Just the Way You Are (4 page)

I
was travelling to Switzerland; Shagun was ready to travel into the recesses of my mind through that diary. Our journey together had just begun. She had plunged into the tepid waters of my past in the diary while I had taken wings to an alien land. Shagun flipped over to the first page.

AT THE TURN OF THE
year I had barely felt that I was ultimately over with ‘it'. And the ‘it' here refers closely and most accurately to my stupidity. But I didn't assume that that looking into the mirror, I would be so proud of myself. That was the first time I felt a tinge of regret inside me, taking shape, of what I was once. When I look back it is almost inconceivable to think of myself as an ambitious, no-nonsense, work-driven, ah, well … with the liberty of adding a few more adjectives … person. It was during those years that I used to run behind things that I thought unattainable when in reality they weren't even worth attaining or running behind. Age makes a person mature is something I never agreed to. I mean, maturity is something I thought I had inherited right from the day I was born. So, when people said that I needed to grow up I was nothing but indifferent to them. I was, in a way, sacrosanct. But majorly stupid. It makes me laugh out loud at the kind of things I did and worse, cried over them. Good that those things didn't happen ultimately, otherwise I would have been in a rut and not flying off to Switzerland at the moment. As I soar into the clouds with butterflies in my stomach I giggle to myself. I remember the ‘good old days', though they weren't that good.

November 2011

Finally, I was to be in Delhi.

In my appointment letter ‘Delhi' flashed in bold. I could almost do the bhangra at the mere thought of it. When I read the word, I spun two rounds and hunched over the dining table to read it again, fell on my back on the bed, and read it all over again. I may as well have been branded as a lunatic but for now only I knew what kind of importance Delhi held for me. I had been yearning to be posted in the city. I had heard a lot about it—its cafes, promenades, clubs, and girls, and, of course, its perfect couples. I could be one of them too—who knew where my better half was. Rakesh, my college buddy, had called me up, fidgeting over the postings. Apparently, everyone, for some weird reason, was being posted to Chennai, Kerala, and other places down south. I'm not a racist, I swear. But honestly, I have had enough. I couldn't have survived longer in that area. Be it language or people, I believe everything is good in its own way. But I don't find myself belonging to that part of the world. It's as simple as that. Rakesh, unfortunately, couldn't fight against his luck. I was very worried. Mom had asked me to accompany her to the market to buy some kheera and I stood there for a few moments in contemplation while a bull chewed its way to glory on the bunch of kheeras I was holding. Mom, as usual, had rebuked me, ‘Tera kuch nahi ho sakta! It's a waste to bring you here.' I had been accustomed to her reprimands since childhood. I didn't even bother to listen. It flew right atop my head, slipping past my ears. What bothered me at that moment was the email from the recruiters. Rakesh's words kept hitting against my skull and my heart stalled on the way back home. What if I didn't get Delhi? What if I was left to rot in the heat of Kerala or for that matter Thiruvananthapuram? What if I ended up my whole life slicing coconuts and sitting by a kiosk for coconut water every evening after coming back from office? What if a certain lungiwala came with his daughter and abducted me and forced me to marry her? What if … what if … My head was fit to burst in no time. I rushed to my room, flipped open my laptop, and fought against the anxiety running through my nerves while the mail loaded. Ultimately I saw it. Delhi. And the rest is, of course, history. Saddi Dilli, here I come!

The train screeched and finally came to a halt at Hazrat Nizamuddin Railway Station. No train journey in India is fruitful until and unless it is late by a couple of hours. This is almost inevitable to mark as a subsidiary tribute to the legacy of Indian Railways, where time runs in a different dimension altogether. Here, though, it was four hours. This time, however, the heavens saved me. Though it ran late, I at least got my meals delivered sitting in the compartment itself. Otherwise it's such a headache to crane your neck like a vulture and scan restaurants at each station. And the food, mashaallah! I must say, Delhi showed itself to be promising right in the beginning. All along the journey, thoughts like invisible flies kept jutting in and out of my head—baseless, meaningless thoughts which under no circumstances could affect my life in the remotest of ways. Germany is going to attack Austria again. The turmoil in Egypt must end. Nigeria is still fighting for its civil rights, what a tyranny. What a waste too! At least I'm not one of those dumb, stupid assholes who keep dreaming of either Katrina or Kareena, or for that matter Vidya Balan. Why do people even watch Bollywood films? Well, there was a lot of junk inside my head. I hoped I didn't have OCD. ‘Arre bhaiya, could you get me another cup of chai, please?' I asked the service boy. A group of teenagers was sitting by me, one virtually on top of the other. What will happen of this country, I wondered. I was lucky; I got the lower berth and skipped the hassle of going up and down every now and then to use the toilet, brush my teeth, or drink tea. I could easily wear my chappals and go for a stroll whenever I liked and use the toilet too. My luggage could be easily kept under surveillance, below the berth. And for now, I could slip the curtain back and let the wind play on my face as I thought of Delhi and the dreams to come.

After some time my eyes seemed heavy. I thought of taking a nap. Just as I closed my eyes for a couple of minutes, I found the service boy standing beside me. ‘Sir, kuch chahiye? You want something? I could hardly open my eyes, though his words were clear in my ears. In my slumber, I mumbled to him to come back after fifteen minutes. I would be awake by then. He said that he could only come back after serving the entire compartment. I didn't bother to reply.

But to my surprise, he returned in five minutes. At least it felt like five minutes. And asked me again if I needed something.

I looked at him with a mix of surprise and admiration, and said, ‘Whoa! Never did I expect such prompt service in the Indian Railways. Well, that was pretty fast, ha! I'm sure the Indian Railways can surely put forward its name to be included in the Seven Wonders of the World!'

He gave a hearty laugh at that. His upper pair of incisors came sticking out like a rat. After a few seconds, he composed himself. ‘Sir, like you, almost all the people in the compartment are sleeping for the time being. They have asked me to come after ten minutes. So that's the case.'

I smiled at his words and didn't say anything. I pulled back the blanket and drew the curtains aside. The wind was on my face again. I leaned back and put the pillow behind me. It seemed to be tablecloths sewn together rather than a pillow; it was undoubtedly the world's thinnest pillow and hurt my back. So I slid my backpack behind me and rested my spine on it. That felt better.

All this while, the boy still waited and kept on requesting that I have my breakfast. He had the plate in his hand and held it close to my face. It was almost like a feat he had to perform—handing me the plate at this moment. He wore a pleading look. I smiled and took the plate from his hands. He gave me an ear-to-ear smile that surely must be an exact replica of what Ronaldo gives once he hits his final goal. I chuckled, watching him move ahead, sliding his basket on the train floor, asking the crowd if anyone else needed breakfast. I was about to unwrap my plate when it struck me. I called him back, ‘Oye, listen.'

He rushed back, his sandals slapping on the floor, and asked, ‘Yes, sir. Anything you want? Sugar or milk powder?'

‘No. Tell me something—are you going to serve lunch as well?' I asked, sipping the tea. It tasted insipid.

‘Sir, we aren't very sure about it. If the train reaches Delhi on time then we won't serve but if it gets delayed by two or three hours, then we will probably serve it. We'll surely let you know by 11 am. By the way, can you tell me what is the time right now, sir?'

In a reflex movement, I looked down at my wrist. And there was no watch. I hadn't worn a watch for the past six years. So I quickly took out my phone and pressed it on. ‘It's 8 am.'

He nodded and said again that he would let me know about lunch by 11 am. I had my breakfast and looked outside. There was nothing else to do. The train had become unexpectedly slow. I could count the trees in the fields passing by. I was having about doubts about the train making it on time as it was moving at snail speed. They claim it is the fastest train of India. Well, if they say so!

Around 11.30 am, the serving boy came to my berth and said, ‘Sir, the train has got delayed by three hours and it can be expected to reach Delhi by 3 pm.'

‘Expected,' I sighed and mumbled, ‘True.' Nothing can ever be said absolutely about train journeys in India, at least until the train actually reaches the destination. Till then everything is murky. It might even get delayed by thirteen hours, who knows.

I thanked him. Other people were enquiring about the train timing as well. I saw him moving ahead to clarify their queries. Some of them were quite annoyed about the delay. Naturally! And then of course the criticism of the ministry was about to begin. People started cribbing about the downfall of the present government and what one should and should not do after becoming the railway minister. One of them had to catch another train from Anand Vihar and he was fuming, furiously spilling acid and slang on the system. I had a strange urge to laugh but it was fear, in truth, that held me back. ‘PILs. Damn PILs should be filed against the government, I tell you. Bloody morons,' I heard him shrieking. It reminded me of a similar incident I had experienced around four years back. The train I was in had got delayed and I couldn't reach on time to take my engineering entrance exam. Since then I have had this inordinate obsession to get out of this country as soon as possible. Hopefully I will be lucky someday.

After getting to know that the train would be delayed, all the passengers drew back their curtains. I also drew back my curtain and wondered what was next in store for me.

I didn't know anyone in the city and it was also not clearly mentioned in the appointment letter to which centre they might post me. It could either be Noida or Gurgaon. I had always under the impression that the office might be somewhere in central Delhi. But one of my friends surprised me when I told him that the company had posted me to Delhi.

‘Delhi? As far as I know there is no office in Delhi except the administrative office, and that too in PTI building,' he said. ‘It will be in either Noida or Gurgaon.'

‘Er …' I silently panicked, thinking what to do now. And the very next day, I got an email to report to the Gurgaon office but it wasn't mentioned anywhere which office I was going to get and it really confused me.

My dad, at the time of leaving me at the station, asked me where I was going to stay for the first couple of days as he was a bit worried as we didn't any relatives in Delhi with whom I could have stayed. I had fortunately already spoken with Satyan, one of my school friends. He stayed in Greater Noida and had asked me to stay at his place for as many days I liked. Dad relaxed on learning of this. He knew Satyan well and hence was relieved.

‘Did you talk to him?'

‘Yes. I spoke with him yesterday itself. He asked me not to worry about PG accommodation and other stuff. He reassured me that it is easily available. The only thing that I need to worry about is the location of the office. So initially, for the first couple of days, I might stay at his place,' I said.

Dad still didn't find my words too reassuring. He seemed sceptical as he sank down on a chair on the platform and stared blankly ahead for a while. After some moments of silence, he came up with one of his weird solutions, ‘If it's a matter of a couple of days, you can even stay in a hotel. You can find a good number of hotels near the station. I was there.'

‘Okay. I will inform you when I find a suitable place to stay.' I touched his feet as the train came in.

It always made me smile, sheepishly though, whenever Dad talked about his trip to Delhi. That was some ten years back. I have a very vague recollection of it. But in my memory, Dad is still young and ignorant of how the world has changed in these little years. A decade doesn't actually feel like a decade when nothing around you changes, except for the paint on the walls or the tube-wells replaced by running pipes. As far as I could remember, it was the trade fair for which he had visited Delhi way back then. He had often said that back then Rs 100 notes looked more like today's Rs 1000 notes. The way a Rs 1000 note gets spent the moment one steps out of home, a Rs 100 note too had a similar lifetime then. Things were different. One could not have bought everything with money back then. At least not Dad's innocence.

I had nothing to do except sit around and hope that the train would pick up speed, so I called up Satyan. I had to let him know about the delay in my arrival. We would need to reschedule our meeting. I took out the phone from my pocket and dialled his number.

After few initial rings, he answered. ‘Hello.'

‘Hey, Sameer here,' I said excitedly.

When he repeatedly kept saying ‘hello hello', it appeared to me that because of the noise and commotion in the train, he was unable to hear me clearly. But soon enough, he recognized my voice.

‘Are you out?' I asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Okay. So what time are we meeting today? I just called to inform you that my train is late by three hours.'

‘Yaar, I am sorry. I am actually going home for Diwali. It was so sudden that I couldn't even inform you. I am in Agra and will catch the train from here.'

‘Oh.'

‘And everyone else in our flat has left for home. And it's locked.'

‘So when will you be coming back?' I asked, a bit nervous.

‘Not sure about it. It all depends on the availability of tickets, you see. If possible, please make some other arrangement. Once I come back, I will search for a PG for you. It's not a big deal, trust me.'