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No dull moments

A train ride from Mangalore to Bangalore can spring up the hardest of seats and most entertaining surprises on you, says SUDIPTO MONDAL

Photo: N. Sridharan

WHAT LIES BEYOND Over hill, over dale, through bush, through briar…

A sleeper class berth on the train from Mangalore to Bangalore was waitlisted 116, a full week before the date of the journey. Here I was on the platform of the Mangalore Central Railway station, coiled like a leopard waiting to pounce on a vacant wo oden bench in the general compartment.

After using all the skills I had gathered, I managed to get a seat. But just as I was settling into my part of the cabin, another scrawny guy popped up and said, “That’s my seat you’re sitting on.” “Says who?” I asked defiantly.

“I do,” said the burly guy who managed to snatch the window seat from me. Those two words settled the matter and a procession of the burly guy’s family followed. And 3,336 square centimetres of a newspaper, spread on the floor of the compartment, became my throne. As the train got moving, the same people who were at each other’s throats for a seat, were suddenly engrossed in deep conversations.

The first packets of food opened up, got passed around among complete strangers. But in a couple of hours there was nothing left to talk about. The clock struck ten and we entered the Subbramanya Road station, thoroughly bored. Little did we know that we were in for the entertainment of a life time.

Four hefty men entered the compartment screaming and fighting. Three of them were ganging up against one and roughing him up. The entire compartment huddled around to find out what was happening. The guy who robbed me of my seat, separated the pugilists.

Once the immediate threat of violence abated, the audience settled in to arbitrate the dispute. The man who was getting beaten up had crashed into one of the trio as he was racing them to a seat in the compartment.

“He broke my God’s photo,” complained one of the three, holding up a framed image. Our offender had managed to crack the glass façade of the reverential object in his haste to get to a seat.

“I want Rs. 400 to repair the damages,” said the plaintiff. Everyone around let out a disapproving sigh. “That’s as much as the entire piece costs,” retorted the defendant. “What will I do with a broken frame?” asked the owner. “It will still be a god’s photo. Just because the glass is broken doesn’t mean you can’t pray,” quipped a member of the jury. “If you really believe in god you will not be fighting over something like this.” A steely glare from the trio swiftly silenced more such opinions. The offender escaped with a penalty of Rs. 150.

The bickering foursome soon managed to put their feud aside and move on. The guy who broke the frame asked, “Where do you live in Bangalore?” “H.S.R. layout,” came the answer.

“You mean the pink house, on the third cross, near the bakery?” he asked.

The three bullies spent the next fifteen minutes apologising profusely to the man. He turned out to be the electricity bill-collector for their part of the city. They offered to return his money. He refused. They stood up and offered him their seat. He gladly spread himself out and went to sleep.

Other people used each other as pillows, beds and head rests, and went to sleep like little puppies. I sat around, wide awake, on my little piece of newspaper, shifting and turning, making an irritating crumpling noise with each move.

“Hey you,” someone whispered. It was the big, burly guy. “You must be tired sitting down there for all this time. Come sit here,” he said offering his seat to me. Shamelessly I cuddled into the warm seat as my saviour made his way to the door and lit up a cigarette.

When we reached Bangalore the four men who had created the ruckus, put up one final performance. The three guys pounced on the bill-collector’s bags and carried his luggage to the exit. As they bid him adieu with folded hands he said, “The world is such a small place, isn’t it?” “Yes…yes,’ they said humbly. He parted with the words, “Just wait for your electricity bill this month.”

When was the last time all this happened in one night inside the relative comforts of the reserved compartment?

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