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The Hazrat Nizamuddin Express
A journey is best measured in friends rather than miles.
Tim Cahill
Day 1
Elevation: 3000 ft.
Distance from Leh: 3351 km.
When the alarm rang three hours later, I woke up grudgingly to Saturday, July 23rd, 2011. In Manoj’s room, the sun is never invited and smoke from a million cigarettes hangs in the air near the ceiling fan, clouding the already dark room. Men of varying sizes lay strewn around and it took me a moment to recognize them as my friends. I stood up and went to wake myself up with cold water, picking my way amidst random hands and feet gingerly in the permanent gloom of Manoj’s room.
By nine that morning, we had a billion things to do, but were still trying valiantly to wake up. I had been half-awake and half-frustrated trying to wake everybody up since seven. Eventually, and painfully, all of us began moving around like zombies, gathering speed, energy and focus at snail’s pace. I mumbled angrily at everyone and informed them once again that we had now only two hours to get to the railway station, miles away from Manoj’s house, to get the bikes checked and signed, packed and loaded, finish whatever minor shopping remained, and get ourselves on the train.
I worked everyone up into a frenzied and irritated mood, including myself. We decided it was best to split up. 3 and Manoj would take two of the bikes, and Moham and I would finish the shopping and reach the station as soon as possible. The first group left, leaving Moham and me behind, trying to start Manoj’s bike. The bike (the very same bike that had carried us majestically on the trip to Kemmangundi) wouldn’t start! And when it did start, it would go a few hundred meters before stopping again. My nerves, already frayed by our lethargic start, were beginning to disintegrate. Moham was - thankfully - still cool, trying to fix the bike. After fifteen minutes of frantic kicking it spurred into action, and we went into high gear. Through all of this, I was trying to reach Sumanth, who hadn’t spent the night with us and hadn’t bothered to touch base. Somewhere in the middle of buying four pairs of cheap slippers in the crowded markets of Shivajinagar, he called. He was almost at the railway station! I called him thirty minutes later, and he was still almost there, but hadn’t reached.
All in all, it wasn’t a very happy me that reached the station less than half hour before the train was to leave. 3 and Manoj were getting the bikes packed and had finished all the paperwork. We took the bikes behind the station to get them parceled and stuffed with polystyrene for the three day train ride, and the man there asked us to give him twelve hundred rupees more to pack the three bikes. This was, of course, under the table. After a bit of bargaining, we agreed upon three hundred per bike.
While that was being taken care of, I went around looking for the train. There was a train to Delhi on the same platform that I was on, but the number on it was different. A little apprehensive, I went down to the enquiry, and found 3, Sumanth, Manoj and Moham standing there, talking about the very same thing.
Where’s the train, they ask me.
It should have been here by now, I say, not meeting their eyes.
We all turn around and march to the enquiry counter and ask the old gentleman there about the Hazrat Nizamuddin express. It was supposed to leave here by one in the afternoon, I say to him.
The old man replies, ‘That train? That won’t be here till ten-twenty.’
‘But it’s already almost one!’ I say, almost hysteric now with the fear of missing the train.
‘I meant ten in the night, son. Give me your ticket…’
I hand him the ticket, nervous now. My friends gather around me, equally tense and giving me the eye.
‘Yeah, this train – Hazrat Nizamuddin Express - will leave tonight at 22.20. You must have got it mixed up with this other train, as the train numbers are so similar,’ he says, and guffaws heartily.
I froze.
I did not want to turn around to face my friends, all of whom I had hassled, irritated, rushed, scolded and shouted at to get to the station nine hours before the train would actually depart! But I had to turn, and face them. I broke into a tentative smile, and was met with six pairs of cold, dark eyes. The tension in the air was so thick I could have cut it with that misread ticket. But I managed a grin, and they burst upon me like a swarm of annoyed bees. They grabbed me and hit me mockingly and let a few well-chosen expletives fly. I was embarrassed, but if you ever do a mistake, it’s best to do it in the presence of your best friends. They can make you feel good even about a mistake.
What better way to start a long road trip than a goofy story like this? As we mulled around the station, illegally using the first class lounge, I realized there was a very important lesson for me to learn from this moment. There was no point pushing for things and forgetting to enjoy the experience of it all. I was panicky, pushy and not being a good traveler that morning. And this incident was just the slap in the face I needed to wake me up and actually taste the excitement of the trip, rather than worry about particulars. I learnt that day that it was enough that I was with friends, about to embark on a life-changing journey, and the fact that I had messed up the beginning was the whole point. The only thing I was doing wrong was that I wasn’t enjoying the little things. Personally, it was the best thing to happen before the trip. I’d have been just as stuck up on the entire trip, and probably wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as I eventually did. A traveler has to leave his old self behind, like a piece of luggage you don’t need on a trip. What they really mean when they ask you travel light is to leave home minus the ego. Traveling is not only a gateway to new experiences, but also a chance to become a new person, to even invent a new persona.
The time we spent in that station became as important as the rest of the trip. There are some moments I remember now from the nine hours we spent on the platform, waiting for our magic carpet to arrive. If I close my eyes now, I can see Moham and Sumanth laughing with each other, sitting in one corner of a long and empty wooden bench, the loop of Sumanth’s camera around both their necks. I can see 3 running towards us after the train had arrived, in the final tense moments when we were waiting for him to return from a tiny escapade. I can see 3, Moham and Sumanth secretly smoking in the Railway station, in front of the ‘No Smoking’ sign. And I can see myself, craning into the gathering dark, following with my eyes the slightly twisting parallel lines of the metallic train tracks, and forgetting to breathe when the yellow light from an engine turned in the night and began to approach the station.