Going In Style

Do not ever think that having a Platinum Card of an airlines means that you’ve arrived in life. You are no better than the doodhwala who wakes up at 4am, milks the cows, puts the same in huge canisters, hangs it on the bike as he drives down from one housing society to another delivering fresh milk…all this he wraps up early to make sure the children get their fresh glasses of milk as they set out for school. You Mr. Airmail man are no better…you too tick a number of check boxes:

ü  Wake up before the alarm rings and wakes up others in the family.
ü  Switch on the geyser.
ü  While the water is getting heated, finish with the brushing, shaving and the rest.
ü  Take a quick shower.
ü  Get into the clothes.
ü  Stuff your pockets with business cards, cash and your lifeline called smartphone.
ü  By now the cab you booked last night has arrived and you get a missed call.
ü  Pick up the bag and rush out of the door, making a sad face as you wave past your sleepy wife.

Phew…if that’s not enough, you pray the CISF man at the security check point is good and you do not miss the flight before you make it past the metal detectors. If you are lucky, you have time in hand and you walk into the lounge swiping your card for a 6 am breakfast. I am certain the doodhwala is happier when the ghar ki sundar si malkin opens the door in her flowery nightie to collect the milk. Don’t know what the flying mail man is out to chase as he keeps adding to the mileage points…happiness no way…that he leaves behind every day and every time he walks out of the house at unearthly hours.

Happiness is something he left behind long ago when he had little to flaunt.

Happiness was to pack everything you had into a magical piece of luggage called ‘hold-all’ and applying your life’s strength to tie the leather straps round it after you made a big roll of the bedding, food packets, shoes and clothes all stuffed inside.

For us Bongs there is no time like the Pujas when the Goddess Durga with her children Lakshmi, Saraswati, Ganesh and Karti come to her parental home every year.  Same was with us. The Ma Durga of the house would somehow manage to get train tickets through some tout and she along with her two daughters and son would head every summer to Calcutta to her brother’s place…Mama Bari for the children. Happiness was to put the hold-all atop the taxi and troop into the big fat Ambassador, which incidentally was the only car ride we would get in a year, as we drove into Old Delhi Station.

Happiness was to walk quickly behind the coolie who carried the luggage to the platform, haggling with him and saving those few coins that would provide for some extra fun during the long train ride.

Happiness was the expression when the son would take the brown coloured tickets to check the reservation charts and no sooner had they been put up on the designated platforms than a frenzied crowd would gather around them, each trying to jostle with the other in the effort to find their names first. Seeing your names there and finding the coach number against them was more than a lottery win…Happiness@Unlimited.

Happiness was to stand on the weighing machines, seeing the round red and white wheel come to a standstill and then pushing your ten paise coin in the slot and waiting for the small ticket to emerge. Reading the weight was fun but reading your horoscope given behind the weighing slip was an absolute delight especially when it said that it matched with that of actress Saira Banu whose sketch would also be printed as you compared it with the stars on the slips of others.

Happiness was to board the train and finding your berths and quickly occupying them before someone else put their bums and claimed it to be theirs. Quickly putting all the luggage beneath the bunk was also an art. Then pulling out chains and locking the suitcases and trunks so that no one stole them while you slept was a must. And when all was settled, going out to get a surahi or an earthen pot which you would fill with the tap nearby was like carrying lifesaving stuff. The times of filtered and bottled water were yet to arrive.

Happiness was when you showed your ticket to the Ticket Checker who would come in his ill-fitting black coat and seeing around you some sly ones without the tickets. How they managed the pan- chewing man with some cash that would be tucked away by the checker in the chor pocket of his trouser was art of another kind.

Happiness was to order the oily train food and then getting off in the next big station to pick up sabzi-puri, guava and toys and jumping back onto the running train in the nick of time. No one ever got left behind at an intermediate station, for that only happens on 70mm screens. As the train trudged along the iron tracks, drying your wet handkerchiefs or gamchhaas (towels) by putting your hand out as the wind and sun would do their job for you.

Happiness would be to get the wash room free at the first instance when you went there and delight would be to find it relatively clean. Now the second part was not easy in Sleeper Class trains and often the women of the house would have to practise bladder control that only they could manage while the little ones were made to stand beside the open door and asked to shower the bushes by the tracks as the parents made weird sounds….and the obedient ones would gleefully oblige.

Finally, the fastest train in those days, aptly named Toofan Mail, which after 36 hours of huffing and puffing  would crawl into Howrah Station . Happiness was to find your Mama and Mami waiting for you there but unable to identify you for all the smoke and soot had added an extra coat of darkness to the already not-so-fair skin. Hugging them tight and standing in a serpentine queue to get into a yellow cab that would take you finally to the much awaited Mama Bari was fun always. Mishtidoi, shinghara, daab….Mamas are the Best.

How will the last journey of life be remains a mystery but who can stop me from visualizing.

As the wooden logs burnt in full fury beside the gently flowing Yamuna Ghat, the I Me Myself vanished into ash and dust. The omnipresent soul remained and was shifted to a nearby space shuttle base. With a report card of life in hand, I stood in the queue.  The lady at the counter did a quick glance and issued me a boarding pass. Happy to find my name there I checked the gate and seat numbers. The ticket was checked one last time and I was asked to board from the front gate. Wow… the seat was 1A and was promptly ushered in by a lady far prettier than I had ever seen in my mortal days to the premium seat. Huge seat with all amenities…a business class for sure. Oh then my Platinum Card and mileage points did have an advantage now as well…hmmmm…I thought. Next to me came a person in commando fatigue and as he sat down warmly shook my hand.

I am John…he introduced himself.

A pretty much jovial fellow, I thought. As he saw the pretty looking hostesses he remarked, “We are definitely going to Jannat now and there it will be good times for us. I know for sure for I’ve been promised.” Sitting like a king on my huge premium seat, I sure felt happy that my report card was not as bad as I thought it would be. “Heavenly Father above, here I come.” I was truly and happily going in style.

As the space hostesses announced,” We are now ready to take off. Requesting all passengers to tighten their seat belts.”  And then the countdown began…10..9…8…7..6…5..4..3…2..1…..and a huge screen opened up in front of us and  we saw the blast off…the biggest I have ever seen, as we took off. As the shuttle began to settle down, we heard some children singing nursery rhyme…Johnny Johnny, Yes Papa. Our heads turned towards the back of the shuttle and we saw hundreds of odd little kids in their colourful school uniforms. A couple of ladies, who looked like their teachers, were seen conducting this Children’s Space Orchestra with their eyes and smiles.

As the children raised their pitch higher, I suddenly saw John beside me turning his face away and taking out a small towel to wipe his eyes. Soon the moist eyes gave way to crying openly and ended with almost howling. Unable to control myself, I asked my friend beside, “John, what is the matter? Why are you crying seeing these lovely kids?”

He kept looking down, unable to see me in the eyes and spoke softly, “These are kids from Army Public School at Peshawar. I drove my bomb laden truck yesterday into their school!”

You are Jihadi John? I spoke in amazement and horror. And he nodded his head and kept crying, “I shouldn’t have done it, I shouldn’t have done it!”

The flight attendant announced at that moment, “We are now going to break-up. The two halves of the shuttle will now open up into two parts. Both will be going to two different destinations. You can see the spectacle on the screen ahead. Enjoy the last stage of this journey till it lasts.”

What happened thereafter was absolutely spectacular. There were sounds of giant locks opening up around the middle of the shuttle with us in business premium class in front and the singing and laughing children with their teachers in the other half. As the two parts split open, the bottom half of the shuttle with the children went into a terrific spin and then there was a loud bang, the bottom half of the shuttle vanished as it broke up into smithereens of colourful petals which first covered the sky above and then slowly descended on the earth below. While we could not see where these petals finally fell but surely wherever they did the place would have turned into a sea of a heavenly vibrant colours and fragrance.

Now the frontal and remaining part of the space shuttle picked up great speed as it headed to the dark side of the moon. I remembered the lines of a song which read…

Your head is humming and it won’t go

In case you don’t know

The piper’s calling you to join him

Dear Lady, can you hear the wind blow

And did you know

Your stairway lies on the whispering wind…

SS