Jab I met a few good men- Part 1

It’s been a while since I have been ‘blog’ically active. I have been too lazy to do anything useful or creative, and I can’t blame anyone else, but myself for it. On second thoughts, there is someone I can-The hot and humid weather of Amritsar. I admit I am one of the most indolent creatures on Planet Earth, and the sultry conditions in Amritsar have just allowed me to remain so. Add to it, the frequent and lengthy periods of power-cuts these days, and I have a valid reason. So, the last few weeks have been devoted to the dining table and my beloved bed, besides a short trip to Patna (about which I wish to write a blog in near future). However, boredom has forced me out of the hibernation and here I am writing my new blog.

I recently saw Jab we met. Again. I rate it as one of the best romantic movies I have ever seen. Although the film seems to have drawn inspiration from the mother- of- all love stories, DDLJ, Jab we… has its own charm, and the conversations between Shahid and Kareena just make you fall in love with them(It's a different story that the two of them have fallen out of love in real life!). The concept of two absolute strangers falling in love with each other during a journey has been explored in so many movies, including the mentioned ones, and it still remains a successful formula. Hey, I do not intend to write a synopsis on romantic cinema; I just wonder whether such pleasant adventures happen only on the silver screen, since I have never met any Simran or Geet, or anyone even remotely close to them! Yet, while travelling one does get to meet ‘strange’ strangers, and I had the privilege of meeting a few such men some time back. I can't say if it was an enjoyable experience, but certainly a memorable one.

I was on my way from Chennai to Amritsar, an awfully long journey. I often joke, and it’s not entirely untrue, that I have travelled from Sri Lanka to Pakistan, minus a few kilometers! On the 17th of May, I boarded the Grand Trunk Express at Chennai Central, my destination being New Delhi, from where I had to board another train to Amritsar. My cousin sister and my close friend Aswin had come to see me off at the railway station. At 19:15 hours, I bade goodbye to them as the train started its 36-hour long (scheduled) journey to New Delhi.

I was all alone. It wasn’t the first time that I was travelling alone, nor was it my first trip to the city of the Golden Temple. Yet, something was different. It was perhaps the last time I was following this route, since my college life was now over, and with it possibly, my association with the city of Chennai. All the beautiful moments I had spent during my four years in VITU suddenly started coming back to me. I am an emotional being, and when I saw a group of youngsters playing 29, a game of cards, which I used to play so fondly back in hostel with my friends, I almost felt like crying. That’s when I was brought back to reality by my co-passenger and the first of the few good men during the trip. From now on, he’ll be referred to as Mr.A, and I‘ll be, well, as I. Mr. A: Where are you going? I: New Delhi Mr. A: Oh so, you are also going to New Delhi. Good. You speak Hindi? Hindi aati hai? I: Ji haan. Mr. A: Kya naam hai tumhara? I: Dhruv. Mr. A: Kya karte ho? I: Maine abhi B.Tech complete kia hai VIT, Vellore se. Mr. A: Acha, Bangalore. I: Nai, Vellore (It was not the first time I was explaining to someone that Vellore and Bangalore are two entirely different places. It irritated me initially, but I have got used to this question now). Mr. A: Woh kahaan hai? I: Chennai aur Bangalore ke raaste mein padta hai. Mr. A: Acha, CMC Hospital waala Vellore to nai? I: Ji haan. Mr. A: Wahaan Engg. Bhi hoti hai? I: Nai…

I heard my phone ring. It was my dad. As I answered in my mother-tongue Bengali, I could see a look of surprise on Mr. A’s face, and a new set of questions. And my inference was not wrong.

Mr. A: You are a Bengali? I: Yes. Mr. A: Par tum Delhi jaa rahe ho? I: Actually, I am going to Amritsar. Meri family aajkal wahin hai. Mr. A: Tumhari hindi toh kaafi achi hai. Badi saaf hai. I: Thank You (I have received many compliments for my fluent Hindi, but even today, when someone says so, I feel elated, even proud to a certain extent. I don’t know why, but it does make me feel very happy). Actually, main Patna mein pala-bada hoon. Shayad islie. Mr. A: Patna mein kahaan rehte they? It was just the beginning of the ‘Kab,Kyun, Kahaan, Kaise’ session. I didn’t have a stopwatch; hence I can’t say how long he kept asking me questions. And answering questions I didn’t ask him. His name was Chandan, he was a dealer of medical equipment, who had come to Chennai regarding his work, he was a Bihari, born and brought up in Kolkata, and now settled in New Delhi, he was still a bachelor and had no girl friends, he didn’t like south indian food, Delhi Daredevils were going to win the IPL (which they didn’t), and so on and so forth. All the escape routes seemed out of reach and just when I had almost given up, the Pantry boy came as a savior.

Pantry Boy: Raat ka khana? Mr. A: Kya-kya milega? Pantry Boy: Only biryanis Sir. Veg, Egg or Chicken? I ordered an Egg Biryani. Mr. A: Khana nai milega? Roti, sabzi wagairah? Pantry Boy: Woh kal milega. Aaj biryani. Mr. A: Garam milega na?

I realized it was my best chance. I took out my walkman mobile and stuffed the earphones asap. I can’t recall the song right now, but at that moment, it sounded like the best piece of music ever composed. Mr. A, meanwhile, continued the conversation with the Pantry boy, who now looked eager to run away from the bogie.

My eyes moved back to the boys, who were still playing cards. And my mind wandered back to my college days. The realization that I had now spent the best four years of my life, and they were never going to come back again, hit me sharply again. I was missing my college, my hostel, and my friends very badly. I suddenly realized that the conversation with Mr. A, though irritating, had actually helped me stay away from these thoughts, had helped me remain normal. I silently thanked him for it .Rather instinctively, I typed the following message to my card-playing buddies:

There is a group of people playing 29. Just adding salt to injury.

The Pantry boy had left. Mr. A was now jobless. He tried to initiate a conversation with the boys, but it didn’t last long. They were too busy playing cards. He decided to rest his vocal cords for a while. Meanwhile, I received the following reply from my ex-roomie and one of my partners in card-crime, Nishant.

Don’t be sad coz it’s over. Smile coz it happened.

A simple message, yet it made sense. I smiled.

As I looked up, I could see Mr. A glancing at me. And then he said something. I reluctantly removed the earphones. Mr. A: Kaun sa phone hai? I: Sony Ericsson W810-i Mr. A: Kitne ka pada?

He was back! As I was gearing up for his onslaught, God intervened again. This time through a phone call. It was Shubham, another of my card-mates whom I had sent the message. We had a pretty lengthy chat and by the time we finished the call, I had normalized completely.

After the phone call, Mr. A and I resumed our dialogue till dinner was served. Mr. A wasn’t entirely satisfied by the quality of the biryani and the Pantry boy was confronted by some nagging questions, when he came to collect the money. Thankfully, Mr. A was now tired and felt it was time to go to bed. I couldn’t have agreed any more! Even before I could realize, I was in the world of my dreams.

End of day one. The story continues….