I want to write about an experience that I had when I was travelling in a train Hatia-Howrah Express bound to Kolkata on the 3rd-4th June’10 night, in a sleeper class lower-berth. After a lot of bad news and speed breakers, unusual omens, all keeping me off boarding the train on the 3rd of June ’10, I somehow boarded the train at just the departure time. I could see things stopping me from doing what I had planned to do. Let me tell you, I started letting myself believing in omens only after I read The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. It’s a beautiful book, one among my a-must-read-in-a-lifetime. Omens are not that I am talking about superstitions; it’s physical, it’s present, and happening around us, every time we act our lives out. They always keep warning you, indicating what you should do and what you should not. It tries to stop you from going into paths that have dangerous thorns ready to pierce into your feet, and shows you the correct path like a guiding star. Anyways, let’s not get deep into this broad faceted fact of Omens; only that they have always in my life, with me. Getting back to my current experience I was talking about. It’s both related to and not related to Omens, whichever way you take it. Let it be my perspective here, it’s me who’s writing, not you, so follow what I write.
Despite all the Omens that were warning me, strictly, from boarding the train, I was all ready to disobey them. And mind you, those were some of the most serious and dangerous Omens I had ever seen. I restrict myself from mentioning those as it would surely change the mood and tone of my writing and may add a feel of both hate and sympathy, to the writer as well as the writer. So, I boarded the train just when it started to roll down the rails. Happy to find my place neat and clean and not a solace, I occupied my seat and started making the have-to-do phone calls every child and adult, irrespective of their age or experience, do as a ritual after boarding a train or a bus in India. Thankfully, the transport system around the world has made people realize that people travelling in aero-planes are smarter enough. After that I took out my I-pod and tuned into Enrique Iglesias’s Hero. Beautiful song with just the correct tempo for all kinds of situation. I listened to all the 5 versions of the song, and decided to go to sleep early. Seldom do I sleep early, but with just an I-pod to listen to and no book to read, no one to talk to, I had no other choice.
It was about 12:45am or somewhere around, something woke me up. I was drenched in sweat, in and out. The train had stopped at some station. The weather was humid like anything, temperature around 29-30 degree Celsius, no air blowing to cool me off. I raised my head to peep out of the window. The yellow light of the railway station added to the hot sensation of the sweat. I was not ready to compromise on my sleep, and getting up meant no sleep for the next hour or two. I went back to my wet luxury, avoiding a very light sensation of heaviness in my stomach. Mamma’s aaloo-puri was too delicious to reject, and as a matter of habit, I ate plus 2. Bringing to thoughts the yummy deliciousness of the mamma-cooked-food, I neglected both the sweat and the heavy stomach, closed my eyes and went to sleep.
The next time I woke up, the heaviness of my stomach had grown into a sort of mild pain. I am always used to such mild abdominal pain because of my greed for good food, and more of that food, on being found extra delicious. Of course chicken has got a special place in my wish list. You can call me a vegetarian if you think chicken is a vegetarian food and a chick-e-tarian if you think as normally as anyone does about these lovely birds, tasty birds rather. Oh! Food distracts me a lot. This was not an exception. Anyways, the pain would vanish by changing positions while lying down, that’s what usually happens. But the pain went on raising its standards against me. After about 2 hours, it had become necessary for me to start fighting back the pain. Wars are not fought in luxury. It was high time; I had to give up my luxury and getup. I raised myself, half-heartedly from my berth, but equally desperate to get rid of the pain that was becoming demonic. I took out my slippers from the bag and putting them on, went to the most ill-famous “train-toilets”, I usually avoid. Thankfully the place was clean and dry, as written on an instruction notice plate in all train-toilets. Emptying my bowel did not give much relief to me as the pain persisted. Do you know about heuristics- the following of gut feelings! On the first hand I got a gut feeling that the pain in my gut was not due to food. It was something else that was causing all the trouble.
I returned to my seat and gulped down some water, hoping it would give some relief. Water is a universal savior. I believe in water. Strongly. Water has worked out miracles for me many times since childhood. But it was probably the first time that my belief was getting altered. The pain grew severely the next moment I lied down. This time more intense, below the abdomen. Oh goodness! This was the most severe abdominal pain I had ever experienced in my life. And added to it I was not in my home, under the observation and care of my parents. I was in a train, where no one would give a damn even if I collapsed. So it was completely on me now. Do or die! I had to retain my consciousness until morning, so that something could be done about the demon. I cursed myself for not following the Omens. They were stopping me. But it was completely my choice. I had no one to blame, instead myself.It was only me. Oh, for holy sake! The pain was growing with every passing second, reproducing, multiplying its strength, as Mr. Smith did in Matrix- Revolution. I was Neo. Was I? I did not know then. I did not know I would survive or not. I thought I was dead! Almost!
I tried to distract myself from the killer. I had no pain-killers. I never use them. But yes! Music is one with no side effects. That I knew for sure. My next move against the demon was the i-pod. I took out my weapon, plugged it into my ears and tuned into the fifth version of Hero- Enrique Iglesias. This was a noisy version for the situation. I changed to Never Gone- Backstreet Boys. Another nice song I love to sing along. But betrayal was my destiny that night. Water was first, and then, music. No relief! Dying out of pain. I pulled out my beloved earphones from my ears as rude like never before. Sorry earphones! I did not mean to hurt you. And thank you for beholding your strength and not breaking off. I love the music you pour into my ears. I got up winding the ipod and putting it back into the bag, put up my slippers and decided to take a stroll. God knows what would work. I went up to the door and opened it. The air was smelling industry. I saw bright lights all over at not so far distance. Some industrial plant, working in the night. The sight was perfect for photography, but I could not build the courage to bring my phone from my bag and click photos of an industrious-Bengal. I preferred enjoying the scenery against moving here and there. Actually I could not move. The pain was preventing me from doing so. It was hard. It was there, inside me, building its industry.
I stood there, at the door, facing storms of air against my face. The train was moving fast, it was an express train. Balls of air slapping against my face. Those made me feel like a warrior fighting against storms thrown by an external demon while trying to defeat the internal demon – the stomachache. Of God, that was the worst pain I ever had. It was like it was the doomsday of my life. I considered visiting the toilet once more. Maybe it works.
“Oh shit! What’s this? I have never seen this before. Damn. It scares me.” I was in a train toilet, somewhere in West Bengal, dying out of some stupid abdominal pain, and this was a killer bomb on my condition. This was bad and new and amazing. “I mean I have never seen such a thing in my life. Wow! Minute blood corpuscles like dots in my urine. Red! That was beautiful! OH SHIT! Blood in my urine!” It was now that I realized the seriousness of the situation. It was beautiful only till I was a science student. But it became scary as soon as I became me, just me. I was bleeding? For God sake. What was happening with me? Was I dying? Or was I not? Or would I die not in my home? Was I to die in Kolkata, my favorite city? Would I survive? Oh hell! The pain kept me from moving. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry. The red color was scaring me. I could not think of anything, just anything. I thought I was dead. I could not move because the pain did not allow me. I wanted to pull-up my pants and wash my hand and go and sleep and forget everything that was happening. I stood up pulling the door-handle against me. Somehow I managed to carry myself out of the train toilet. Some moments ago, it was going to be my coffin, the door handle saved me. Thank you, door-handle! After washing my hands and face, I took out my mobile phone from my jeans pocket to see what time it was, how much time was left for the rescue team to be there. It was around 4:30am, and goodness gracious, I forgot I did not have a rescue team in the enemy land. I was all on my own. And my destination still was three hours away.
My berth was right in the middle of the bogie, seat number 36. There are 72 seats in one bogie of a train in Indian Railways. And I must tell you, walking from the toilet to my berth was never so difficult, not even in the chaos of many people boarding a train in a station in the beginning. Remember? People trying to become an amoeba and squeeze through each other to get to their seats, despite the fact that they have got it reserved for themselves. Sometimes, people are so ignorant of their own knowledge, of their own self that it becomes one of their visible weaknesses, and that gets easily recognized by some other of the same kind. And this results in self-remodeling, changing of ego states, adults becoming children, rifts, fights, wars, wars of ego, and so, the amoebic squeezing. Even that was not as difficult as it was for me to reach my luxury now. I wanted to fall down so someone could carry me by the shoulders to my berth, someone strong. My health needs a strong man to carry me. I looked around. Everyone was sleeping. Oh God, help me sleep. I usually don’t disturb God, simply because I don’t think he’s there. But sometimes, it becomes an illusionary moral support, a sort of strength, a sort of hope, of security for me. This was one of those ‘sometimes’.
I spoke for the first time, softly, ever since I was surviving the pain, “maa…” that was enough to carry me to my berth. The world was getting humid with every kilometer nearing Kolkata. I lay down. The pain was teaching me lessons, which side to turn, how to fold legs, how to breathe, how to survive, when you think you are going to die. Really, a lifetime experience. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I tried to think of things that bring smile to me, that make me forget just anything. The enemy closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I tried to think of things that bring smile to me, that make me forget just anything. The enemy was strong, but I tried to keep on trying. I slept for the next forty five minutes.
The demon woke me up. It was even severe this time. I was sure I was alive. Because if I were dead, it won’t pain.And it was paining like hell. Thoughts of a destroyed war field came to my mind. A big bladder like camp getting burst like water-cannon, worm like tunnels having patches of rotten vegetation grown on the surface, gun barrels leaking out fluids of ugly color, a scene of a completely destroyed war field.Oh hell! Was it so? I started panicking. Various thoughts raced my mind. I raised myself, up for a walk down the aisle. Maybe that works. The pain was so severe; it made me keep one hand on my stomach. I was sweating like anything; I was all wet, even my underpants were wet. Still two hours to go. I stood for the next one hour at the door, letting balls of air slap against my face, making my cheek-muscles flutter like paper. That made me forget the pain for the while, but the demon would rebuild its strength in minutes and attack again and again to remind me that I was not supposed to stand at the door in such a condition, I might fall down. But I was on my ego now, and there’s no war like the wars of ego, not even Star-Wars. I stood there, trying to cry, trying to scream, but not being able to. It was a silent war, although silence was another enemy.
It was bright now. It was morning, not so good, still so awaited. The pain was killing me. I sat on my window seat. One hand on my stomach. Now the pain was so intense that it was affecting my lower waist and thighs. I could not move now. I was sinking. No no, not that! I was sinking in a pool of pain. Sweating, making faces, changing positions, anyone could easily make out that I was not well. And so did my fellow passenger. “Are you ok?” were his first words to me since we boarded the train together in Ranchi. “Yes, except for a mild stomach-ache”, I replied trying to smile. Only I knew what actually was going inside me. It felt like a bullet shot into my stomach, giving out poison in all directions inside my body, to make me sweat and my thighs to pain like hell. That was the only dialog we shared in the entire journey.
After an hour of longing, I saw the Howrah-Bridge from my window seat. That was a great delight for the moment, for I had decided that immediately after getting down, I would go to a medicine shop and get some pain-killers or whatever. It was not possible for me to wear my shoes. The pain was preventing me from doing so. I decided to move out in slippers, so I wrapped the shoes in a plastic bag and put it into the bag. I left my shirt un-tucked. I wanted to feel free. I wanted to free myself from the chains of this demon.
The train halted finally on platform number-23. Oh Jesus! This was the last platform, which meant I had to walk about 500 meters to reach the bus depot. And adding to the agony, my bogie number was S-10, the last bogie of the train. Damn! It was like all drums kept in reserve to be played on the same day. I stepped down on the platform keeping my foot as softly as possible; I could not take the liberty of jumping off the train on reaching my favorite city, as I usually do. My luggage was twice heavy now. But asking a coolie a coolie for just a schoolbag would surely fix eyes on me. I did not want to demonstrate that I was sick, although I wished strongly for someone to be with me.
It was not as hot and humid in Kolkata as I was expecting. Maybe because it was just 7’o clock morning. A soft cool breeze came and touched my face, it smelled Kolkata. I recognize this smell. I watched people coming out of the train. They were fresh, happy, healthy, sound and moving; I was standing near my bogie, unable to visualize me reach the end of the platform in such a critical situation; the pain would kill me before I reached the gate of the station. i could not walk, and this was the first time in my life. It was like something had burst inside me. I opened my bag and took out the bottle of water, half filled. i drained out half of that for I could not carry even 500ml of water in my hand, the bag was enough to kill me under its weight. I could sense some eyes rising towards me, but I decided to ignore the attention. Putting the bag back on my back and a bottle in my hand, I started walking. In case I collapse midway, I could quickly gulp down some water before I feel so.
I started walking. This was the strangest style of walking I have ever used. With my head down, body leaning forward, throwing hands vaguely on either side, making way only on the basis of my instinct, it was what I would call a Blind Race. That was a strange posture to walk with, but I had no option, I had no energy. I dashed forward like a bull, collecting and using energy from each and every cell of my body. Oh, the station loudspeakers are another killer objects. But I was determined to reach the end of the station, and I did, but only after I had to break my struggling journey twice in the midway. I would sit down on a bench, relax for two minutes, pull me up like a sack of grains and start walking again. It was doomsday. I thought I was dead, but I reached there, the station gate. There are three confectionary shops at the station gate there. The first two had customers; I dashed towards the third one, although I had to take a few strides more to do so. Each and every step from my seat in the train to this shop was a losing deal.
I allowed myself to fall against the counter of the shop. I threw my bottle in a nearby bin; I could not carry it anymore. “Juice?” I asked. There was none. “Anything else?” the shopkeeper was startled by my confined use of words. I could not afford to use words more than necessary. He was looking me with big eyes; I realized I was looking ill. He gave me a cool bottle of Fruity. I opened the bottle and gulped balls of the drink down my gut. “Aaaaaahhh…” I moaned in relief. Even a bit of relief was like heaven. I started walking away from the shop when the shopkeeper who had been watching me in amazement, stopped me. I had forgotten to pay him the money. “25 Rupees”, he said with eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I just forgot”, I replied trying to sound as cool as possible.
I was now out of the station, with some pain gone, but most of it still killing me. The sun was out and the heat scorching. I looked at the Howrah Bridge, mighty it stood. “I can walk”, I said to myself. Gulping down the Fruity I started walking toward the bridge. It was difficult for me to walk with the heavy bag on my shoulders now. But I was trying to ignore all the pain for I had to reach the bridge before I would collapse. Once I get into the right bus, I was done. Streams of sweat were running down the edge of ny nose, ears and every part of the body. I was drenched in sweat. I kept on drinking Fruity until the bottle was empty. I was now below the Howrah Bridge. I looked up, I had to strain myself to do so. Wow! I have always admired this construction by human being. Larger than life. The pain pulled me down and bend me. A traffic policeman standing nearby was watching me. He came up to me and asked,”kothaayejaabo?” He meant where I was supposed to go.
See! That is one big reason why Kolkata is my favorite city. People are always on their mark to help, even if you don’t ask for any. “Salt Lake, Labony”, I struggled to answer. I guess he did make out that I was not well. He got me into the bus that would take me to my destination. I smiled back to him in gratitude. He waved back at me.
The pain was intense. I could not stretch my head out to see the construction of the Howrah Bridge above me from the window of the bus. I had never crossed the bridge on wheels; I always used to walk across. I was looking at the Hoogly under the bridge. Divine, serene and cold; it looks beautiful in winter mornings. I tried to smile at the river, feeling its smell inside me. Now the bus was on the other end of the bridge. The flower market refreshed the atmosphere with its fragrance. I took a deep breath of it. Nice.
The moment the bus turned towards M G Road, I started feeling something happening in my stomach. Something happening like my intestines moving. I could feel the pain decreasing slowly and slowly. The next three minutes were a miracle. The pain vanished like anything. Oh my God! It was no more. I was startled by the sudden change. How could this be? It was like Jaadoo coming from a space-craft and healing wounds in the movie Koi Mil Gaya. The pain was gone in three minutes. I could feel it going. I could feel things becoming normal. It was a miracle. I was near to die a few minutes ago, and now I was all fine. No pain! It had troubled me so much in the train. I was shocked, how could this happen. This was a miracle.
I took out my mobile phone and dialed the number with the name- Papa. My parents were confused by what I was trying to explain to them. The co-passengers started staring at me. I was probably disturbing them by shouting in happiness and amazement. I hung the phone after assuring them that I was ok. I got down at my destination and I had no sign of pain now. Wow. It felt so good.
This incident will always remain a landmark in my life. Not because the pain was a killer demon or I took it all by myself, or anything like that. It taught me that when a man is in complete darkness, and when he is scared of it, and when he attempts to win oner his fears, there is something larger than life that guides the man to a very small vent in the walls, through which comes in a peck of light. This little peck of light is enough for making the man feel like a warrior. And that feeling actually converts him into a real warrior. He catches hold of that small peck of light, firmly with his imagination and pulls it in; and then follows a complete ray of light that enlightens his darkness making room for life. These small gestures of nature keep man alive, and keep the flame, the spirit to live, alive. There is something that nature has bestowed in man that helps him differentiate this peck of light from a firefly. Man succeeds by his own virtues, and this is a virtue of man.
