EXCURSION TO THE GRAVEYARD

I found myself sprinting as I heard the announcement, preluded by the three ominous words - "Kripya Dhyaan den !". The cold air left my lungs in short, heavy breaths, escaping to the freezing mist all around me, and yet my lungs felt no lighter. I winced as I took long, quick strides; my football skills had been overdone for sure, or else the throbbing pain in my knee would have ceased long back. Anirudh had taken the lead, and was running ahead of me. I smiled at his alacrity, and increased my pace as I heard the train's whistle from the distance.

We were spared the trouble of wading through the flood of passengers you would normally expect at a typical railway station in India, most certainly because other inhabitants of the city were sound asleep at this early hour, wrapped in soft, warm blankets, surrounded by peace and tranquility. As the Lucknow-Chandigarh Express pulled into the station, we made our way towards platform 3, where Pinky and Aashray were waiting eagerly, hoping we'd return with tickets to board the train. Only one of their anticipations was fulfilled.

When we reached Chandigarh station, I finally realized the meaning of the adage 'Luck favours the brave.', as I slipped through the exit without being obstructed by the ticket collector, who was busy pulling up other culprits. But little did I know my luck would part with me later in the day, as swiftly as it had come to join me.

I have been to numerous cities as a visitor or a tourist, and never have I come across a city so thinly populated and awfully quiet (before evening, of course), as if built upon a sequence of graveyards. For as far as the eye cold see, there was hardly anybody visible, as if the Ghosts had scared everyone away, and for a moment I doubted if the vehicles plying on the roads were real and the entire city was haunted. The evening was livelier, but still couldn't do much to levitate my spirits after the tortuous day. An hour's 'virtual gaming' on the NFS console was the best I could make of this seemingly long trip.
Nevertheless, whoever laid out the immaculate plan for the city must have been a man of high talent, as I can never fathom a person being lost in Chandigarh, as one would almost always find one's way back.

I have seldom had the misfortune of having to travel in the 'General' compartment, and the journey back to Roorkee was a particularly nasty, cruddy experience. Not the least because I was pushed to the corner near the rancid, stinking lavatory and couldn't see my own feet in the crowd, but more so because of the smoke emanating from lighted beedis and weed being consumed by who looked exactly like goons you see so often on television. I waited and I waited, hoping for the train to come to a halt so that I could escape to a compartment that didn't smell like a dipsomaniac's paradise. I did manage to accomplish this feat at Ambala, carefully making my way through an entanglement of heads and legs and feet that lined the compartment's floor, jumping over rucksacks, avoiding stumbling and crashing into a person's face, and finally breaking into an environment where I could get fresh oxygen to breathe. I took some time to savor my achievement before boarding a different, better sleeper class coach - as I realized a few minutes later, only to my utter dismay.