nabendu debsharma November 30, 2005

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href="/tag/family">family went for a holiday to Puri, a sea-side resort and a pilgrimage site. I was to join them after a few days because of my exams.

I went to the Railway station and enquired about trains to Puri. I was told that the Puri Express from Calcutta to Puri stopped at Kharagpur at night, and that there were three reserved sleeping berths allocated to Kharagpur.

I stood in the line at the booking counter. Just before me an elderly gentleman bought three sleeping berth tickets for the day I wanted to travel. Sure enough, when I reached the counter I was told that the tickets were sold out.

Disappointed, I left the queue, wondering what to do. Just then a sleazy looking guy approached me and asked if I wanted a ticket. I nodded. “Ten rupees”, he said. Though ten rupees was a small fortune for me (enough for five dinners out – away from the ghastly IIT food) I agreed. Soon I got my ticket for the day wanted to travel, and went off happy.

When I landed up at the platform on the night of my journey, I saw that elderly gentleman with a lady and a young girl, waiting for the train. When the train arrived the lady and the girl got on board, and so did I.

The elderly man asked me if I was traveling to Puri. I nodded. “Beta”, he said, “please look after these two.” Of course, I agreed. He said bye to the lady and the girl.

When the train started I asked the lady why she was traveling alone.

“We were not planning to travel alone”, she said. “My father-in-law was supposed to come with us. He had bought his ticket, too. But when we came to the station, we found that his ticket had been cancelled. So he couldn’t come with us.”

It hit me then ! The ten rupees had resulted in his name being cancelled and my name being put in its place !

I couldn’t bring myself to confess to the lady what I had done, but I did wonder – what if it had been the other way around ?

Incident 2

I was living in a Chummery (apartment shared by bachelors) in Bombay. When I was on leave the apartment was broken into and my sound system and camera were stolen. A Police complaint had been made, but I didn’t expect to get my stuff back.

Two weeks later I got a call from the Police station at Ghatkopar. Some stolen goods had been found. Would I come and identify.

The next day I went to Ghatkopar P.S., and wow – my stuff was there ! The cops said that I had to appear at Court on a certain date and collect my stuff.

I took a day’s leave, borrowed my colleague’s car, and went to the Court. Nothing happened. I was told the case had been postponed to another day.

That day, too, the same thing happened, postponed again.

When I asked my boss for a day’s leave for the third time, he looked very cross. So I was determined to get this affair over with it that day itself.

As usual, case postponed. I was so annoyed !

A smooth-looking character came to me and said in Bombay Hindi “Khalipili khara hai tum. Kuch nahi hoga.” I asked why not. He said “Aapan ko pachas rupiah dene ka - tamcha kaam karkey denga.”

Being desperate to avoid going back empty-handed for the third time, I agreed. The guy took me to a room where an elderly Maharastrian lady, sari-clad with mangalsutra and all that, was sitting behind a desk. He spoke to her in Marathi. She pulled out some papers, filled in something and gave it to the guy. He opened the drawer of the desk and told me “ismey dus”. I put a ten rupee note and he closed the drawer.

The tour continued, with several more stops, where I was told “ismey paanch”, “ismey dus” etc. Finally the paperwork was over and I was told my case would be heard that day.

While I was waiting in the corridor a scruffy looking guy came by, accompanied by two policemen. He looked at me and asked “Kyon saab, samaan-wamaan sub mil giya ?” Mystified, I replied “Lagta hai milega, lekin tum kaun ho ?” “Arrey saab”, he replied with a laugh, “main to chor hun.”

Sure enough, when the case came for hearing that guy was in the Court. He admitted he had stolen my stuff.

The whole affair took five minutes, I got my things and was about to leave when Mr Smooth appeared. “Ab mera bees”, he said. I paid my dues, and left.

Incident 3

During the Emergency period in India I was staying on Linking Road in Bandra, a suburb of Bombay. This road was one way toward south until 2 p.m., and then one-way North.

One Saturday afternoon, just after 2 pm, I drove out of the building in my friend’s car and turned South on Linking Road. Sure enough, a traffic cop blew a whistle, stopped me and asked me for my licence.

I didn’t want all the hassle, so I pulled out a ten rupee note and sort of waved it.

The cop stepped back, put his arms on his waist, and looked at me sternly.

Oh no, I thought, maybe ten bucks was too little.

“Tumne kisi ko jaan se mara ?” the cop asked.

I said no.

“Tumne kisika dewar toda ?” was the next question.

Again I said no.

“Phir dus rupiah kanhe ko? Yeh Imerginci time hai. Do rupiah do”, said the cop.

I paid him the two bucks, hung a U-turn and drove off.

Next Saturday I did the same thing, turned South at 2.05 pm. The cop was there.

This time there was no conversation. I gave him two bucks and left.

There was some benefit, at least for me, from the Emergency!