"Train number 2436 to Sullurpet will leave shortly from platform number 13”, announced the familiar voice at Chennai central’s suburban railway station, prompting me to hoist my bag and rush to platform number 13. Finding the ladies’ compartment, I scrambled into it, placed my bag on the luggage rack and dropped into the only vacant seat, resigning myself to two and a half hours of imminent boredom. The whistle blew, the train pulled out of the station and I marvelled yet again at the furious pace at which electric trains accelerated.
The lady sitting next to me (munching ground nuts and phone plugged to her ears) was regarding me with a bored expression and soon turned away, evidently dismissing me as uninteresting. Two toddlers, one enthusiastically looking out of the window, and the younger, reclining on his mother’s lap, set up a loud howl of demand, when a vendor with snacks walked past, shouting out his wares. Sadly, their mother had other ideas. A kindly lady, seated adjacent to the family, resolved the crisis, by proffering her own purchase (some crisp snack) to the kids.
I looked around the compartment, vaguely taking in the social, economic and age diversity among my co-passengers- aged mothers, their twenty-something daughters beaming proudly at their young offspring, college students chatting and laughing with their friends, school children, attired in uniforms of various colours, carrying bags that would put seasoned weight lifters to shame...most of them had the orange kanakaambaram flowers decorating their plaited hair and the yellow of turmeric paste was clearly visible on their faces and hands..
The train slowed down as quickly as it had picked up speed and came to a screeching halt at a station. A mass of humanity moved into and out of the train, jostling each other in the process. All the seats being filled up, the new entrants of all ages immediately dropped to the floor and settled there. Atleast 4 people were settled on seats with spaces intended for 2 and I thanked God for creating humans with such sisterly love. A 4-year-old young man was voicing his protest loudly against the humiliating treatment handed out to him by his callous mother, making him sit in a ladies’ coach. His mother was busy conversing with a neighbour, a just- acquired acquaintance.
As I watched fascinated, the steady stream of vendors continued- oranges, guavas, murukku, samosas, mixture, pakoda, nuts, biscuits and what not. Everyone appeared to be prepared to buy everything on offer. The unceasing consumption of eatables of wide variety and rapid socialising were carried on with vigour by the newcomers who replaced those who disembarked at the stations that came and went. The tradesmen, men with admirable athleticism and acrobatic skills, balanced their baskets on their heads, while expertly weaving their ways among their customers (crowded on the seats and squatting on the floors ) and their voluminous shopping bags. The tiny, juicy oranges (sold incredibly cheap) and the hot, yummy samosas found many takers, as did the ever popular ground nuts and popcorn. People were very courteous, willingly sharing their purchases with their new-found friends. Indeed, the brisk trade going on before my astonished eyes would have aroused envy in the owners and salesmen of even the most-profitably run eateries and restaurants.
An elderly lady, seated facing me grinned, revealing her toothless gum, and enquired,” Time evvalavu ma?” As I glanced at my watch and replied, she ventured, “nee enga pore?” Then she proceeded to narrate to me, all about how she was going to visit her son for the day and how she will be returning by the evening train.
Before I knew, the clock had wound forward by two hours, the crowd had thinned out considerably and I beheld the name board of Sullurpet station. As I extracted my luggage and alighted from the train, my mind was filled with remembrances of the eventful, if not entertaining train journey I had just experienced. I’m still astounded by the ease with which the simple folk fraternised with each other and became comrades, virtually exchanging their life stories and also, the hugely successful trade carried out by the numerous tradesmen. To this day, this intriguing train journey remains etched in my memory.
The lady sitting next to me (munching ground nuts and phone plugged to her ears) was regarding me with a bored expression and soon turned away, evidently dismissing me as uninteresting. Two toddlers, one enthusiastically looking out of the window, and the younger, reclining on his mother’s lap, set up a loud howl of demand, when a vendor with snacks walked past, shouting out his wares. Sadly, their mother had other ideas. A kindly lady, seated adjacent to the family, resolved the crisis, by proffering her own purchase (some crisp snack) to the kids.
I looked around the compartment, vaguely taking in the social, economic and age diversity among my co-passengers- aged mothers, their twenty-something daughters beaming proudly at their young offspring, college students chatting and laughing with their friends, school children, attired in uniforms of various colours, carrying bags that would put seasoned weight lifters to shame...most of them had the orange kanakaambaram flowers decorating their plaited hair and the yellow of turmeric paste was clearly visible on their faces and hands..
The train slowed down as quickly as it had picked up speed and came to a screeching halt at a station. A mass of humanity moved into and out of the train, jostling each other in the process. All the seats being filled up, the new entrants of all ages immediately dropped to the floor and settled there. Atleast 4 people were settled on seats with spaces intended for 2 and I thanked God for creating humans with such sisterly love. A 4-year-old young man was voicing his protest loudly against the humiliating treatment handed out to him by his callous mother, making him sit in a ladies’ coach. His mother was busy conversing with a neighbour, a just- acquired acquaintance.
As I watched fascinated, the steady stream of vendors continued- oranges, guavas, murukku, samosas, mixture, pakoda, nuts, biscuits and what not. Everyone appeared to be prepared to buy everything on offer. The unceasing consumption of eatables of wide variety and rapid socialising were carried on with vigour by the newcomers who replaced those who disembarked at the stations that came and went. The tradesmen, men with admirable athleticism and acrobatic skills, balanced their baskets on their heads, while expertly weaving their ways among their customers (crowded on the seats and squatting on the floors ) and their voluminous shopping bags. The tiny, juicy oranges (sold incredibly cheap) and the hot, yummy samosas found many takers, as did the ever popular ground nuts and popcorn. People were very courteous, willingly sharing their purchases with their new-found friends. Indeed, the brisk trade going on before my astonished eyes would have aroused envy in the owners and salesmen of even the most-profitably run eateries and restaurants.
An elderly lady, seated facing me grinned, revealing her toothless gum, and enquired,” Time evvalavu ma?” As I glanced at my watch and replied, she ventured, “nee enga pore?” Then she proceeded to narrate to me, all about how she was going to visit her son for the day and how she will be returning by the evening train.
Before I knew, the clock had wound forward by two hours, the crowd had thinned out considerably and I beheld the name board of Sullurpet station. As I extracted my luggage and alighted from the train, my mind was filled with remembrances of the eventful, if not entertaining train journey I had just experienced. I’m still astounded by the ease with which the simple folk fraternised with each other and became comrades, virtually exchanging their life stories and also, the hugely successful trade carried out by the numerous tradesmen. To this day, this intriguing train journey remains etched in my memory.
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