Observations from Platform No 1

There was no sign of the train. It wasn't surprising, considering it's been little more than just fifteen minutes since we were waiting at the station. The lights dimmed for a moment and then we were suddenly plunged into darkness, waiting literally for the light from the end of the tunnel. In that few seconds, one could sense the uneasy panic as the whispers reached a crescendo.

" Barate, barate, power barate" said the voice cutting through the murmurs as the lights came on suddenly . I looked around to see if someone was addressing me and also wondered around the same time if it was the efficiency of the electricity department or the infrastructure in that little station that brought the lights back ."Genset idhe," he said as if he was reading my thoughts.

The dim light revealed a aging bald man with diamond studs in his ears. Sitting on the bench and speaking to no one in particular, he had that smug look about him . I looked around and realized that his little audience was indeed paying attention to him.

There was the great Indian family, replete with grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins and even a toddler . The mother looked agitated, rocking her little one, while the latter looked curiously out of her little bundle of clothes that wrapped her. There was a litter of baggages, strewn around, the tacky prints on the innumerous bags giving them a distinct Indianness - a flavour the urban folks will not relate to.And as soon as the power came back, they were all talking to each other at the same time. The mother paced around the platform desperately trying to rock her baby to sleep, who was wide eyed and wide awake, taking in the chaos .

I was in Hospet waiting for the train from Hubli to arrive, to take me back to Bangalore. There were just two platforms here and I was standing in the first platform observing life unfurl around me . I looked at the tracks and wondered how life changed every minute. If the visit to Hampi was to relive a forgotten city and its memories, Daroji took me to the wilderness in the midst of the man made ruins . The tracks would eventually take me back to a concrete jungle when the mechanics of life would continue. But, it was the present that caught my attention. The small vignettes of life here in this little station presented themselves to me . The vendors ,beggars, local passengers, wayfarers, tourists, foreigners and the railway personnel all merged into a colorful amalgam of people waiting for that one train to take them to their respective destinations. They meet for a brief while and then walk down their own paths. The destinations may be the same, but the paths different.

There is something about the people in a small town. The awkwardness with which they carry themselves is juxtaposed with the loud brashness , the curiosity with the boldness,or maybe openness. Probably that is the reason that the urbanites, prejudiced with snobbishness, shy away from them. I often wonder if it is a tinge of fear that makes the city bred avoid them, as if the masks will fall off in public view . I cringe subconsciously at the thought, even as we guise this fear with a snooty air.

"This is real India..youve been to Hampi ?" Our man was holding forth to a small group of foreigners who looked completely lost in this circus.They were loud too in their appearance with their massive backpacks, wide rimmed hats, camera equipments and travel gear. The locals gathered around them, but maintained a polite distance . The tourists looked tired and the girl wondered loudly if there would be a further delay.They were probably being tired of being stared at , as though they were curios, as the locals watched every movement of theirs and hung on to every word they said. Our man slowly walked away to his group , translating his brief interlude with the foreigners.

Another local hero emerged. Younger and conversant in English, he seemed to be wanting to bridge the gap between the foreigners and the locals. He was the typical "Our boy who made it big," surrounded by his circle of friends who probably aspired to be like him . Chatting up with the foreigners, he had learnt about their nationalities, their travel plans and their next destination as well. " Ah Kochi would be another 12 hours from Bangalore by train..and where are you staying in Bangalore ? " He was playing the local guide to the hilt to the tourists and was the hero to his circle who was by now hanging on to every word he said. The waiting had thawed the ice and conversations flowed freely. The chai wala arrived and cups were floated around. The magazine vendor landed on the scene as well trying to make a quick buck .The vendors probably rejoiced in the delay as they teased the passengers' patience and converted them into buyers.

Elsewhere lights of a different kind beckoned the bored passengers. An entire lot of women arrived from nowhere with a group of children with cool drinks and lays . And they made their way to the weighing machine which was glittering with lights. For a moment, it was a wave of nostalgia that swept me. As children, we cousins used to persuade our parents to take us to the weighing machine. The lure was simple. It wasnt so much the statistics on the weighing scale that bothered us, but that little piece of fortune that showed on a simple card. I heard the peals of laughter from the group and was tempted to step outside my city bred avtaar and try my luck again. As nostalgia faded, I realized that not much has changed. Neither the obsession with weight, nor the craving for a prediction. We all live on hope and a prayer -only technologies and contraptions change.

A sudden rush of feet and the station master was accosted by the wait listed, berthless and ticketless passengers. The party broke up as everyone thronged around him. "Was the train in sight ?" A distant light on the track gathered momentum. Suddenly the energies and the emotions on Platform No 1 underwent a change. The jostling began, a bit of a push and a rush , a sense of urgency as feet moved towards the tracks and necks craned to get a better view. The great Indian family was busy with their luggages , the tourists strapped their backpacks. The patience had given way to impatience as the hum grew louder and the engine came into view , but it chugged past as passengers realized there were no bogies behind it.

Post the anticlimax the scene rewound itself as the waiting game started all over again. A couple of dogs entered the fray, wagging their tails . The toddler suddenly wailed in her mother's arms. The murmurs grew. The chai wala persuaded me to buy another cup of sweetened tea. A train whizzed past in the second platform . I sipped another cup and waited

Sunday Stories

Sunday Stories are more of a train of thoughts on travel and travelers . I start this new series from a train ..

I write this from my window seat of the Brindavan Express as it chugs along from Madras to Bangalore , leaving behind glimpses of interior Tamil Nadu . A general lull descends as the passengers are caught in a late morning snooze .The door opens and in comes the aroma of a home grown masala vada with a dash of chutney, tickling my nostrils and sending me on a trail of thoughts to my childhood .

We were a motley lot of kids, chaperoned by our mothers , highly excited as ever, en route to Bangalore on the same train. The journey was always the exciting part and the objects of fascination were the vendors and the many goodies that they used to serve - from hot masala dosas, spicy cutlets, crispy vegetable puffs..It is often the vendors who amused us more than the goodies. Their sing a song voices announcing their wares in a chorus, the twinkle in the eye, their costumes with the long flowing cap...all made the journey more memorable. Starved of entertainment such as cartoons on TV or visits to fancy malls or gorging pizzas or chaats at fast food joints, these humble fares at trains were delicacies to us. Lost in the aromas of the past , I drift off to sleep when a voice cuts through my reverie..And then the journey I realize will never be the same again..

A deep throated voice exclaims “Everything is management and we live and die by it!" “ The train jolts a bit as I look up to see if someone had spoken to me. My neighbour rubs his eyes in bewilderment and glances at me with the same quizzical look., But the voice continues like a trombone, “Wear a smile..the man who wears a smile will always win a deal .”We finally locate the voice . It is right behind us, from a fellow passenger . He entertained me to the hilt, though he did not speak to me throughout the journey and his primary audiences were one girl and a boy .

He talked non stop , neither a moment to breathe nor a pause in his monologue to acknowledge their umms and aahs . I first heard him hold forth on astrology, on how to break bad news to someone if you have perceived something wrong . Like a Guru teaching his unsuspecting students the power of positive thinking, he highlighted case studies to prove how positive thinking and communication could even change his own negative (read wrong) prediction ..A boy had asked him if he would do well in his exams. Our soothsayer could not see a positive result, but he told him , “Don't worry, all the best , you will do well.” The boy, according to the story came out with flying colors and my passenger attributed it to his positive communication ... adding that maybe the boy didnt get what he expected , but thats alright...

A great story teller, the man without warning or any transition started talking about engineering colleges, then on how to run an engineering college , to balancing sheets of an engineering college run by his friend and how losses are so common in such colleges and that is usually according to him the way all colleges do business..Then he moved on to articulate his views on corporate life, how to make presentations, who is fit for a corporate life and how and why XXX and YYY are not fit for the same ..case studies punctuated his monologue,ending with his vision for an organization and how he is right and others were wrong and how he has no scruples in saying he is right and others are wrong.. A common phrase is “we will learn..keep learning ..you will understand. Marketing and technology were his favorite topics..In an hour, he had given umpteen tips on how to be a good professional and hold your own in technology - from ISO to IT ! UFFF !! (Im just not able to keep up with his pace )

He knew the nuances of holding an audience captive to his views..The punch lines were dramatic enough, the pauses non existent and the tone was perfectly right to ensure that you listen to him . I have been entertained and enlightened for an hour on how to be an entrepreneur from idea development, to organization management, to capital generation to loss management to organization skills to balance sheets. The monologue moved to banks and loans ,and boy, do I need to an MBA ? “Whats one crore for a bank ? You cant call that a loan..Everything is management ,everything is... he concluded again, only to start a discussion about the” BIG 5 companies and his role there ..”My job is to show the path and way to make money..but if I did that earlier,,what will others do ?

We tried in vain to sleep, my neighbour even tried to exchange seats , but the voice held us “in thrall.” The topic suddenly shifted without warning to handwriting analysis to numerology to language debate between Hindi and English and then with no logic to Deepika Padukone and Om Shanti Om. At this juncture we were interrupted by the vendor who brought in hot masala dosas, We had crossed Jolarpet and half the journey was almost over. I bravely ventured to get a better glimpse of my en lightener and was trying to practise the expression I should portray ..Bored , irritated, indifferent, shocked, angry... my reflections did justice I think to my acting skills and just then I stole a glance at the girl ..and she looked extremely familiar..The masala started tickling my nostrils again when I caught her staring at me and suddenly we both blurted ...arent you .ABC from XXX school ?

So in the midst of management tips , movie stars and masala dosa,.I had discovered an old classmate from school... We let old times interrupt the monologue from her uncle and after some pleasant smiles and a bit of silence while relishing the masala of the dosa, I try going back to sleep when it starts all over again .....Everthing is management, you see...”