A Journey by Train

The train was one hour behind schedule when it reached Murardi station. I was sitting at the end of the bench with my father just opposite to me. We were returning from a tour of the Bero hills. It was a hot and sultry afternoon and the train was unusually crowded. People were running here and there at the stations and the train seemed to get more crowded at each station.
The train started with a slight jerk. Seven people were sitting on a single bench, which is generally meant for only four. My father had already dozed off. The fellow at my side was sleeping with his head on my shoulders and was frequently waking up, only to fall asleep again. I was irritated but I could not do anything as I am too shy to speak to strangers. All my bravery as well as bombastic and clever words was limited to my parents and girl friend.
A young man was standing a little away from me. He was trying to light a cigarette, or rather a ‘bidi’ but the wind kept blowing out his matches. A man helped him with a ‘lighter’ and soon our part of the compartment was full of smoke. No one protested and so I had no other option but to wave my hands to wave off the smoke. I looked at my side and saw a big “No Smoking” sign displayed on the side of the compartment.
Meanwhile the fellow beside me had his head on the other side and was snoring loudly. A child came up to me and stood there. I moved a little and gave him a space to sit. To my amazement he called out his mother loudly ‘Maaaa……!!’ . His mother came, sat down and took her son on her lap! Nine of us were sitting on the single bench now. There was too little space for me to sit. I stood up!
A ‘Jhalmuri wala’ got up in the train from nowhere, shouting loudly in his coarse voice. The container in which he kept all the items was too big to pass through the passage. But the man squeezed forward. I too squeezed myself, at his push, only to get a reprimand from the mother…..the very mother, to whom I had sacrificed my seat. I had nothing to say but ‘sorry!’ Meanwhile the jhalmuri wala had squeezed his way out and was going away when the mother called him and ordered him to make one plate for her. We all squeezed up to make way for the Jhalmuri wala and his container. The woman took a long time to pay. I thought to give her a piece of my mind……….The Jhalmuri wala got down at the next station.
Mobile phones were ringing in almost every pocket. The man, who had been previously sleeping beside me, woke up with a start. His cell phone was ringing…….’Jhalak dikhlaja……..aaja aaja’…….the ringtone which had caused much hilarity among Himesh Reshamyia’s fans. He began to talk softly, but his voice rose gradually and then finally turned to a shout. A strong reprimand from my father forced him to stop.
I gazed outside. The train was leaving the Andal station. My father stood up, took his bag and went for the door. I followed him. Durgapur was a brief stop for the train and as we were getting down, I heard the same man shouting over his cell phone again. It was the same man whom my father had scolded a few moments earlier!!
INCREDIBLE INDIA!!