The longest train journey....

I started out my journey to Bhubaneswar for joining XIMB, loaded with all the stuff that I thought would be required in coming two years. The journey was to be like any other trips, but turned out to be one of the most unforgettable. On 16^th June I boarded the B2 coach in Gitanjali Express, the best train on the Mumbai-Howrah route and was supposed to reach Kharagpur the next morning at 10 and take another train to Bhubaneswar at 3. I had a lot of luggage and was kinda difficult for me to adjust in the already cramped space, but somehow managed. I usually interact with people in the train, had a good company of fellow passengers, and all was going on well.

The train cruised through the central India in the day and was running almost on time. In the evening I watched a few episodes of 2.5 Men, had a good night sleep and on 17^th morning it reached Tatanagar half an hour late. Kharagpur was just 2 hours away. As the train left Tatanagar, I started packing up my belongings, unlocked the chains and was expecting the train to reach Kharagpur in some time. But the journey had a lot in store, it wasn’t gonna end soon.

Just about 45 minutes after it left Tatanagar, it halted at a small station Ghatsila. It wasn’t a scheduled stoppage but the train didn’t start for long. There were rumours all around, engine failure, a collapsed bridge due to rain, track submerged ahead and what not… We remained there for 3-4 hours and then the station master announced that the train would proceed. It did, not to reach Kharagpur, but only to halt at the next station Chakulia. It was raining heavily, and the station master informed that the train wouldn’t move indefinitely until the rail tracks at Kharagpur get cleared.

The AC went down, but hopes were still alive. I went to the station master twice or thrice just to get informed about what is going to happen next but there was not even an iota of certainty. The pantry car which had stock only upto 16^th dinner and 17^th breakfast, did manage to serve lunch and tea was still available, but no water bottles or anything else. I stocked up 4 7Up bottles for me from the pantry and only 2 more were left there. I went outside the station, in that heavy rain, just to find a few pan walas, bought some biscuits and kurkure. My cellphone was also not working then, made a few calls and informed back home about the situation.

It was late in the evening and all the people on-board the train had by then realised that the night had to be spent at Chakulia. There were many bongs in the train and all feared a naxalites’ attack. A local guy told me that naxals are not even close to Chakulia, and there apprehensions were worthless. The bong oldies argued with the station authorities to provide RPF or take the train back to some safer place. But none was feasible and I guess either they couldn’t sleep all that night or had nightmares of naxalites attacking the train.

By that time I also interacted with other people in my coach. There were 3 guys who were going to play the under 17 national level badminton at Kolkata just next to my compartment. Then there was chap Sambaran, who was making portraits of the people in the train, people were watching movies in groups on their laptops, thanks to the battery support by Indian Railways. I went outside the station again to explore ways of reaching Kharagpur or going back to Tatanagar in case the train didn’t move even the next day. The only thing I realised was that it was more difficult than anything with the luggage I was carrying. It was late night; the bongs’ fears reached heights, a local Marwari family took a noble step to and provided milk to all the kids in the train and puri bhaji to others. But still the railway authorities didn’t come up with any help for the stranded passengers. The station didn’t even have the water supply, and drinking water also was arranged by some local NGO outside the station.

Sambaran made portraits of the three baddy guys and mine too. He had his birthday on 18^th, we wished him at 12, went to sleep with a glimmer of hope to see ourselves at some other place when we woke up. At 530 AM I found the train hadn’t moved a centimetre. Going to Tatanagar was the next thing on my mind, so I enquired with the station authorities if there was any scope for the train to move to Kharagpur. Having not got a positive response, I found a few others who also wanted to go to Tatanagar. I again went outside the station to get a taxi or some other conveyance and just then there was an announcement that the train would depart for Kharagpur in 15 minutes. I rushed back, the train started, stopped again at a few stations on the way and finally reached Kharagpur at 1:30PM a good 27 hours late.

Kharagpur: the longest, most confusing, and most useless platforms in the world. Even for fetching mineral water I had to find a shop outside the station premises. I enquired about any trains to Bhubaneswar only to get a lame reply in Bengali “!@@$$%^$&#&&%#&”

Me: “Hindi me batao”
Enquiry officer: “Bengali seekh k aao”
Me: “Tereko Bengali bolne ke liye baithaya hai kya yahan, hindi me bata train kab jayegi”
EO: “ Sham 5 baje tak koi nahi hai, uske bad ka pata nahi”

I checked out the road connectivity to Bhubaneswar also, but it didn’t exist either. I went to the waiting room, and was prepared to wait endlessly, optimist of getting a positive reply after 5. In the mean time I asked my sister to check flights to Bhubaneswar from all nearby places, Kolkata, Ranchi and Raipur. Finally found one from Raipur. Mumbai bound Gitanjali Express was the frist train to leave from Howrah after two days of flood fury. Boarded the train, 2AC, got a seat after negotiations with the ticket collector. Got a flight ticket as late as possible, was very sceptical about its reaching Raipur in time. Finally reached Raipur again 5 hours late at 730 am.

I boarded the flight, which was again late by 45 minutes, at 130pm. I guess it was the only way to by-pass the clouds. Finally landed in the city of temples, Bhubaneswar at 230… A jaded sigh… Those 72 hours were way too much.

What should have been a more than comfortable journey became the longest and the most tiring and most trying journey I have ever experienced in life. Experiences like this are different, uncommon, but should never hit often. The hindi word “safar” (a journey) just turned into “suffer”.