Continued from Part 1
This solace of getting off the virtual oven where we lived to a place where we called as native was no mean achievement. During summer when the temperature reached close to 48, sitting at home was nothing short of torture. Getting out was also not an option. There was no provision of ceiling fan at the place where we stayed. We had two table fans which was mobile wherever an electric socket was available. And not many were there around us. So we had to innovate ourselves by building extension wires all by ourselves. There was no Amazon to order not it was cheaply available in the stores.
But since the electricity meter reading was common and the charges were divided in a ratio no one understood, using more electric items was a strict no. We stayed on 2nd floor — the top floor — in the middle of walled city of Ahmedabad. The stairs on the ground floor was exactly near the window of the land lord who stayed on the ground floor. I do not remember the original land lord guy who, I think died much before we occupied this place. But he had two wives both living together in harmony. Since the first one could not consume, the second one was brought into the picture — I figured it out very easily then as a kid. Before he died, he gifted 5 children. The eldest of the two wives dominated the household and acted as the patriarch of the family. She would always be at the window. In todays terms it can be termed as an immigration officer checking your passport or a customs officer checking whether you have more than two litres of alcohol. Only that we had no green channel. She would not allow any electrical items to go up and would nip it at the bud. When we bought the second Orient Table fan, I still remember how we were stopped at the stair. My father and me asked them to put a ceiling fan hook if this was not allowed. They gave us the excuse of having to pierce the terrace for that to be done and refusing to do so. So we made a big noise and all the neighbours joined us in reprimanding them. My father had chosen the society we lived for two reasons. One was to have non-vegetarian food and the second was a number of acquaintance we had for support during the time of crisis — like this fan crisis. Surrounded by the same acquaintances who stood like a rock, she retreated but then came back with a vengeance the next evening to ask for a raise in the electric bill. We refused and so began a long war where our drinking water supply was cut for a day or two. Strange ways of punishing tenants.
Working for a wire agency had its own benefits. The local Police Inspector was a friend of my father. He came visiting to the landlady the next day. One of her step sons was a rowdy who was in police records. The PI just told her that he will be behind bars if we were harassed again. It was an empty threat for sure but it worked. We went on to stay there for another 3 years. Contrary to what you think, our relations and bond got stronger. Just out of sheer fear. It hung on the rowdy behaviour of her son. As long as he continued his unruly behaviour — which he did, we were in safe zone. We would have been in trouble if he had decided to mend his ways. So each time this guy whose pet name goes by Raju, made trouble, we supported him. Just outside support, of course.
It was in the mid eighties. The big relief from these day to day issues was to get out of the shit hole at least temporarily. It all started with the announcement of the vacation by the school. And this used to be the time when we-the two of us brothers- start demanding dad to book train tickets to Kerala. There was no computerised reservation then. You have to get a ticket from the counter from Ahmedabad to Bombay and from Bombay to Chengannur another one which would be confirmed by a telegram. So we have to come back every week to enquire whether the hop in train tickets were confirmed. The tickets used to be a small token type cardboard piece. It was so easy to get lost that we treasured it in special places. I never knew how the Ticket Examiners checked it since all tickets looked the same barring a Serial number whom no one could read. It looked like the Zimmermann Telegram, the secret-WWI German cable attempting to enlist Mexico into the war and each time a TTE looked at it and then our face, we felt as if he was intercepting and decoding the biggest secret under the sun.
I stayed not far from the railway station then and so I would venture out to stand in long queues to enquire the status of the ticket. Each time I would return back with no update. There were many instances where we had to cancel the trip just a few minutes from departure because the onward tickets were not confirmed. And most of the time, we would take the risk of travelling without a confirmed ticket from Bombay.
Later when the computerised reservation system was introduced, getting a ticket just got more harder. Exactly 62 days before the departure date (tickets were available 60 days in advance), we would queue up at the reservation counter located just outside the main platform at Ahmedabad station. Yes, you have it right. We will be camping outside the counter for 3 full days. Next day, a new set of people would join us as a separate line and the following day a third set. So when we are allowed in, there will always be three set of lines in place. There used to be 30 counters. When we get in at around 7.30 we really do not have any idea whether the staff at the counter we queued will turn up when it opens at 8 AM. If you are among the first 3 or 4 at the counter, you get a confirmed ticket or else you get RAC and then a WL. These terms were foreign for me initially but then it became a lexicon in my dictionary. Each of these words in order of their chronology brought big relief to us. There was a form which we filled up with the care as if our life depended on it. If there was any error, the ticketing clerk would just reject and shout — Next. If you argue, you will be physically evicted from the counter.
Most of the occasions I came out with a confirmed ticket. You can never imagine the feeling of that moment. Have you ever been in the shoes of the leader of Third Reich? I had been in many occasions. Each time I hear that dot matrix printer going to and fro, I am asked to hand over the ticket money and then that elusive ticket is handed over to me, I feel exactly as the Soviets who took Berlin, Hitler committing suicide and unconditional surrender of Germany in no particular order. You get the ticket and you have to immediately go out of the air conditioned reservation centre. You come out so victorious as if you have won a major battle. But next year another Reich awaits me to battle it out. The next question is whether all those friends with whom we have spent the previous two nights got their tickets too. There was no hurry to reach back home since we were already on the streets for the previous 3 days. You may have noticed that I am referring to a lot of World War references here. It has a reason. The life then was nothing short of a war for us. Struggling for everything. At ration shops, milk booths, homes with TV and telephone connections and the list is endless.
Now when I read 2 nights and 3 days vacation to Bangkok to Pattaya in any vacation bill boards, I recollect our own sojourn at the station premises. Contrary to what you may think, it was one of the best three days and we always looked forward to having it. We would normally be arriving early morning. The first person arriving would keep a register putting the names of people after him. This was more valid than the Aadhar cards now. But you cannot write your name and then go home. Either you or your representative should always be there during a roll call which happened every two hours supervised by a RPF constable. You arrive with breakfast and lunch for that day. By evening someone from home would come with dinner and replace you for the night. You come next day with the same routine stuff. If you do not have anyone to replace, you end up sitting and sleeping for the entire duration. By afternoon on the first day itself, all my school buddies would join followed by Church and society buddies. Isn’t it irony that the same friends are still buddies who shares the same experience and laugh out loud even today. Only that we need not have a railway compound to do that. We had enough ammunition to talk about for the entire duration of 2 nights and 3 days. When we meet today, we still chat the same conversation we had at the railway premises. About the teachers, about the comic class mates and about everything under the sun. I would call it a pre-SM and Post-SM era. SM or Social Media have erased our urge to know about each other since we know every thing digitally. No physical interaction or call is any more necessary.
This is a part 2 of the open memoir that I am penning during my free time. Here is Part I
To be continued….
