiting people, their due.
Is the pot full?
This was not it. There was space for more fun. Just then, another boy came in and three is company. We vroom….ed off to glory, towards SukhnaLake, threw stones in the lake watching them rebound against the gushing waters, had a walk, a talk, a rock and trolled on towards the Chandigarh highways for fun at midnight. The time wuz’ something like 12 ‘0’ clock, shit! The roads were empty, a silent air there, the mesmerizing street lights placed there in an escorting fashion, black and yellow road ends clearly visible beneath the shining signposts. Overworked Workers coming out from restaurants, and a song on our lips just to make these labourers smile after their long hours at the back-office…”Dil karta hai sadakon pe zor se gaaauuuunnn..” It was time to rock on!
Quickly, we looked for a 24x7 gasoline outlet for our drought struck tanks and did them full. There was still some Cola left to be had, some racing yet to be done, some coffee yet to be gulped…From Sector 10 Madhya Marg, we could see the last signs of life with the Parantha Walas serving yumm paranthas (indian breads) with Makhan(butter).
Chandigarh knightriders!
Sector 34, a glass window, a dark and happening restaurant and a drinking friend, you got me, beer time for the third guy who joined the party. Quickly, a rickshaw puller picked up the bottle the guy threw away, we observed...... as the third guy tried to get back in shape and take the backseat on the bike. Soon, Sector- 22 Café Coffee Day, open 365 in a year, with a wi-fi outside and an international crowd inside was our next stop. Expresso coffee and cuppachino, some clicks and snaps, a few phonecalls back home that I’ll stay at a friends this nite’ ended the day as we got up from our table, to divert. Guess, we covered Chandigarh. The buzzing city.
Whoooooo…calling it a day, as I closed my eyes in sector-15, at my friend’s home! This had not happened for long. Needed it badly being away from the hometown city for several years….. AND yes finally….time to doze, 3 A.M, f***, just when the FM stations shift on to the spiritual songs!
What happened after 10 months at the boarding school...A train journey that can well be the next biggest Indian Book
Childhood memories haunt me
My best childhood memories come from the blend of cylindrical-rectangular coaches laden with passengers supported on wheels and propelled by an engine- sometimes a coal one and sometimes an electric one. I liked each one of those serpentine trains that carried people from one part of the country to the other, on vocation or on holidays. Personally, my date with the train happened twice a year. Staying at a boarding school, near Bangalore, in the best years of my childhood life, March 31st is the day none would have the heart to forget. It was the H-day. As the clock struck 6, you could sense a holiday spirit around, a unique hustle-bustle, non-sleepy eyes, moments of joy, optimism, frolicking tiny tots, tattered charts, irregular benches, empty shelves, busy rag pickers, joyous breakfasts, packed school dresses, unending smiles, bouncing tennis balls, pencil-box cricket, flooded gates, lavish coconut water, set-free spirits, happy hols chants, sorry’s, good byes, thank you’s,gratitude’s, greeting cards, expectant parents and anticipating children; something like a busy station, some byes, some laughter, fun expectations, trolleying suitcases, sad departures, tight hugs, tear trickling eyes and parting tracks.
The parting tracks
After signing out from the boarding school, my next stop would be a restaurant or an internet café, a shopping mall and lastly a room where I could drop my bags and pick them up boarding my train. It was as if I was left alone, all to myself, free to do what I wanted. But again there were friends with me and I bet each one definitely felt this at some point when they shifted sides from the school gates. Together we friends would then freak out as if set-free, as never before and begin exploring the world around us. We would never miss out any opportunity to drop someone on the railway station or help someone till his bus bid us good bye. The atmosphere was fun and frolic, something that we had not witnessed for the last 10 months. These feelings were synonymous with elation, bliss, emancipation, release and break free.
To the railway station
At 8 P.M., keeping the breathe-free feeling alive, we used to move on to the railway station, in an Auto rickshaw or a bus few minutes prior to the train’s arrival. In the nick of time, we somehow managed to make it to the railway station on time-just enough to take a quick around and see who was headed to what destination, from the boys side and the girls’ side. The scene at the railway station was always buzzing with activity, be it the vendors, the trains, the TT, the superintendent, the passengers, strangers, schoolmates and cross-campus girls; it was as if we were back into the world, where we could set our souls free and let it attract what it liked. The feeling was magical. Besides, the dark ends and terrifying trees of the Prashanti Nilayam station could scare you to the ass, if you were to board the midnight train. It was fear and excitement all the way. It was ghastly yet fanciful.
The Train arrives
And then the train would come as always, with a bang, at sharp 9 P.M., The Karnataka Express, with a newly obtained electric engine, a diverse crowd in it and a mighty horn- enough to reach the ear of my teacher back in school. Due to the 5 minutes stoppage, we used to immediately board the train with our suitcases and look for our seats, ah, just the ones that Vishnu, the ticket booking clerk, our close friend, had booked for us, the best ones. We were four friends, who were headed for Delhi, from Bangalore. A side lower, a side upper and two upper births on the other side were our cup of tea, where we would disturb nobody and nobody would disturb us. And then, we would settle down on our seats, get into our slippers, adjust our bags, sit down and take a look out of the window with a twinkle in our eyes, an amicable smile on our faces and a happy bosom beneath our specially-for-train T-shirts. Then, we would straight away look at the seats where girls between 15-20 age groups were supposed to have booked their tickets. How did we know? The credit goes to our research skills and Vishnu’s positioning. However, for the other coaches, we left the exploration for the next day. The night would be the shortest night ever as we would enjoy those moments of joy, fun, light heartedness, laughter, memories, teasing, munching and then exhausting our eyes to tears. With our Tees and jeans, we would all doze to a cozy sleep, as if we were back from a war.
An Enid Blyton Morning
Mornings in our train were highly promising. We would always wake up after Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka fade out. A northward journey was the catch. No more of ‘Guntakals and Dharmavarams.’ A bit of Maharashtra seemed encouraging. With a host of things to do, we never understood why people talked about boring train journeys. Since, we had holidays for just two months in a year; we always celebrated our holidays grandly and optimally. From Dosa Vada we shifted to Alu poori, from Ram Ramji to Hi and Hello and so on. After our ablutions in the morning, our seats would have a bit of everything like newspapers, fashion and news magazines, eatables, chocolates, fast food, chilled mineral water and cool drinks. We lived to our extremes. Passengers often believed us when we said we were college students- our English accent, our lavish ways, magnanimous gestures and just everything of ours was strange for them. But, isn’t that the typical North Indian home attitude? We never felt anything about the crowd around then.
Expedition mania
And thereafter, we set out on our expedition in the train, meeting classmates, seniors, juniors, parents, new people, Pantry Walas and TT’s. It all seemed so much fun. Senior girls would pull our cheeks and tease us. We had some light moments with them, something that distinguished us from the South Indian classmates…something because of which we felt superior then….pampering from girls and information about them (Since we were in a non co-ed school, guys used to fall flat for the information we had about girls across the wall). We sped across the other coaches taking a glimpse into the eyes of those whom we were hunting for. Wherever we could, we would let our luck work. Elsewhere, we dint really mind not making it. You know I am talking about good girls whom teenagers go after. But then we restricted it to looking at girls as we never knew how to interact with the alien sex, of the same age.
The train…..ah I was there, and then came stations…Daund, Ahmednagar, etc where we got down and lifted out right arms and stretched ourselves lazily. We filled water bottles, bought ice creams, chocolates and took a feel of the air there. We often felt mature when we were on the platform after the horn. It felt adrenaline-rushing; catching the train after it had began pulling out of the station. These were our tiny moments of gratification, happiness, mirth and ecstasy. Our luncheon was again grand and the pre-twilight time was when we opened it. At twilight, the number of stations began decreasing; sumptuous lunches left us on our seats either with magazines or with an opportunity to catch a quick nap. And then Manmad, Kopargaon,Jalgaon and Bhusawal would pass….Manmad would usually be our break point for water and stretching. This is the culmination point of the two Karnataka Express trains moving in opposite directions.
For the soul
Around sunset, the door of the train was the best part of the journey. I loved sitting or standing at the door and looking out into the world. If not the door, I would make it at my seat window. I looked at the vast blue sky, the sinking sun, the lovely moors and grasslands, the tillers, the sowing season, lush green farms, traditional farmers, tractors, barren lands, changing tracks below me, kites, scare crows, cow breeds, rural households and vast spaces around. Things passed by, time moved on. This was my moment of introspection, where I thought about the year that had passed by, new resolutions for holidays, how many movies I should see, things I should do, whom all I need to meet, where all I need to travel Shimla…Patiala…Chandigarh…Delhi…etc. This silent time took me back in time to the year that has gone, the happy and sad moments, the teachers, classmates, stakeholders and so on. It reconnected me with my goals, my targets, my desires, wishes, worries and just everything.
Making alive the dying party
And suddenly, the farms would seem to disappear and all that would be visible is small lights, lamps and bulbs glowing from farm houses, railway crossings, factories, etc. What do I hear? Chaiwalas, Fruit Sellers, Bondas, VadaPao, Ice Cream and the yummy “Thanda Dood.” At once, we would rush down and buy packets of Lassi and Thanda Dood from Khandwa. “Hey last time it was 5 bucks, this time it costs 7 Rs….Inflation man…” “Mild inflation is good for the economy buddy” back would be the answer from Rohit. We laughed it off and loaded ourselves with some sweetened milk. All were fresh again, juniors and seniors would come at our place and we would chat, exchange magazines, swap cassettes, endorse school gossip, dig into our slam books, have some light hearted jokes, interact…this is the same time when passengers around would be playing Tash and Antakshari.
Then would come the passing trains… the momentary full stops to our conversation, loud horn noises, jhiga jhig jigha jhig jigha jhig, shhhhh, a passing tunnel, an over bridge and the first appearances of Veg Biryani. Some would sign out of the chatroom as their parents would have kept dinner ready for them. Slowly all the Antaksharis' and tash groups would disappear into their blankets and our light would go out. However, we never put it off so early. Our station was Itarsi, where a fruit stall, a Poorie Dhaba, a magazine shelf, a phonebooth, a clock and a stair case reside by each other. 11 ‘o’ clock a hungry friend would scream. There would be Poorie, Sabzi, Puff, Cakes, Drinks, Badam Milk and lot more on our menu. We would treat each other and celebrate…a genuine celebration that happens in reel life. The train would pull out and our food would begin. Yummy, it was! Before getting into our blankets, we would have the last laugh saying, “tomorrow we will be home.”
The D-Day
The next morning would be a busy one, recovering from sleep, grooming ourselves, doing our rounds, watching Agra pass by and wait in expectation. By now, our conversations were always exhausted; CD’s returned to the rightful owners, bottle discarded, magazines donated and bags packed up. With each passing flyover and bridge the approaching destination would become more visible. We would have exchanged numbers of the three-day friends with promises like, “I’ll email you,” “I’ll call you,” “We’ll keep in touch, etc. Delhi would come and we would divert into 4 directions and look back at the train, the platform, the atmosphere, each other and part…We never imagined, on the third day, We would each be a part of the crowd. What was magical, utopian and heavenly would end in melancholy. We would reach our homes with a new zeal, as if returning from the Olympics after having made it a success. Those were the days I miss. Those were the days that were fun. Sometimes, I remember them and smile…Sometimes, I compare them with now. Sometimes, I pray that God give those days again...Sometimes I feel those moments must go to the poor and suffering at times…But now I feel, I should make those moments come alive in college, the same smiles, the same laughter, same fun and everything be the same, but then I know the difference, the friends will change in this new script…All of us have to move on…If only we could freeze time…But, I think I am asking for the sky…That my dear reader is life! Make the most of it.
