Strangers on a Train

(this article originally appeared on the blog 'Lord of the Flies')

My parents have always advised me not to talk to strangers. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I feel so encouraged. I have nothing particularly ‘for’ or ‘against’ it, but sometimes, especially when my self-confidence is soaring or when I am bored, I do love to initiate a conversation with a stranger. 

It was this particular overnight train journey from Bangalore to Hyderabad on the Rajdhani Express, when I just couldn’t stop shivering, lying on my berth, which was the uppermost and closest to the air conditioning. I had journeyed to Bangalore in the same train the night before, to attend a seminar, and now I was travelling back. In retrospect, now I know why I was shivering- from repeated observation, my body temperature drops down pretty low when I don’t sleep for more than 36 hours. That, coupled with watching a pathetic movie in the cinema hall *alone*, and then wandering around under an overhead sun trying to get the location right, was sure to take a toll on my brain and body. 

I tried hard. To forget the cold and just sleep. I covered myself completely under the blanket. Didn’t work. I started getting frustrated, and then I started crying. It was now almost 48 sleepless hours and I was still unable to sleep. And then I got angry. I got down my berth and went outside the compartment to the lobby between two compartments. This was where two of the service guys were. I was telling one of them that it was extremely cold and asking them if they could increase the temperature. This guy looked at the other guy, who in turn checked the temperature and then told me it was the highest possible. This guy wasn’t even talking directly to me. I asked the other guy if he could provide more blankets. Once again he looked at the other guy, who asked if I haven’t already got blankets. At this point I lost all patience and broke out crying. I was angry, I was shivering, and I was shouting at them that I was feeling terribly cold! The other guy, who wasn’t even talking directly to me, now seemed to feel extremely guilty and gave me an extra thick blanket and made some space for me to sit on a berth in the lobby, gave me a magazine to read, and told me to sit in the lobby, which was warmer, till I felt good enough to go back and sleep. 

The guy, to whom I was talking, left the lobby since there was no space for three there. The other guy, who had given me the blanket, stood in one corner. I told him he could sit down on the berth, that I didn’t mind. After some insisting, he did. 

The magazine he had given to me was in Hindi. I had studied Hindi in school, but that was 6 years back. I was not in touch with the language, so I found it kind of painstaking to go on reading. I was flipping through the pages and looking at the pictures. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that guy reading a Hindi newspaper, and reading it so fast that it made me jealous. 

“Is this your copy of the magazine?” I asked, “Or do they provide you in the train?” 

“No, it’s mine. But you can keep it, I’ve already read it,” was his reply. 

Impressive, I thought. I was curious. I know that these service guys in the train are paid quite low. It is unlikely that they even completed school. This academic inclination was unexpected. He was about my age. And he had invested in a magazine, a not-so-pocket-friendly political magazine ‘India Today’, and he FINISHED reading it! 

And then I gave up on the magazine. 

“I am sorry, I am unable to read this, I have lost the habit of reading Hindi text. My bad.” 

“Oh, I see. I can translate to you, if you find any particular piece interesting.” 

“Haha, no that’s okay. You seem to be a very keen follower of politics?” 

“Well, I am. I love reading about it. There is so much to learn. And it’s very important too. It’s about the future of our country. We should care about it.” 

And then we started talking politics. I wanted to know what someone like him thought about the existing scenario, for a change, not my peers or someone in the media. Sadly, though, I found him pretty biased. I knew that the mood in the north at that time was biased and he seemed to be from the north- although he was dark his features betrayed him. It’s sad that intelligent people like him should fall prey to propaganda... people are generally good, I thought, sometimes they just fall on the wrong side and that is a sad thing to contemplate. Anyway, at that time I was more interested in listening to him than trying to influence him. I did debate but not so strongly, I wanted to know his reasoning. As an afterthought, I think I should have debated. 

The other service guy passed by us en route another compartment, throwing weird glances. 

“I think you should go to sleep now,” he said, “People around aren’t really good.” 

My eyebrows involuntarily went into a questioning stitch, although I knew what he meant. 

“They don’t consider it good, you know, a girl talking to a guy, that too so late into the night,” he elaborated. 

“It’s not like that at my place,” I retorted. 

“Well, in my village, no guy talks to a girl, definitely not in public. In fact, this is the first time in my life that I am talking to a girl outside of my family.” 

I gasped. “Where are you from?” 

“I am from a small village near Gorakhpur.” That’s pretty much north. 

“What about school? You didn’t talk to girls at school?” 

“Well, no. And anyway, girls hardly go to school. Plus they don’t want to talk to guys either. It’s considered bad.” 

“You completed your schooling?” 

“Nope. I studied only till eighth grade. It’s complicated.” 

“C’mon, you can tell me!” I beseeched. 

“Well, actually we were two brothers and one sister. My mom died of some disease. My dad went into a depression and took to drinking. My sister died pretty soon after that. My brother left home, although he visits some times. But he never sends money. I am the only one who can earn and take care of dad. This was almost eight years back.” 

I didn’t know what to say. But he seemed pretty detached, so I didn’t feel embarrassed for asking him. In fact, I ventured further, trying to inquire about the disease. I had to know if it was something curable but they couldn’t pay for it. However, he seemed to not know much about it. My guess is that it was something genetic. 

“Don’t feel sad about me yet,” he continued, “I could have continued my schooling and earned in my village at the same time. It wouldn’t have been difficult. However, all of my friends were dropping out of school. That was the trend, you know, THE thing to do. Rebellious adolescent blood, wanting to go out there and do something. No one liked studying. There was this greed of starting to earn money too. I became one of them. Today, I regret that the most. I could have studied and made my life and ACTUALLY earned money, but no one was there to explain to me how important studying was. Along with my friends, I became a service guy in a train and have remained that ever since.” 

“You have been on this train for eight years?” 

“No, I was on another train before. The Howrah Rajdhani. I like this train better, though. The people in the south are good, not as violent as the north. Suits me. There’s this small stall near the Secunderabad Railway Station, they serve awesome breakfast. I look forward to it every three days!” 

Of course, I thought. This train shuttles back and forth between Bangalore and Delhi, via Secunderabad, which is the part of Hyderabad closest to my home. The one-directional journey takes almost 36 hours. How weird must it feel living on a train! 

“Alright, I guess I must go now, I’m not cold anymore,” I said. 

“Are you sleepy yet?” 

“Well, not actually. I might go later as well.” 

And so we talked about the government policies for another hour. 

And then I got to hear all sorts of stories about the different kinds of people he met on the train. 

“So what do you plan to do, do you want to continue working in the train like this?” I asked. 

“Hmm... not really. I’ll look for something. But I don’t want to settle in my village. It’s pretty depressing. Plus, I have absolutely no interest in farming. Let’s see, wherever life takes me! What about you, what are your plans?” 

“Oh, I need to complete my graduation now and then go abroad for a PhD.” 

I had tough time trying to explain to him the significance of research but he gave me the benefit of doubt! 

“But people like you should come back to the country. Or else, it is not going to develop,” he remarked. 

“Well, yeah... I think I should go to sleep now...it’s late.” 

“Do you really have to? I’m talking to someone after ages. People around are not very interested in the kind of conversations I look for. No one reads anyway. I'm also not a big fan of the kind of movies they watch. I don’t have any friends.” 

But his eyes betrayed more. This is not good, I thought. 

“I really have to go, I am very sleepy. Goodnight!” 

And so I went back to my berth, feeling a slight tinge of guilt. I wasn’t sleepy but two sleepless nights, a day of wandering and the warmth of two thick blankets soon cast their spells and the next thing I remember was being tugged at my feet. 

“We’re in Secunderabad!” said the service guy. I quickly jumped down my berth, hurriedly gathered my luggage, said a quick ‘bye’ and started moving out of the train. I didn’t like the sad expression on his face. 

Once on the platform, he tried to help me with my luggage but I declined. One last time, he mustered all his courage, and asked me for my phone number. I must admit that I freaked out a little. I said a polite but curt ‘No’. The good part is he didn’t insist. I could see his friends in the distance, including the other service guy, watching. He must have told them in the night, I thought, and those guys must have encouraged him. I kept walking, rolled my suitcase along and didn’t look back until I reached the exit.