Romance of the railways

Alas today things have become a trifle more complicated. I realised how much life had changed when Mrs Mehta next door called me for a special puja at her place. “My mister is travelling by train to Guwahati and we are taking all the necessary precautions,” she explained.

After the puja, which was for Mr Mehta’s long life and well-being, it was time to pack. The protagonist of this household drama was clearly edgy and kept breaking into nervous high-pitched laughter every now and then. “I don’t quite fancy having the title `ex’ before my name,” he giggled hysterically, as he went about his tasks.

It confused me somewhat, this packing exercise. Instead of the usual clothes, toothpaste, shaving kit and the like, Mr Mehta was busy placing an assortment of bandages, splints, Dettol and pain-killers in his suitcase. “These are for the minor accidents, like the sudden slamming of brakes,” he said by way of explanation.

I nodded. This sounded reasonableenough. Meanwhile Chunnu, the eldest son in the house, came in carrying a collapsible stretcher. “What’s that?” I asked, quite alarmed.

“Oh that,” replied Mr Mehta. “That is for a major derailment which often leaves you with fractures of the hip and other injuries.” I nodded. I suppose some foresight is needed when one boards a train these days, I thought to myself.

Chunnu then returned with what looked like ammunition shells left over from a battlefield. “These, in case you don’t recognise them, are oxygen cylinders,” said Mr Mehta. “In case I find myself left gasping for breath on the top berth of a major pile-up.”

I nodded. You could never be too careful when you travel by train these days, I thought. Chunnu returned with a flask of coffee and some files. His father explained, “The black coffee is to stay awake. I just hate the thought of falling asleep on a train journey and discovering oneself transported into the lap of Lord Yama on waking up,” said Mr Mehta, laughing uproariously athis little joke.

“And the files?” I asked as curious as Alice in Wonderland, “What do they contain?”

“Oh those are my identification papers, including an X-ray of my teeth; my life insurance forms; my railway accident claim forms and other documents absolutely essential for any rail travel these days,” said Mr Mehta.That’s when Chunnu staggered in with firewood. “Don’t tell me you are packing that too?” I shrieked in astonishment.

“See, I am a self-reliant man,” said Mr Mehta. “This is in case we have a head-on collision and two trains find themselves on the same track as they are sometimes wont to do. I don’t want them to mess around with my body when I can do nothing about it. Hence this wood for an instant cremation.”

He added that if he could have, he would have even packed his own crane since the railways never seem to have enough of them when ordinary people who travel by trains end up as statistics on a railway station notice board.I left him asking his wife where she had kept thatbottle of Ganga jal. One need nerves of steel and great physical courage to embark on an activity that kills more people in a year than two Kargils, I thought to myself sadly.