"Rail sneham" is a term with a specific connotation. It refers to the spontaneous affection that two unrelated passengers experience on a long train journey. You knew nothing about the person seated in front of you in the train compartment. Back then, there was no internet. There was no facebook page to quickly verify a person's background or a twitter handle to peek into his political views. It was a blind-date, where you related to the person sitting on the opposite seat...as-is, totally, completely...with no baggage from his past. You also knew that the bond lasted till the journey ended and no more. It gave the luxury of anonymity that allowed you to bear your heart to an absolute stranger. It was often a cathartic experience, at the end of which, you felt lighter in the heart and totally energised.
Over the rattle of the rail, family trees were dissected, relatives and their motives were scrutinised openly and close-held secrets were spilt. It was that easy. You volunteered to buy tea at the station and over each sip, more conversation flowed, and you got closer. At the next big railway junction, you often caught his hand and quarrelled to prevent him from paying for both meals! You exulted over his stories of success, shed tears when he spoke of a lost one...and agreed with him a hundred percent that corruption was the root cause of all evil! You stayed awake through the night...and spoke in bated breath, how he would get down the following day and would be gone forever. Such was rail-sneham- "manzil se behtar..yeh raahen"..that made journeys memorable, to the extent that even the destination did not matter! At times, addresses were exchanged, but rarely pursued. Rail-sneham was like a one-night stand, an emotional one at that, where you hugged the person close...for just that trip...and allowed him to move on...the moment he picked his luggage and stepped down from the train. It was also a proven template for life- that joy was in the journey, in extending that pleasantness to life's co-passengers who happen to share our coupe.
These train trips came with their share of stories, some more unusual than others.
Roorkee to Bombay (as it was known then) was a long train journey. Thirty-six hours if the stars lined up and the train was on time. Often, it took well over forty hours...spread over two nights. I recall that trip vividly. Settling down in the coach, I took an instant liking to the elderly gentleman on the opposite seat. "I am Arvind. You can call me Arvind kaka!" he introduced himself. "What do you do?" he asked me. "I am an Art Student," I said quickly. "Why are you at Roorkee?" he asked me, totally puzzled. "I was here to attend an Art Workshop by Vitankar." Kaka's eyes lit up. "You mean Vitankar saheb, that comic-book artist?" "Yes, he conducts a one month workshop where we learn to draw from nature," I explained.
That evening, as we shared "rewdi" at Meerut station, it was my turn to quiz Kaka. "I am a theatre artiste. I am part of a drama troupe. We stage one-act plays, social dramas and mythological adaptations all over Maharashtra," Kaka announced grandly. As the train meandered its way through Delhi and Kota, Ratlam and Vadodara, we took turns to buy the specialty at each station- a "gajak" here, a "petha" there, a handful of "chivda" and cups and cups of steaming "matka-chai"! "Unlike the cine-star, the theatre artiste has no fixed script. He has to improvise on the spot...instantly...to strike that chord with the audience. I have learnt that art over the years," Kaka reminisced sagely. I made Kaka recite his favorite lines in Marathi and giggled as he became overly dramatic and disturbed passengers in the adjoining coupe. Kaka wanted me to draw a caricature for him. I dodged his request but agreed to paint his portrait once I qualified as a complete artist.
Kaka and I were on adjoining top-berths at night. Rocked by the rhythm of the rail, in the dim light of the coach, I lay on my side and faced kaka. Kaka suddenly broke the silence, "Tomorrow, you will be on your way and I...mine. I know you will grow up to be a great artist, like Vitankar saheb!" I smiled gently, "I hope so. I will remember you Kaka." I did not sleep a wink.
The following morning, the train limped to a halt at Bombay Central. The journey was over. As we got down, my heart was heavy. It was not the usual lump in the throat that rail sneham brings in its wake. This was different. "I have a confession to make...Kaka. I hope you will forgive me. I am not an art student. I lied. I am just a first year engineering student!" I looked at Kaka straight in the eye. I knew I had broken his trust. If he lashed out at me, I was ready for it. After all, I had violated the cardinal rule of rail sneham- honesty. For a split second, Kaka's expression was inscrutable. The next instant, he threw his head back and laughed heartily. Placing his hand on my shoulder, and between spasms of uncontrollable laughter, Kaka managed to say, "I knew that from the beginning! Of course, I knew you were not an Art Student! And now, let me tell you this. It will make you feel better. Neither am I...a theatre artiste! I am also just another insurance agent!" With that, Kaka turned around..and walked away into the crowd.
I stood on the platform transfixed- dazed and deceived.
Over the rattle of the rail, family trees were dissected, relatives and their motives were scrutinised openly and close-held secrets were spilt. It was that easy. You volunteered to buy tea at the station and over each sip, more conversation flowed, and you got closer. At the next big railway junction, you often caught his hand and quarrelled to prevent him from paying for both meals! You exulted over his stories of success, shed tears when he spoke of a lost one...and agreed with him a hundred percent that corruption was the root cause of all evil! You stayed awake through the night...and spoke in bated breath, how he would get down the following day and would be gone forever. Such was rail-sneham- "manzil se behtar..yeh raahen"..that made journeys memorable, to the extent that even the destination did not matter! At times, addresses were exchanged, but rarely pursued. Rail-sneham was like a one-night stand, an emotional one at that, where you hugged the person close...for just that trip...and allowed him to move on...the moment he picked his luggage and stepped down from the train. It was also a proven template for life- that joy was in the journey, in extending that pleasantness to life's co-passengers who happen to share our coupe.
These train trips came with their share of stories, some more unusual than others.
Roorkee to Bombay (as it was known then) was a long train journey. Thirty-six hours if the stars lined up and the train was on time. Often, it took well over forty hours...spread over two nights. I recall that trip vividly. Settling down in the coach, I took an instant liking to the elderly gentleman on the opposite seat. "I am Arvind. You can call me Arvind kaka!" he introduced himself. "What do you do?" he asked me. "I am an Art Student," I said quickly. "Why are you at Roorkee?" he asked me, totally puzzled. "I was here to attend an Art Workshop by Vitankar." Kaka's eyes lit up. "You mean Vitankar saheb, that comic-book artist?" "Yes, he conducts a one month workshop where we learn to draw from nature," I explained.
That evening, as we shared "rewdi" at Meerut station, it was my turn to quiz Kaka. "I am a theatre artiste. I am part of a drama troupe. We stage one-act plays, social dramas and mythological adaptations all over Maharashtra," Kaka announced grandly. As the train meandered its way through Delhi and Kota, Ratlam and Vadodara, we took turns to buy the specialty at each station- a "gajak" here, a "petha" there, a handful of "chivda" and cups and cups of steaming "matka-chai"! "Unlike the cine-star, the theatre artiste has no fixed script. He has to improvise on the spot...instantly...to strike that chord with the audience. I have learnt that art over the years," Kaka reminisced sagely. I made Kaka recite his favorite lines in Marathi and giggled as he became overly dramatic and disturbed passengers in the adjoining coupe. Kaka wanted me to draw a caricature for him. I dodged his request but agreed to paint his portrait once I qualified as a complete artist.
Kaka and I were on adjoining top-berths at night. Rocked by the rhythm of the rail, in the dim light of the coach, I lay on my side and faced kaka. Kaka suddenly broke the silence, "Tomorrow, you will be on your way and I...mine. I know you will grow up to be a great artist, like Vitankar saheb!" I smiled gently, "I hope so. I will remember you Kaka." I did not sleep a wink.
The following morning, the train limped to a halt at Bombay Central. The journey was over. As we got down, my heart was heavy. It was not the usual lump in the throat that rail sneham brings in its wake. This was different. "I have a confession to make...Kaka. I hope you will forgive me. I am not an art student. I lied. I am just a first year engineering student!" I looked at Kaka straight in the eye. I knew I had broken his trust. If he lashed out at me, I was ready for it. After all, I had violated the cardinal rule of rail sneham- honesty. For a split second, Kaka's expression was inscrutable. The next instant, he threw his head back and laughed heartily. Placing his hand on my shoulder, and between spasms of uncontrollable laughter, Kaka managed to say, "I knew that from the beginning! Of course, I knew you were not an Art Student! And now, let me tell you this. It will make you feel better. Neither am I...a theatre artiste! I am also just another insurance agent!" With that, Kaka turned around..and walked away into the crowd.
I stood on the platform transfixed- dazed and deceived.
Well, I can totally relate to this incident. I really appreciate your way of writing as it brings all pictures in mind and it feels like experiencing same journey with you.
ReplyDeleteI often experience this Rail sneham while travelling to office!
Looking forward for your next articles.
Ah!! So nice!!! Am so glad you liked it!!!
ReplyDelete