Rail sneham

"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.

The Nakula-Sahadeva syndrome

Nakula and Sahadeva would not have had an easy life. Imagine...being born in a family of over-achievers where they have no special identity of their own. To be always compared with an Arjuna or a Bheema or a Yudhishthira and living under their shadow an entire life- how frustrating it would have been! Nakula and Sahadeva are your proverbial also-rans. They are those nameless and voiceless extras who stay in the background in every song-n-dance Bollywood sequence...while the hero hogs the limelight! A little, like the 12th man in Cricket who carries drinks and the towel onto the field so that the Master Blaster batsman can cool himself and wipe his sweat off! It is a life of ignominy where you never get your place in the sun!

If we think about Arjuna, we can easily reel out accomplishments by the dozen. He was a master archer who could pierce a revolving target by glancing at the water below; he was Drona's favourite student and Krishna too doted on him. Besides archery, he was skilled in dance and music. When it came to women, his conquests were many- Draupadi, Uloopi, Chitrangada and Subhadra to name a few!
Think about Bheema and we imagine a hunk- all muscle and who had the appetite of a wolf. We recall his mind-blowing escapades with Bakasura, Jarasandha and Keechaka.
Yudhishthira- and an idealist comes to mind...a Gandhian figure of sorts...who walked his way to heaven riding on his spotless character.
Now, let us think of Nakula and Sahadeva. What do we know about them? The mind is a complete blank. No single incident can we recall about them! We do not know what their skills were, how they looked or whom they married...apart from of course Draupadi who was anyway bequeathed to all the brothers. They appear to have spent an entire life...staying in the background without making any monumental contribution...while the likes of Arjuna painted the town red. Mythological dramas and screenplays make it worse. The superstar hero obviously bags Arjuna's role, and all we have is a nondescript actor who doubles up as the twins.

Over-achieving siblings are a nuisance. Achievements come easy for them- as if they are born with a mole in a special part of the anatomy! However, they make life uncomfortable for the rest of us. Sometimes, we wish they were born in the neighbour's house and would not collide with us so much! Left to ourselves, we would have been a star; it is just that the over-achieving sibling is like the sun...in whose glare, the stars are not visible to anyone! They have taken over the entire showcase...stacked it up with all their trophies and shields and cups. No, we are not jealous of their success. The problem is with those folks who come home and size up the Nakulas and Sahadevas with the same yardstick as Arjuna! The judgmental society is to blame; trying to paint us all with the same brush, and in the process, making us feel small and sheepish.

Nakula and Sahadeva did not suffer from any complex. We do not know any day when they sulked because their lives were ordinary. The irony is...it was Arjuna, the over-achiever, who required psychiatric treatment from Lord Krishna. At least the twins had each other for company to pour their heart out. We feel more for Shatrughna, that lonesome character in the Ramayana. Compared to his illustrious brothers, his was a very quiet life, bereft of significant achievement. Still, he shared the space...heroically with all of them.

These great epics have a lot to teach. It is with intent that they included these characters; silent characters who charm us through their sheer simplicity and ordinariness. The Mahabharata was also called "Jaya"- victory. The victory was not just for the good against the evil. It was also a victory for those silent sentinels, those nameless Nakulas and Sahadevas who provided their shoulders as a prop, so that the likes of Arjuna would appear even taller!

It is nice to be successful. However, it is more important to be nice. There is a place for everyone under the sun. Life is as much for the noisy river, which hurtles its way to the ocean, as for the pebble in the riverbed; the pebble which simply "is" and allows the river to wash itself over! An also-ran is not a pushover; he runs an honest race; it is just that he did not win. That is fine.
As they say, the squirrel and the mountain had a quarrel. The squirrel said, "Talents differ; all is well and wisely put. If I cannot carry forests on my back, neither can you crack a nut!"
I stand at the mountaintop and proclaim wholeheartedly, "I am Nakula and I am proud of it!" The mountains resound with the echo...and agree with me!