This day in the train has been like a blur, as I landed in Delhi from a flight from Chennai, a city that had been my home for the last ten months or so, and which I have left for the time being to set up base in Bangalore, after a hiatus at my home in Varanasi. That stay could have been longer, but for my belief that boredom would set within a few days. There was little to do, and it is going to be very hot in the day and evenings. I would miss the serene and calming breeze of Chennai that was always cool, even when the sun baked the tar on the roads and turned mud into dust. The climate otherwise was horrible, with the heat seeping into your skin and making you feel like a heated copper wire.

As I lay down on my hotel bed today, my eyes refused to close. Images of people at ACJ, the good times I had spent with them, came back to haunt me, to torment me with the pain of solitude. It’s a realization that takes time and is felt, like a stab in the chest, once u are alone. Images of the people come floating to my mind and I am unable to get rid of them. Not that I want to – I liked certain people a lot, for some the feelings were more than just friendship, which does not imply any romantic implications, but can be said to be sort of deep friends. Some adjectives need to be found, some words need to discovered to truly describe what I feel now. Its not exactly sadness, its not just nostalgia, it is something else. It is something that rakes your brain. It torments, but its sweet. As Wet Wet Wet said, if I never see u again, it will hurt so sweetly. It really does – this apparent dichotomy.

The train rumbles on, like a drunk man trudging to his destination. The AC First coupe has three other people other than me, and they are happily talking about some shopping they are going to do in Allahabad. They are going to some place exciting, they are rich, and two of them seem to be in love. For them this is a new journey, something to look forward to. At the outset when I see them, I want to change my coupe, as I thought that the empty berth in the next coupe would be more conducive company for my solitude. But then I think that probably, I am taking myself deeper into myself – leading me to being too full of myself, and less of others, and this would be unintended selfishness.

The rhapsodically chatting voices have been would have been my company in my mind and then the emptiness would settle in chillingly, and I would have found no respite at all. I would have tried to but would have not found a way out. So in the end I think I did the right thing by staying put in this coupe.

The AC gets colder, as the ignorant attendant forgets to reduce the cooling after the initial surge required. I ring the bell for him to arrive. Instead a man carrying dinner comes in and looks quizzically, factoring in the environment, and the four young people who stare at him as if he is a wonder of the world. “aap ne dinner mangwaya tha?” “Nahi”, I replied, realizing he has answered the call of the bell, and assumed that dinner would be the demand made of him. He had come prepared, perhaps expecting a commendation. But dinner was the farthest from my mind, occupied as it was, and I told him to lower the cooling and bring a bottle of mineral water.
The other three were pretty excited about Allahabad. I almost felt like asking them what was going on. The colour of the décor inside the coupe was red, with the seats being an attempt to look sophisticated, and failing at it. The floor was red, as was the ceiling, and the seats too, with flowery designs. It was sort of crazy, and I pity the imagination of the person who designed this. It seems to be a legacy of the décor in Indian palaces, which is either golden or red. The red seemed to echo, to accentuate, the atmosphere of excitement and reverie, which was broken by my sad thoughts, in mindspaces that did not cross each other.

“Gimme that diary,” shrieked one of the girls, jolting me for a second. The two girls were fighting over a diary that obviously contained scandalous information or jottings by one of them. The guy was nonchalantly switching on his laptop, which was also a Compaq. The guy and one of the girls climbed to the upper berth and switched on a potboiler, and all was quiet, like a lull after the storm.

The more beautiful of the girls fell asleep early, saying that they had to get up early the next day. The time was past one, and she appeared justified but for the fact that the attendant would surely come to awaken them to a new day. Anyways, off she went to somnolence and I continued to listen to RHCP and type this blog.

Its morning now and the three of them are panicking. One of the girls can’t find her slippers and Allahabad seems to be around the corner. In their charged minds, they are flinging the bed sheets and blankets everywhere, and finally to relief, both theirs and mine, they manage to find the little bastard in a corner below the her lower berth.

They depart, leaving a whiff of perfume tinged with elements of Adam and Eve, and in walks a pot bellied, five and a half footer, with a drooping moustache and the uniform of a TT. “hello, I am the chief ticket inspector here.” I take the offered hand, and he continues, “Arre, idhar to sab khali ho jata hai, aap hi reh gaye hain. Kahan jana hai?”

“Banaras”

“Achi jagah hai,” he says with the air of a judge pronouncing a verdict.

I make no reply. “aap kya karte hain?” he asks while happily stretching his legs on the berth which he treated as his bed at home.

“patrakar hoon”

“arre kahan? Aap log bahut acha kaam kar rahe hain – yeh sab corruption ko aap hi khatam kar sakte hain,” he said, morphing my fraternity from journalists to policemen and the judiciary, both put together.

“yeah right,” I said, not particularly eager to continue the conversation.

“to kahan hain aap?” he persisted, now lying sideways with the blanket on top of him. He kept picking his ears and teeth.

“Reuters – ek news agency hai”

“news centre? Bahut achha!” he exclaimed. He obviously heard it wrong and has a high opinion of news centres whatever they might be.

“kafi garmi hai bahar,” he said letting out a sigh of relief for the AC, its chill starting to bite. He was however very happy with it. “acha mujhe sona hai, thodi der ke liye break,” he said with a contended smile, smug under the covers. “bilkul,” I said, hoping to finally getting rid of his barrage of comments and questions.

“banaras mein garmi kaisi hai?”

I felt like asking him to shut up. “Abhi to wahin jana hai. Pata chal jayega,” I said. this seemed to have a chastening effect on him and he said “Acha phir milte hain.” I had no desire for that, and pored into my book.

As the coolie took out luggage from the coupe, and i was about to close the door, the TT woke up with a start, and asked "are Banaras aa gaya kya??"

"Haan", i said in the affirmative.

"are yahin to utarna hai mujhe bhai" and he hastily threw away the covers, managed a successful search for his specs by rummaging through the rubble of blankets, and mineral water bottles, and got up, taking a long strech, like a tired old dog. Before he could continue, I was out of the cabin.

The night’s sleep was comfortable, and the wide berths are the only advantage that AC 1st has over its less fancied compatriots like the 2 and 3 tiers. I didn’t feel like getting up yet and the book was stirring in its portrayal of the underworld and the multiple narratives, all of which kept me glued for sometime. I then fell asleep I don’t know when. I dreamt of a man running amok amidst a horde of policemen at his heels, a woman throwing a tantrum at the platform, me sitting in the Delhi airport in January…apparently unconnected events jostling for space in my mind.

I reach home, sweet home finally where my mother is the sole inhabitant for the time being as my Dad and brother are both out of town. The house seems empty, the various rooms’ walls apparently leaping at me, and seeking to devour me of my loneliness. I miss my friends at ACJ, and also the local guys, who are all out working their asses off in some of the Indian multinationals. Its time to catch up with some sleep, and get used to life without ACJ.