The Something by Something Box

The journey they say is more thrilling than the destination. The thrills that I experienced on this particular journey were more than enough to make the destination a welcome relief.

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Author: Hari Subedi

The journey they say is more thrilling than the destination. The thrills that I experienced on this particular journey were more than enough to make the destination a welcome relief. Travelling from somewhere unimportant to somewhere insignificant, and whose memories I’d rather like to forget, the journey however, left an indelible mark on me. A once in a lifetime experience; which I’d like to keep that way- once.

This brilliant idea hit upon me of travelling in a general “dabba” a la “Swades”, but for a different cause of saving the extra buck. Two hours wait at the mosquito-infested station was a less than promising preview of the nightmare to follow.

The army of mosquitoes was unyielding. No matter how hard you tried to cover yourself, to waive them away or swat them, they were always there, omnipresent, being an optimist I decided to look for a brighter side of this and Voila: learn to be relentless. No matter what your job is stick to it, even though it may be as lowly as sucking someone’s blood.

The shrill whistle of the approaching train ended our wait. It was 2:10 am when the train finally screeched to a halt. Oblivious of the scene awaiting us, we ran from one end of the train to the other, finally locating our “dabba”. As the door opened I stood there akimbo staring at the sea of humanity packed in that box of insignificant dimensions of something by something.

Inside I felt like pickle stuffed in a jar to marinate, less than five minutes had passed and I was already sour. With my bag dangling on my shoulder, I was balancing precariously on one leg when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I learnt that the man behind me needed to get to the toilet at the distant end and he wanted a little space to move. I complied, and what I saw after that left me in awe. With great agility and flexibility he grabbed any tiny pipe or bar or projection he could and stepping on the sides and on top of seats he sailed over the crowd, like Tarzan over the bushes. I do not know what was so awe inspiring, the man, his ingenuity, the something by something box holding within the sea of humanity, but nonetheless I was in awe. The train halted at a station where a few passengers got off. I dropped my bag, however it didn’t fall all the way to the floor, nonetheless I stood a little more freely, the “more” being comparative at most. Then there came the hawkers with huge bags, big black tea kettles and all, who contrived to manoeuvre their baggage in such a way that they managed to swim through the sea of humanity with immeasurable ease. They sold boiled eggs dished out on archaic newspapers, dark drawn syrupy tea which had been boiled, re-boiled and re re-boiled, served in plastic cups which appeared to be literally recycled.

To divert my mind from the 14 odd hour long journey I looked around, observing people. It was a sorry place, eight to ten people cramped in a single berth, with people squatting on every available inch. There was this woman standing beside me with a child in her arms. There was no gentleman who offered her a seat. I felt pity for her, then I felt pity for the old man crouched at the corner, then for the small kid who was almost squeezed by his fellow passengers and by the time I got back to myself, I ran out of pity.

I looked at my watch, each minute ticked after an infinity. The heat, the stench of the unwashed clothes and sweaty bodies, the congestion was pushing me towards insanity. The fan above seemed to be installed to cool only the steel cage around it. The constant swaying motion of the train keeled bodies over each other; the passengers were irritated yet tolerant. I remarkably remained maddeningly sane. In the dim yellow light the inside looked murkier than the outside. The pitch black of the night faded into a greyer shade as the stars were the only things that pointed which way was up.

The dirt and grime had hidden the original colour of the barely visible floor. The berths looked like metal battens strung together and at any other time it might have been taken as a punishment to sit on it. However, at the moment it was next best thing to heaven. Stations came and passed; the doors I think were one way, as people only entered and entered. Each new entrant astounded me with his flexibility as he squeezed himself into the most awkward of spaces. I marvelled at this engineering feat; hats off to the person who conceived, who designed this something by something box, which could hold this ever growing sea of humanity, and of course the engine which maintained its senile pace even under such a Herculean load. As the seconds struck to minutes and the minutes hand refused to budge the train seemed to be leisurely strolling towards its destination. It was too much to take and I cracked. I started wishing for time warps, hyper drives, black holes, everything that a Hollywood science freak could conjure that would take this train to its destination in a blink. But only if wishes were horses… The rest of the night is history. Well if that does not suit you, I cannot recall what my half shut eyes had seen.

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