Time passes by the Brindavan Express

I had a two day assignment in Bangalore and that saw me boarding the iconic Brindavan Express at Central Station, Chennai on a Tuesday morning.

As I was taking my seat, a spry old man seated next to me introduced himself, “I am so and so and retired from Hindustan Motors”.

At the other end of the coach, two people began fighting over where  to place the baggage. The din grating my nerves, I shouted: go out and fight and spare others the trouble.

By then, in walked a very loquacious woman. She looked in her 50s, wearing an over-sized diamond ear stud, and dressed in a polyester saree.  She was shouting like a fisherwoman as she directed her son to place the luggage below the bench seat and also on the grilled top end of the coach. She carried three persons’ luggage on her.

Her antics irritated the the old man and he matched his barrage to hers,” Don’t keep this bag below the seat for I cannot place my feet”. I too joined in the verbal melee, “Over 100 people have boarded this coach and no one has made such a commotion”.

She smiled saying,” Only when I shout will my son obey me”.
She sat next to me and we got talking. She said, “I remember travelling in Brindavan Express in the seventies and it used to take only five hours then. There were just two stops; Katpadi and Jolarpet then.”

The Hindustan Motors man said,” Now it’s ten stops and six hours to reach Bangalore city.”

I interjected, “Who said things run faster in this high tech age? We are going back to the Stone Ages.”

The woman spoke about her family, “My husband is a good-for-nothing fellow. He earns to gamble on horses and I drove him out of the house. Three years back, I got my eldest son married and he left the house within a year. I have written him off too and don’t bother whether he is alive or dead”.

I said,” Please don’t say that. That coming from a mother bodes evil for him”.

I asked, “Why are you going to Bangalore and that too with a truckful of baggage?”

She answered,” For my married daughter there and I have made a lot of pappads and vadams. In addition, the usual pickles. Look, cooking oil is Rs.90 a kg here in Madras while it costs Rs.100 there. In addition, she wants Nellore rice and all that adds up”.

The old man next to me also warmed up and in a prankful mood he said, “This train will only go up to Kuppam and from there you will have to take a bus to B’lore because of sudden floods.”
The lady was sharp to see through the bluff. This woman, apparently unlettered, was wise.

As the train meandered its way to Cantonment, I thought: these people are at the bottom of the economic ladder and yet their faces radiate cheer and confidence in rich supply.

A good lesson learnt  on who is the backbone of a family, many of which hold the country together.

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