On my way back

I was on my way back to Delhi after a short 3 day trip to my hometown – Vishakapatnam. Travelling by sleeper class, particularly if you haven’t done so for a long time can be a bit annoying. Add to it 36 hrs of travel – and you have a never ending journey. My travel plan was a last minute decision after realizing that there is little possibility of my brother getting a call from any of the recruiters he is eyeing on. Not because he doesn’t deserve any of them, but because it’s festive season and Diwali in Delhi is no less than Christmas in US.

The compartment we were in had very few travelers in the early hours but by noon it got completely packed. Every seat was occupied and still there were more looking for generous travelers to let them squeeze in. There were people from almost every section of the society – young and old; rich and poor; educated and illiterate; from every caste, creed and culture. You suddenly start seeing the true face of India. There is so much of difference in the culture, in the languages we speak, in the economic condition of people around you. Living in posh localities, working with MNCs with state-of-the-art facilities, travelling in air-conditioned cars, we forget the stark realities facing the nation. All that we are concerned about is the next cool gadget we want to own, the next holiday trip, the next movie on the box-office. I realize the diverseness we have gained over the decades.

There were two foreigners in the same compartment I was in. They were with a group of Indians sitting two berths next to mine. It was about 7:30 in the evening. I just finished my customary dinner served in those handle-with-care filmy foils. “seat 26 haur 29 hamaarra booking hai!” I look up and to my utter surprise; it was one of these foreigner’s. “Ok! Mera 25 aur 28 hai”, I reply. He looked like one of those Iskon missionaries. He wanted to let me know that he has the upper berths reserved in the same section where I was sitting.

Next day around noon, I notice him again reaching for his bag and pulling out a violin case. Suddenly, everyone’s eyes are on him. He goes back to his group, pulls out the violin and starts playing. The sound of the music dies among the rattling noise of the train and the conversations. We could hear nothing. Half-an-hour passes and he comes back to get a sleep. The passenger next to me requests him to play the violin once more. He obliges enthusiastically and pulls the instrument back from the case. What a surprise! He starts singing a Sanskrit raga in praise of Lord Ganesha. “How do you know Hindi so well?” I ask. “I have been coming and Going for the last 27 years” he replies. “From where”, I ask again. “London”, he replies. More requests follow. Someone asks, “Kya aapko koi bollywood gane aate hain”. He starts singing a song from Dhadkan. More requests follow and he obliges eagerly until everyone is satisfied. That was a welcome event to shake you off your boredom. We start exchanging words and I learn that he is not a missionary but a social activist and a writer who is fighting for the tribals in Orissa. I ask him where the funds come from and he replies, “I am using what my ancestors have left and then I get a few bucks as royalty from my books. Just sufficient enough to pull through;”. He is accompanied by his friend who is a filmmaker and shoots documentaries. We talk about Indian culture, marriage, development, westernization, Films etc. We exchange phone numbers and email addresses.

The last few hours of our journey pass by with good conversations on interesting topics. Finally, I reach my destination and its time to bid them good-bye. I get down with a thoughtful mood wondering how different people can be. This person travelled across oceans to serve people of a different nation. And there is this other section of the society which doesn’t even have the time to help their neighbor.