Random Ramblings of a Reluctant Blogger

Thirty years back to the date, I landed in Chennai (then Madras) from Ahmedabad, to be a part of the ‘legendary’ Sports desk at The Hindu.
I wouldn’t describe myself as a road-mappish guy,  The where-do-you-see-yourself-so much years- down-the-line questions always have me stumped.  I would rather take a road and see where it leads. So it is in some way surprising that I stayed put.  Guess I have experienced first hand the improbability of escaping from a black hole!
When I chose journalism, or rather journalism chose me, it was the universe speaking. And even there, I had no iron-clad plans. I kept myself open to new experiences. So it was, I floated from Hyderabad to Vijayawada to Ahmedabad to Chennai. And the journey then literally stopped. Practicality or destiny, I will never be able to tell.
What, however,  I can tell with a great deal of relish (relish now, hell then) was the journey I undertook from Ahmedabad to Chennai that day(s).
Those days the only connecting direct train between these two cities was the weekly Navjeevan Express. Aptly named, I would say, for the journey took 48 hours, which invariably because of delays lasted even more. By the time one finished the journey, it was akin to a new life.
It was meant to be 6 a.m  start so I ensured I reached early only to be told the incoming train was delayed and so we had to wait. The wait agonisingly extended for hours and finally some officials decided, at about 10 a.m to put together some existing rakes and send the train instead of waiting further. The only catch, all they could manage were bogies of a  seater train! And no ac compartments either!
“That’s all we can do,” they said even as hue and cry was raised. A few opted out of travel, but that number was insignificant. So it came to pass that all passengers had to cram into a seater train that would take 48, now certainly more, hours to reach the destination.
The thing with Gujaratis is they seldom travel light. Not just the luggage,  they love to carry the kitchen with them.! So it was luggage and people, meant for sleeper coaches, all adjusting with whatever was presented.
If this wasn’t irritating enough the TT managed to manoeuvre his way past seeking to recover the sleeper charges for waitlisted tickets.  His arguments that the railway zones were different and the money will be refunded at Chennai. No amount of logic seemed to sway him.
An old couple, a lady with a toddler and kid, a couple of bachelors and I made one section. I had, when I started,  banked on the pantry car for my food enroute. So I had insisted my mother doesn’t trouble herself waking up early to pack my food. Now that idea seemed doomed as no pantry car was attached.
But with Gujjus around, food is one thing you need not worry about. Generous as they are with sharing, hunger will never trouble you.  So it transpired, the old couple and the lady with the kids had enough supplies for even a couple of us bachelors throughout the journey.
That was the only saving grace even as we all contorted ourselves to some sleeping and sitting positions as the train meandered through several States and the summer sun roasting with glee. Even standing up was a challenge. Leave aside trying to get down at a station for water and food. It was upon us bachelors to address the need for drinking water for our fellow passengers. Jumping over luggages, trampling over feet, it needed the dexterity of a contortionist! And then, there was the matter of visiting the loo! The very frightening prospect had me taking as little food and water as possible.
It was no less arduous than a trek to the Himalayas.
Would I take such a journey now? Who knows? Life has its way of throwing up surprises. Like the surprise that I am still in Chennai.!