The Assam Trails: Love at first sight

[Disclaimer: The build-up, I realise, is a tad bit long and dragged out. Feel free to skim over the rant and get to the substantial part]

By the time I had barely gotten through 12 of the 36 hours I was to spend on the train, the train ride had already begun testing my limits. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for long train rides all by myself, I go advocating them with the annoying enthusiasm of door-to-door sellers, complete with the perma-grin and the cliched “You should try it once and you'll be left begging for more” dialogues. But this one was getting especially difficult to bear.

The start was to blame I guess. The whole thing began on the most annoying note. As soon as Brahmaputra Mail noisily rolled into platform 1A of Old Delhi station at 11pm on the 24th of April, it looked like a situation tailored for chaos. The compartments were either not numbered, or haphazardly so- so that S3 came after S8; and so forth. In the resulting clamour, I ended up traversing up and down the platform, looking for someone who could give me reliable information. Finally, I chanced upon a TT (Ticket collector), and asked him where S10 would be. He confidently pointed to one of the compartments and strode off without a second glance. I then managed to gather up all three of my bags, and made my way to one of the doors. I had assumed getting on would be fairly difficult, given my experience with Indian Railways in the past. I hadn't accounted, however, for the agitated, ruthless young men who were milling around the same door, almost climbing over one another to get on first. The fact that the lights inside the compartment weren't switched on wasn't helping the cause either. Finally, somehow, after major amounts of hustling, cursing, elbowing and stink-eye-giving, I was on board. I quickly harnessed my new-found energy and almost steam rolled over to my seat-- with a God-help-whoever-dares-come-in-my-way attitude. Once there, I realise I'm in the company of seven other very lecherous looking men. Tired, frustrated, and now scared, I'm all but on the verge of tears. Just let this damn train start, I tell myself, I'll climb to my seat (a side upper, quite thankfully) and be dead to the world. Not to be so, apparently. After the train finally sped off and out of Delhi, the chaos refused to die down. The constant traffic of people ruthlessly trampling all over my feet and bags had now driven me to a point of infuriation I didn't quite know I was capable of. And just when I thought things couldn't get worse, a man nonchalantly walked up to me and said “That's my seat.” Working hard to prevent myself from punching his face, I ask for his ticket. It's the same seat number! Then, some rational part of my brain asks me to check for his compartment number. S8. Big sigh.

With a benevolent smile I go, “You're on the wrong compartment, bhaiyya.”

And he goes (practically yelling- so much for the benevolence), “Hello madam! Get your facts right first! This is S8.”

Holy crap. “Which way is S10?”

He point it to me. And I drag my weary, sleepy self there- with my three bags in tow- each becoming heavier by the minute.

However, the night adventures seem to have stopped by then. The TT comes, checks my ticket, and I plonk my luggage on my upper berth and quickly fall asleep cuddling it.

The miseries seemed to transfer on to the next day, however. By the time I wake up, my entire body is lathered in sweat, and I feel like I'm being cooked alive in an oven with no escape door. My stomach grumbles, reminding me there's more to surviving than just lying there waiting for the heat to pass. I decide brushing and generally cleaning up might help the cause, and I walk to the sink, splash the boiling hot water on myself and rinse up a bit. Getting back, I realise lethargy has set back in, and looks like it has come to stay. I forget about the whole hunger thing and try to fall back to sleep. No help. One part of my brain also tells me I'm probably dehydrated and need some ORS (in whatever form) at the earliest. I wait (not so patiently) for the next vendor to come along. And soon enough, one does. Buying a lemon-based aerated drink, I let him go. Its temperature matches that of the surroundings, but I gulp it down in a hurry, and instantly feel better. The wonders sugar can do! The next couple of hours follow the same pattern-- stopping vendors, buying whatever drink they sell, and sustaining myself till the next one comes along. A call from mum also reminds me I need to eat something substantial. And so begins the next stage of project 'Keeping myself alive'. Now, every vendor selling everything is stopped. And so my stomach ends up at the receiving end of everything healthy and unhealthy; tasty and 'ugh' that passes through compartment S10.

Thankfully, evening finally comes along and takes with it the unrelenting sun. And also my general irritation. I brighten up a little, finish reading one of the three books I brought along for company, and make phone calls to apologize for all the collateral damage (read foul conversation) the heat had caused. I then sit and wonder why I'd ever want to get myself in this situation. It was filthy, hot, uncomfortable and (to my mind at that time) absolutely unnecessary. I mope around a little more, eat a lot more, and then troop back up to sleep. Halfway through the second book, I'm fast asleep- with dreams of mum's food and my bed calling out to me.

The next morning, I feel like I've woken up on the wrong train. Or am still in some fantasy. There is a cool breeze coming in through the same windows that were spewing fire the precious day, there is no sun-- or at least not the unrelenting kind, and there's a nip in the air that makes me cover myself with the blanket that's being used as a pillow so far. I spring up, my embarrassing equivalent of pinching myself, and try to figure out what's wrong-- or finally right.

I jump down and look out the windows, and pleasant green paddy fields dancing in the breeze greet my eye. The slight moisture in the air fills my senses, and I rush to the door. I catch the therapeutic wind all over my body, and look out at the surroundings. Dozens of paddy fields interspersed with little bodies of water accumulated from the frequent rains, little thatched huts cozily nestled between an overgrowth of palm trees all around, and the faint outlines of hills in the very back. I rush to get my camera, wondering just how beautiful nature could get. Without realising, the next two hours were spent clicking away and generally taking in the loveliness that surrounded me. Nothing seemed enough. I lapped up more and more of it as it came, growing more delighted by the minute. I finally realise I am overwhelmed. And in love. It is as fitting an example of 'love at first sight' as there could be. I cannot tear myself away. It finally takes a police-man, concerned about this girl hanging on the edge of the train for such a long time, to come and drag me away. Even then, I get back to my seat with a smile that refuses to fade, and an impatience to get to my destination and get working.

And, with the same intensity with which I wondered why I ended up here, I wonder how I will ever be able to wean myself away.

I am head over heels.