:
A train journey to Kolkata, and within.
Life is a chain of events, some spectacular others mundane.
Some events test us and give us lessons to last a lifetime. I would like to
describe one such event which made me look at humanity in a different way.
This “train” of episodes happened on December 7th
1992 when I was in a train going to my grandparents’ house in West Bengal.
Freshly out of college and immediately being hired by a Multinational
Corporation made me want to take a break and spend some quality leisure time
amidst the greenery of rural India. The train left the Chhatrapati Shivaji
Terminus (then known as Victoria Terminus) at 6 a.m. After settling down snugly
I picked up the newspaper lying on the seat. And there it was! In black and
bold letters! “Kar Sevaks demolish the
Babri Masjid in Ayodhya. Country on red alert” This was a result of a quagmire
which the political parties of India could not resolve and a few politicians of
a community took it upon themselves to put a violent end to the problem.
A feeling of uncertainty and impending gloom engulfed the
air of the train compartment. Loud whisperings turned to nervous conversations
as more and more co-passengers went through their copies of the ominous
newspaper. We were out on the road; the train was hurtling through fields and
barren lands. Going back home was a distant dream now. We felt vulnerable and
were mightily scared. What if our train becomes a target of arson, rioting and looting?
What if it stops in the middle of nowhere? And it did exactly that.
Around 4 p.m. the train came to a screeching halt at
Jharsuguda, a small mining town in Odisha. Upon asking our coach attendant we
learnt that heavy unrest was on at the next station of Jamshedpur, hence this
decision to stop the train here. The passengers were fervently thinking of
defense strategies. If need be, the women and children could be locked in the
washrooms and the curtain rods in
the coach could be used to ward off the goons and their ilk. Women handed over
their jewelry to their spouses. Such camaraderie was born between the
passengers who until some time ago never knew each other. They were the
followers of different religions and sects which made our train compartment
look like a miniature version of India, the country epitomizing unity in
diversity. Not once did the passengers ask each other their religions. No one
needed to know whether the other was from the community which demolished the
mosque and sparked off the rioting in the country. They felt safe and secured
in the company of their countrymen. They knew that they would unify and fight
the goons if need arise.
We had to face food and power shortages leading to a smaller
lunch pack and switching off of the air-conditioning in the compartment respectively.
I tried to concentrate on my paperback but in vain. People started singing
devotional and patriotic songs to
lighten up themselves and their brethren . After a good twelve hour wait, peace
prevailed at Jamshedpur and the train chugged off from the Jharsuguda station and arrived at the Howrah Station in Kolkata
where I was received with open arms by my grandmother. She was in tears of
worry and joy and asked me, “ How could you endure such an arduous journey with
so many strangers around you?”. “Strangers?” I remarked, “No Grandma, they are
like me, as they think like me, they are the people who make our country
incredible” From that day onwards I stopped typecasting people on the basis of
their religious beliefs and ideas. For me this train journey was also a journey
inwards to the depths of my soul and heart.
