Time Out

I was travelling in coach four. Not the centre of activity. So as the train halted and dragged, the passengers shuffled restlessly. I peeped here and I peeped there, and was blessing the Indian Railways under my breath when two men from the pantry ran across, carrying fire extinguishers. What’s up, I inquired from a man sitting next to me. He grinned and remarked that we were aboard a burning train. I assumed he was just acting funny. But those fire extinguishers troubled me. So I fretted and glanced at my watch again. 9.30 a.m. Should have been in Delhi by now. And the fire extinguishers returned to haunt.

Thetrain had halted in some boondocks. And people were tumbling out to stretch their limbs. Curiosity carried me out. I was told to relax as the train was having some problems and would be a little behind schedule.Fire. Now if there seriously was a fire on the train, I wondered, why were we not being told? I looked around and was irked. Everybody seemed quite comfortable. That irked me more. It is part of being an Indian, I guess. The acceptance comes to us fast and quick. Passive. That is what we have become. Why, I kept wondering. We accept malfunctioning, inefficiency, apathy and fires as a part of life. A price we pay for just being part of a huge cranked-up system.

As I sat in my seat fumbling with my purse, things seemed hazy. Only later did I realise how close to dying I had come. Now, when I look back at the incident, two things stand out. One, why did the train authorities keep quiet? Why were all the passengers not informed of the danger? Yes, it would have created a panic. But then the train washalted. Common sense says we should have been informed or asked to get down and then informed. And after thing were in order again, we should have been asked to board the train.

But, what greets you, on the contrary, is sheer indifference. The authorities and the people alike. No murmurs, no protest — just a silent, disgusting acceptance of everything.

When the journey finally came to an end, we all got down relieved. I hugged my friend and we grinned happily when I quietly told her that the train had caught fire and hence the delay. She hugged me and shook her head. We hurried out and for some time forget about it. It was only later when frantic calls came and I had to reassured everyone that the `fire’ sank in.

Had I actually escaped death `narrowly’ as I dramatically put it to myself? The Indian in me could attribute all this to fate and karma and my escape — everything to one ancient philosophy — but another other part of me knew the truth better. Another Indian philosophy came nearer the truth.That the best of everything here — from trains to leaders — doesn’t really work. We, as a nation, are surviving by chance. Lucky that I didn’t die on the train and that is all. A big full stop after that. What else can you do? Stop travelling, stop living, what? Trust the apathy here and live on chance. From day to day and from train to train.

As I boarded the evening Shatabadi the same day to take me back home to Chandigarh, I was honestly not bothered. For all I knew, it could catch fire again or it could well collide, but I had no option. I had to travel back. So as I sat gazing out of the window, an elderly lady next to me sighed and hoped the train would reach Chandigarh in time. I smiled back at her and dozed off — hoping the fires would remain at bay.