Patna "Junction"
There’s one thing about the changing seasons that makes me grow more silent. My life has been a collage of different pieces gathered from north, east and south India framed together. No matter how diverse the life, cultural exposure or impressions have been on these places, no matter how different the seasons have been at all these places, the transition between seasons has been similar. Similar temperatures, similar flower buds finding their ways to life, similar brown leaves bidding their last goodbyes waving down to the earth, similar wind, neither cold nor hot... meant to evoke the same old emotion buried under the heat or chill of last season. From the bhaiyas of north to the bosses of south to the dadas of east, life has been taking topsy turvy turn, as if caught in a wave with regular crests and troughs, oscillating around these season changes. These changes are at the centre of all of it... similar all the time.
This time I am in Patna, standing on the cusp of the life of dadas and bosses. However I am not thinking of any of these. All the songs have stripped themselves of all these memories and hopes and emotions. Yesterday as I stood on the top floor of Hanuman Mandir near Patna railway station, I looked around myself at the traffic circle below. It’s the time around Holi and station is busier than usual. Isn’t it the same as it were some... 10 years back? Ya it’s been 10 years. I mean... look beyond the fancy new steam engine our rail minister has installed at the entrance, and neglect the advertisement boards with fancy HSBC bank ads, look at the people. They are the same people. It’s a similar crowd. There are four kinds of people who revolve around the railway station traffic circle during vacations. There are those going towards station, out of their karmabhumi to the towns and villages they have come from. And the ones coming out of station are the happy bright faces visiting their families. Third are the ones entering the temple. They are those who want to join the crowd of homecomers, occasionally visiting their families during holis and diwalis. For them the train is a time machine... the moment you get a chance to enter it, your life fast forwards into happy days... Fourth are those who are stuck in the circle. They pull their rickshaws and run their autos around the circle the whole day... for days and years. They were there 10 years back and they are still here now, nothing has changed for them.
And I looked at myself. Wrapped in a cool black IIM Calcutta tee and Lee jeans with a pair of Adidas shoes lying in the shoes counter outside, I certainly look different from what I looked like some 10 years back when I stood at the same point on the top of the temple. I looked at my watch, it was 9:10am. The train comes at 9:30am. I better get going.
The enquiry counter was crowded. Bhaiya had confirmed on phone that the train was running on time. I still thought to ask the attendant about it.
Bhaiya (or boss or dada)! Patna Kurla kitni der mein aayegi?
The guy was chatting with another relatively older man with a grey moustache. I understood the futility and stepped back. The guy behind me jumped forward and screamed at the enquiry guy.
Sir... buxar passenger kis number pe?
He turned and replied... du number pe
(Sir??)
I asked him again... Patna Kurla...
Kaun train?
Patna Kurla...
U abhi kahan aayegi... 11 baje se pehle nahi aayegi... with a frown on his face.
I turned back. Someone had to be lying... bhaiya, my common sense or this guy. I blamed my common sense and entered the platform.
We had a course on Indian Social Structure last term. I realized that if one really wants to learn Indian social structure then he should spend few hours at a railway station in India. The class division, family bonding, poverty, the growing middle class... everything can be found here. As I stood near the gate of platform 1, I found myself standing at the line of division. From my left was coming the huge middle class crowd of India... hopping down the sleeper class ready to barge into the city through the gate, most of them without anyone to receive them. And were visible the TTEs fishing out the odd ticketless ones and the ones with general ticket who were pretending to be a part of the middle class lot. From my front was advancing the confident sophisticated middle class and the upper class of India, half engaged in getting adjusted to the heat gradient between the comforts of the bogie and the heat of the city and half engaged in accepting the welcome of their family members. On my left were the lesser fortunate ones slowly descending down the bulging bogie stuffed with people of every shape and sizes. They looked tired of a long sleepless night of journey from Delhi to Patna. I suddenly felt that it was too big a burden to handle all by myself. I stepped aside to the comfort of the tea stall on the right side of the entrance gate.
I walked through this mesh of classes, wealth to the 4th platform where Kurla Patna was supposed to arrive. I had gone to receive Bhaiya and Bhabhi. And I played the role of a sophisticated middle class this time. I oscillate between sophisticated middle class and the middle class. It’s tough to shun away the roots you know. Before I met them after a wait of 3 hours as I looked at the farthest end of the railway tracks to locate the engine of the train I was expecting for last one hour, a possibility the enquiry guy had outrightly rejected. I chanced upon a look falling straight into my eyes...
Don’t know why but I kept looking back at her...
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