A thousand trains (and another "lost" phone)

I spent a little less than 2 years in a small, more or less one street (that connects bus stand and railway station) town in Orissa in the pursuit of a Diploma in Electrical Engineering, so I am not new to out of the way, marooned-in-the-boondocks towns.

Then again, I grew up in Rourkela which certainly couldn't claim to be anything more than prosperously provincial back then, so I am used to things bucolic and slow-moving in a way not many born (and bred) in cities are. And since I used to commute a lot between Rourkela and the aforementioned town, I have more train journeys under my belt than most TTE's.

So then, this was one more journey (or two -- counting going and coming back as individual journeys, or four -- considering I had to change trains at Delhi) and one more visit to an out of the way, marooned-in-the-boondocks town.

The highlight of the four train journeys was traveling first class to Delhi. Something that came to transpire primarily because I couldn't get tickets in any other class (even after enduring the torture of IRCTC's Tatkal bookings). And I must say this, traveling First Class by train beats every other way of traveling -- and certainly scores high, much higher than traveling by air (not that I am much qualified to speak of air travel, I have caught a flight barely 4-5 times and it has always been cattle class) especially when it comes to the room on offer and the kind of pampering one gets to enjoy (tea / coffee, soup, breakfast, lunch, dinner...). Beats being offered a small bottle of water and a matchbox sized pack of boiled peanuts (or whatever else, if at all) by an anorexic lass speaking in a phoney accent (not that I can even begin to hear what they say) any day if you ask me.

In fact I almost went to the extent of thinking that this is a "life event" (no -- not in FB terminology, I am being serious) comparable to catching a flight (you know how it is with most small-town, middle-class people -- like yours truly -- who don't remove the baggage tags from their luggage for ages to "show off" that they have traveled by air) but then my father claims that he took us all (to Tirupati, no less) by First Class when I was too young to understand / notice.

Oh well -- that anyway explains why I love trains, eh? Must have cottoned onto the experience pretty early in life.

Another highlight was traveling through what used to be (if my sense of history and geography is correct) notorious as the Terai at one time -- at least that part of it which is in the north-western fringe of modern day Uttar Pradesh. Miles and miles of flat expanses with fields of golden wheat ready to be harvested or just harvested (and left in neat bundles). I have seen a lot of rice fields but this was the first time I got to see so much of ready to harvest wheat. Since a lot of my hoarded wealth in life these days is visual and in the form of photographs, this was certainly a bounty of a rare order, even if I did not take a single photograph.

And then, I lost it. In Delhi, I mean. The phone.

How?

Was in an auto headed to Nizamuddin to catch my train back to Hyderabad and texting (or writing into the phone, rather) and the auto (incidentally going at a fast canter on some Expressway) suddenly swerved, and as I lost balance, I lost my grip on the phone as well. Which then dived onto the Expressway and got hit and run (no idea how many times). Which then, I also managed to find (without its back cover) more or less intact and estranged from its battery (which also I managed to find) but...its best to write-off the phone as all it does is blink in a more or less half-assed way.

Yes, my ticket was in the phone and so were all my contacts, etc.

But then, I was mindful enough to manage to find a travel agent functioning out of a hole in the wall near Nizamuddin (all the cyber cafes were closed) log-in to IRCTC and coax it to let me print a ticket.The aforementioned travel agent (a tout more like) made a killing (he wanted Rs. 50 and was very rude too) and I decided not to knee him where it hurts, but what matters is I could get a ticket and carry on to Hyderabad and home.

Me and phones, eh?

And that brings me to the "town". Last time I was here, I had a wait of almost 3 hours for my train to Delhi to leave and I had to prevail on the Station Master to get the only Waiting Room opened. This time, I found that the Waiting Room has been taken over by a TTE and converted into his living (or at least sleeping) quarters. And no, there was no other place (apart from the loo in the Waiting Room) for me to relieve myself.

Marooned-in-the-boondocks town, did I not say? Or maybe this is how most end-of-the-line Railway Stations are...