On my way to Howrah

My Kolkata trip last weekend was a slapdash affair.

To begin with, I had made reservations in Ispat express, 2^nd seating. I also ended up reaching Rourkela station pretty late, in fact I almost missed the train.

Reservations in 2^nd seating. Late. My day had only just started.

.

.

The compartment looked vaguely similar to this.

The man who was sitting in my designated seat (much like the seat on which the lady, fourth from right, is sitting) was on the verge of asking me to fuck off. And much like the lady above and her companions, he gave me the what-did-you-say-to-me look. But after showing him the IRCTC text message which he refused to admit as a ticket, and much threatening (which probably sounded like desperate pleas) and tch-ing, he finally relented, only to stand in the aisle next to my seat.

It is worthy to note that the guy had an imposing build. Try imagining Laluji’s head atop Bappi Lahiri’s torso. Now imagine the guy's lump crashing against your head every time the train jerked. Or his crotch brushing against your arm. Or vendors, for the lack of enough space making you contort while passing through because Laluji is blocking the way.

After much hassle, I finally settled down somewhat. Not for long though.

*Clap

(FML)

Transvestites.

I heard the clapping from a fair distance, and tried to feign sleep while the guy was still a fair distance away. After what seemed like a very long time, I opened my eyes, feeling convinced that all was well.

Pinch on cheek. A hand brushing through my hair.

.

.

(On some station midway between Bhubaneswar and Bangalore, probably 10 pm)

6 boys (including me) were going to Bangalore to attend a Maths Olympiad Camp that was being organised by KVS. We also had a teacher. Apparently, we were his responsibility.

We had dinner, or whatever you want to call that farce the pantry car used to conjure up in those days.Then just as we were arguing about berths, we heard the clap. 

After a collective effusion of 'shit', we all settled down frantically. I was by the window, and felt pretty secure. Meanwhile, the teacher fled to a nearby compartment that had survived the onslaught. Or in other words, gave us the finger.

A few minutes later, they arrived, three of them. All of them presumably inebriated.

The ones by the aisle had their noses pulled, their cheeks pinched, their hairlines caressed. They both assumed wooden expressions.

One of the transvestites then moved into the compartment as far as he could, meaning he was right in front of the guy sitting next to me. We all had our faces subjected to the same ritualistic reception. Then the guy next to me made the single biggest mistake of his life.

‘Ei chikne, chal nikaal..’ (roughly, O Handsome, give me some)

*no response, just a stifled giggle, which made the guy mouth unmentionables. 

‘Sunai nahin diya tereko?’ (Can’t you fucking hear what I am saying?)

‘Jaane do na bhaiya..’ (Let go, Bro)

‘Bhaiya kisko bola? Bhaiya kisko bola Ma*******?’  (I’m not your bro, mofo)

‘Abhi kuch hai nahin mere paas..’ (I don’t have nothing)

‘Laga hi tha meko. Lekin mere paas hai’  (I thought so too. But I got something)

And with this, this chap uplifted his skirt and, because of the absence of underpants, made a full frontal display. He even threatened to cover the head of the guy next to me with his uplifted skirt, and take him in. This remains the funniest and at the same time the shittiest moment of my life.

Somebody, from somewhere, managed to get a 20-rupee note just in time to avoid what looked like an instance of giving head forcibly.

.

.

Another pinch. Palm spread out for money. Reluctance noticed. A shove on the shoulder. A 10-rupee note produced. Blessed, told I was going to have loads of kids. Overheard: fat guy being told something about his dick.

Sometime later, a teen aged girl and her little brother came around singing ‘Pardesi. Pardesi..’ The girl was singing while her brother was collecting whatever was being offered by the passengers. The guy by the window offered the girl a 5-rupee coin.

2 minutes later, the little boy comes around asking for money. The window-guy tells him that he has already given money to the girl. The boy gives a smirk, tells him that he is a lying bastard, offers him 5-rupees instead, and in the process, asks him to grow some balls. Window guy calls him an asshole and grabs his neck. Little boy manages to flee.

.

.

7 hours later, I alight at Howrah..