Trouble on the tracks.

Warning: read it only if you’ve got a good deal of patience and time.

It was about eleven thirty and I had just awoken to the sound of some insane knocking on the door to my room. It reminded me of ‘The Raven’ by Poe. Although this time there was no gentle tapping or knocking or rapping. Just banging. So I got up and answered it with a twist of the wrist and a face of pure irritation. A technique I’ve perfected over the years. And there stood the butler (I was staying at a guest house), who went on to explain that I had booked to room only till today and its new occupants would arrive shortly. To which I asked whether it would be possible to extend my stay. No luck. So I ordered a pot of hot coffee and informed him that I’d be out by twelve.
Now this situation presented a problem. 1. I did not live in Bangalore and therefore had no place else to go. 2. To return to Chennai I would need to take some sort of transport that needed advance booking. 3. I was in one of those lazy moods. So what did I do? I proceeded to partake in some of the old herb with another buddy and chill out in front of the TV, AC on full blast. Now well past twelve, my aforementioned deadline, there came another tapping and a knocking and a rapping and an insane banging on my chamber door. Horror of horrors I had fifteen minutes to get the fuck out. Half an hour later I was out of the place (sans buddy), standing on the sidewalk, scratching my head (confusion not dandruff). Where to go? So I went to the train station, Cantonment for those of you who are well versed with Bangalore. And got a ticket for the one forty five to Chennai. Platform two.
Now any of you who have ever been to Cantonment will know that there are only two platforms. I, having never boarded a train from there had no fucking clue! So there I stood, bag over one shoulder, unreserved ticket clutched tightly in one hand, a copy of GQ in the other, waiting for the train to come along down platform number two. Being the cautious type I made sure I was on the right platform. So far so good. Ticket, check, platform, check, bag, check. I was good to go. And there it was! A magnificent sight. My train, huffing and puffing down line number two. I readied myself. Ready to jump into the unreserved, battle for my seat and last it out till Chennai. Train stopped. I spotted unreserved. I jumped. Got in. Found a seat. Parked my ass, crossed my hands and stayed put. (Whew!) Expecting a barrage to enter any moment. Nothing of the sort. By the time we left, the damn compartment was half empty! Wasted effort but who’s complaining? I was finally on my way back home! Or so I thought.
It was lovely; it was the first time I had ever been able to stretch out in unreserved. So I relaxed. The scene outside the train was breathtaking! Hills, tunnels, streams, paddy fields and wonder of wonders… a field of sunflowers! For those of you who have never seen a field of sunflowers let me tell you, it’s something else! (But that’s another story).
It was about six by now, around four hours since I’d boarded. And I started feeling a little uneasy. Small little things got my attention. First off, no noisy smelly bastards pushing and shoving. And when you’re on you way to Chennai you WILL run into them. Secondly, nobody seemed to be speaking Tamil, another charming characteristic of the people from Chennai. I spotted a ‘decent’ looking fellow diagonally across from me and mustered up the courage to put my uneasiness to rest. So I asked “hmmm, dude (for those of you at McCann), what’s the last stop on this train?”. He looked at me quizzically and replied “Vizag”. It hit me like a sack of bolts in the gut. I was on the wrong fucking train! Just to be sure (and also hoping I heard wrong) I asked “does this train by chance stop at Chennai?” to which he gave me a look that seemed to say “either you’re retarded or you’re in advertising, in either case I must flee!”, but, he summed up some courage and said “no” with a wave of the hand and a shake of the head. I was fucked! Wrong train, wrong direction, three hundred bucks, I didn’t speak the language and it was getting dark. Palms began to sweat, stomach turned knots, throat ran dry, eyes began to dilate and there wasn’t a joint in sight! A sort of internal and very personal high if you will. So off I jumped at the next station. Leaving the GQ to fend for itself. Bad idea. The station, not the abandonment of the GQ. It was a junction, like Cantonment. So I had to haul ass on a lorry to the nearest town that offered a bus service to Chennai. I got there about a half hour later. Found the bus station got a ticket for the nine thirty and proceeded to inform the parents via the phone about my state of affairs. My mom laughed like I’ve never heard her laugh. Perhaps she thought it funny.

I boarded the bus at nine fifteen but not before making absolutely sure it went to Chennai. It left at nine forty five on the dot and stopped around twenty times in the next few hours. Enormously irritating. (Notice that I’ve gotten bored of writing and I’m sure you’ve gotten bored of reading so I’m just going to wind this up quickly. Fuck the flow) At about seven the following day I was awoken to be told that the bus had ‘reached’. So I got off. And saw the bus speed away in the distance. So, I had reached, but where? Empty stretches of road well umm… ‘stretched’ out on either side. And there I stood. Sleepy, groggy and in no mood for another adventure. Wonder of wonders I spotted an auto in the distance. Yes and auto! What it was doing out this far I had no Idea but hey, who’s to complain? So I stopped the bugger and told him to take me home. The bastard wanted four hundred bucks, I had a hundred. So I sent him packing. And decided to walk in the direction I presumed Chennai to be in. Another auto came plugging along only this time it was full. I stopped it, bargained and in ten minutes I was on my way back home. Bobbing along beside the driver.
I was supposed to have reached Chennai twelve hours earlier! I reached my apartment at around eight thirty but managed to get in only by two in the afternoon on account of my flat-mate being a very sound sleeper. Needless to say most of the anger I pent up was showered on him. Fucking bastard. I chucked the damn bag in the corner, shoes came off on the way to my room, and I hit the sack.

For everyone I’ve missed out in this story i.e. Anek, the maintenance guys at Oakland (Oh fuck you bastards if you’re reading this!), shaun and co, I’m sorry. But it was getting ENORMOUS!