" Each journey is a very new experience. It gives you a feel of better insight about the world.But the greatest experience and deep insight into the world transpires when you return back native after the journey." - Courtesy : M Mukundan, the great novelist of Mahe'.
I love journeies. It might be expensive; dont mind, you have the other flip of these journeies ruddy. The number of miles that I covered in last two years outnumber the total miles earned ever in life. But there was least sign of fatigue or passe'.
I dont exactly remember the date.
I got into the overcrowded sleeper compartment of one train from Kozhikode to Baroda, it was heading to some distant destination in north India, carrying along with it passionate Malayali dreams tangled with the dispassionate nostalgia. The whole compartment had a fusty smell of different pickles, of peel darkened plaintain, of fried fish...... I camly looked across the rusty windows watching the rustic life that speeds in the same speed as that of the train but in the opposite direction. The fellow copassengers were busy prying into eachothers life. One of them, even was chronologically depicting the even led to his divorce. The listners condemned his bad fate while wishing him a nice future. I was getting bored of these confabs.
Suddenly one of them turned to me.
My God, Save My Soul!
" Wheyr are you going to?"
"Baroda"
"What are you doing deyre?"
"With a company called ABB"
"ABBBBBBB..."
he continued : " I yem olso a Barodian Malayali, thaet is a company thaet evarybady dreams yeabout"
" Yeaahh, its a good company".
Didn't reveal that once it was a dream, but now dreaming how to get out of it.
"How much you are getting?"
I expected this question, the very question every Malayali asked me since I joined this company.
"Enough for a posh life"
"Twenty thousent?" he surmised in indistinct English, but in distinct Manglish.
"around that"
"still exectly?"
Im getting irked, dear copassenger!
" may be few thousands plus or minus, but dont you think it makes less difference in the whole sum?"
Now the others were also keenly following our conversation. My irritation crossing limits. I didnt uttered a single word. 'Dear copassenger, you figure out my apathy of your questions.'
He was too naive to infer.
"You are not matured to figure out the value of few thousents, solely I blame tha age at which you got this coveted job."
"May be"
He started his life history. But I was least interested because my classmates in college had told me that knowing some others' life is the worst thing that can happen ever in one's life. The travails of his early life, his desperations, set backs, so onnn.. I still rembember.. he started like this: " Its about twentyeight yearzhz deyt I came to Baroda..........................,...................... , ........".
'Dear copassenger, I uninterestedly listened to all your stories. Please leave me alone for myself.'
The train has stopped in some station, I got up as if I have to buy something from the platform hawkers.
I dont exactly remember the date.
It was a relatively deserted AC compartment that I got into. A journey from Baroda back to Kerala. A Konkani christian family accompanied near my berth. Some magazines and books spread over the berths. The jasmine scented, young pulchritude listenening to some indistinct serenade evoking their Goanese antecedency. Her mother reminded her of something. She might have followed the suggestion. The visible evidence was that she rapidly plugged the headphone to her ringed ears and the other end of cord into the mobile port. Her mom gracely exchanged a close lipped smile at me.
The journey seemed relatively lenghthier inside the purddah cladded semitransparent windows. They were disinterested in the wellbeing of their copassenger. Their talked each other very little. Occassionally, some short, measured talks; probably about some distinct statement in their magazine, about the rubrics of article they just read,about the tasteless snacks provided from the pantry. I was much intersted in their talks, but failed before Konkani.
'R u going to Margao or Mangalore?'
' I heard much about Mangalore, its a city with many names, many languages and many ethnic?'
'Dont you people feel proud of the reminisce of Portugese culture,architechture and culinary?'
'I have a Goanese Catholic friend , his name ends with Rodrigues and another business partner whose name ends with Pinto. Cajetan- the business partner whose name ends with Pinto- is voluble of your cuisine, der is something called Rosachi Kadi, rite?'
Multitude of questioned rushed through my mind. I was very much interested. But my classmates in college had told me that knowing some others life is the worst thing that can happen in one's life.
I took a nap. Exactly two hours later got up. The train might have stopped in some stations; many people might have got into or got out of; Many vendors might have passed through the nave in the compartment; I dont know what happened in last two hours.
There was exactly nothing happened.
The family continued reading, listening to music,eating....
'Madam, why cant you ask me something?'
'Im anxiously waiting for some questions from your violet colored lip'
'Dont you like to know where Im coming from, where Im going to, about my job, my salary, my ethnicity and alll?'
Day 2 in the same train: Only my single question got answered. They alighted at Mangalore.
I have few more hours to reach my destination.
