The Sleeping Technique

 

I have a lot of experience of running behind trains. I don't know how, but every time some urgency occurs ranging from moderate to high just before my trip. I believe that I'm a little less organized compared to the individuals my age. But this trip is different. On this trip, I was not willing to come. 

My son is six months old and has started reacting to all the little mischiefs I do when I'm with him. With a heavier heart, welled-up eyes, and slow steps I entered the railway station. The train was motionlessly gazing at me from the opposite platform. I was aware of the relationship between the night trains and me. I climbed the stairs as quick as I could. But the train started moving slowly as it was trying to tease me. 

Luckily, the bogie that I had to board was just crossing the staircase, and in no time I boarded it. The train forgave me this time.

The bogie was almost vacant. Some odd seats were occupied with motionless humans, covering their bodies with uniform blankets. I was looking for my side lower seat. There was no one in the whole compound except this lady who was sitting facing towards the other side. I kept my luggage under the berth and lay down. 

When all the animated stuff came to a halt and I closed my eyes to catch my sleep, I felt my heart heavy again. I was thinking what my son must be doing. I was missing the fragrance of his body, the curls of his hair. I was missing his small hands and his toothless smile. I miss putting him to bed, and watching his facial expressions when he gets into deep slumber. 

When it comes to putting him to sleep, I'm an expert. My strategy is darn too simple. I put him near my torso, cradle him at a uniform pace, and repeat the name of Lord Rama in more of a hissing voice.

Ram...

Ram...

Ram...

And in no time he enters into his dreamland, making faces of all kinds. 

I opened my eyes to set an alarm on my cellular phone. I even have a record of missing my destined stations too. As soon as I closed my eyes again, I heard a familiar voice. I thought for a while that I was hallucinating or something. I heard my son crying as he usually does when he wants to sleep but can't. When the voice became more clear and loud, I got up to see what was happening. I switched on the lights of the cabin. The lady who was lying on the other side was carrying her toddler on her lap and shaking it rigorously.

She apologized for that as she thought she must have disturbed my sleep. I just smiled and lay down again. Her baby was roaring like a hungry cub. I covered my head with the blanket and switched off the lights in case she wanted to feed the baby. 

The baby was crying at the top of his voice. I felt something fishy by then. I switched on the lights again and asked her whether she had checked the baby's temperature or not. She put her finger on the baby's neck to manually check the temperature. I was not aware of any such technique for measuring temperature, but she acknowledged that her baby was doing fine.

I asked her if  I could help. She was hesitant at first. She was really not expecting that. But looking at her baby's condition, she handed me her toddler. 

I stood up and roamed around a bit here and there. The baby was still crying, clenching my kurta in his little fists I started caressing the back of his head softly. That was the first time when he looked at me. Our eyes met for the first time. I smiled at him. He stopped crying for a few seconds, observing an unfamiliar face. He started crying again but at a much slower pace, as if he was complaining about something to me.

I sat on my berth and put his face to my abdomen, just below my heart. He stopped crying again. He was again observing my face. He lifted his left hand and started playing with my beard. I started cradling him when I noticed his eyes getting heavier. 

And finally, I started humming the name of Lord Rama.

Ram...

Ram...

Ram...

I told his mother to make her bed. I lay him down carefully and switched off the lights.

Her Mother started patting his back to make him feel safe and protected.

'Thank you' I heard her voice before I came back to my seat.

I was glad that my magic formula worked.  

The next morning I woke up before the alarm rang. I saw the baby giggling in her Mother's arms. She playfully told him to wish me good morning, to which he giggled some more. 

I went to freshen up. My station was about to arrive. 

When I came back from the restroom, her son was crying again. He was looking worn out with all that playing and giggling. I sat on my seat quietly and started putting my stuff in my backpack.

When I turned around again I saw the lady cradling him on her lap.

Ram...

Ram...

Ram...

 

Voila! 

He went into deep slumber even quicker than the night before. He was sleeping calmly when the train lowered its pace. I got up looking at the baby. He looked very similar to my own son. I kept looking at him till the train halted.

'What's his name?' I asked her.

'Irfan... Muhammad Irfan'. She smiled as she replied.

Revisiting a Childhood Story - Delhi Karavan Chronicles

 

The year must be 2002 and I was coming back from Agra. My Mother and my brother, both had enough of my useless talks. They indirectly told me to shut up. I was looking out of the window of the Intercity express, counting those desolated stations, where hardly any train stops.

My Father was waving at us. I saw him first, before everyone. My brother denies this, but trust me I saw him before. He lifted the bag I was holding in my hands. He was always on time, no matter how late our train gets. He had a magic number he used to punch in our landline telephone  And a lady used to give information to him about the timings of our train - with a standard postscript - Asuvidha ke Liye Khed hai. She is the same lady who announces the timings of the train at railway stations too. I recognize her voice by heart - Taddam... Kripaya dhyan dijiye ...  

I sat comfortably in the backseat of our red color Maruti 800. We had our dinner at Bangla sweets in Bangla Market. I was a quick eater. And Obese too. So I had my meal and came outside to have some fresh air - and also, I was not in the mood to share my ice cream with my brother. 

When I came outside I saw this old man, wearing age-old spectacles, selling worn-out books, calendars, and magazines. He was sitting comfortably on the footpath with a trunk behind him and a pile of books on his right. 

And then, I found this book peeping at me quietly.

It was a thick paperback with a beautiful image of one elderly couple and a few kids printed on its cover page. How joyfully they were smiling at me. I can't forget that image till the last day of my life.

The book was called Dada-Dadi ki Kahaniyan.

While coming back home, I tried to read the contents of the book in the beams of streetlights and headlights of the other vehicles, passing in a rhythmic pattern.

Wish I could find the same red cover

After a while, we become good friends - or rather, more companions than friends.

But that companionship ended on a bit sad note.

I was in a small city in Maharashtra, where my cousin and I got into this argument, which escalated so much that he tore my book which was lying on my bedside.

I don't remember how many punches and kicks I showered on him. My vision was all blurred with uncontrollable tears flowing down my cheeks. And with that blurred vision, I saw that torn cover of the book, lying in a terrible condition on the bed. 

I miss that book and those 101 stories in it. Every story had warmth, wit, love, and some long-lasting lessons. One such story which I read during a train journey stayed with me. It goes somewhat like this -

Once upon a time...

There was a merchant who used to travel from his village to a city to buy clay toys, which had a humongous demand in his village. One evening, he was roaming in the bazaar of that city, handpicking each toy himself, and negotiating as much as he could.

The market was filled with peddlers and vendors, selling various products. There were snake charmers and bangle sellers. Food stalls filled with roasted peanuts, Sherbet, and Kebabs.

The kebabs were the local delicacy - soaked overnight in a mixture of turmeric, curd, and some selected spices - served smoking hot - dissolving in no time in your mouth.

But that day a lot of people were gathered in front of that stall - Not to buy kebabs.

When the merchant got a bit closer, he saw that the kebab seller was holding the tattered shirt of an old beggar who was sitting on the floor, begging for mercy. His begging bowl was lying upside down by his side and about a dozen coins were all scattered around him. 

When the merchant asked the kebab seller what the matter was, he explained "This rascal was having his chappatis with the fragrance of my kebabs. I noticed him enjoying both his stale pieces of bread like a dirty pest, I saw everything right from my stall. When I asked him to pay, he refused. That's how these dirty beasts are, they want everything for free.

The merchant looked blankly at the face of the kebab seller, which was all red with anger. He thought for a while, and then bent to collect all the scattered coins lying near the beggar. The beggar was watching everything, helplessly, and hopelessly. The Kebab seller was watching everything with an expectation of a gentle reward for the fragrance of his delicious kebabs.

The merchant held all the coins between his cupped palms and brought them near the right ear of the kebab seller, letting him hear the jingle of the coins. The Kebab seller smiled at him and extended his palm to collect the coins. But the merchant refused with a witty smile.

He said, pointing toward the beggar "He enjoyed the fragrance of your kebabs, and you enjoyed the jingle of his coins. All dues cleared." and handed all the coins to the beggar.

The story stayed with me, unexposed somewhere in the dark corner of my mind - afraid to come out.

Till the day it saw a bright ray of light...

Last week Asif Sahab told the same story in the context of some other story. But it brought out all my childhood right in front of my eyes. 

And after that, I didn't listen to the stories as a grown-up. All my so-called maturity vanished into thin air. I became an eight-year-old obese, quick-eater kid, who loves listening to stories with an open mouth and chin cupped between his palms. I could see that red cover of the book which I really miss, smiling at me.

I wrote a couple of traits of a storyteller in one of my earlier write-ups, but all those traits came out after a bit of brainstorming. Now let me tell you an element that my heart deeply wants to share with you all.

A true storyteller will always try to nurture the child in you - No matter how ignored and unattended it is. He or she will always give you the freedom to listen to the stories with an open mouth, chin cupped in palms, and with that little twinkle in your eyes.

And I find that trait in Asif Sahab.

Please ignore me plucking neem leaves at the back. I love chewing them.

So, my dear reader friend, never let your childhood die - Never, Never, Never...

Never

And what's a better way to nurture it than to listen to the stories?

Love, Laughter, and Peace

Himanshu R Nagpal

The Railway Gang by Ruskin Bond - Not a Book Review

I remember the days when I was in school and I used to hate those ridiculous Parent-Teacher meetings. It was a day when the teacher humiliates the student in front of their parents and the parents humiliate the student in front of their teacher. It's like that age-old ping pong game, a collective activity to make sure that mischievous activities of students like me come to a halt. The only thing I love about those horrible meetings was the Scholastic book fair in our school corridor. Those little storybooks with attractive pictures was a treat to look at. I said 'to look 'at' because I haven't purchased many of them. My Mom used to say that we'll buy one of those after the meeting. And I couldn't ask her to buy me one after the meeting, of course, due to obvious reasons.

But quite recently I came across this little book written by Mr Bond called The Railway Gang.

This is a story of a little dog called Chottu, roaming with his gang on the platforms of a Railway station. Now he is named Chottu because he was too small in size. If you have some stray dogs in your locality, you might find people who call themselves dog lovers, calling them with names like Blackey or Brownie, Sheroo or Pinkey, or any other names like these. These names are purely based on their attributes which helps them to get recognised or sometimes they even listen by the names when you call them repeatedly.

Now Chottu has a full-fledged gang of half a dozen fogs namely Raja, Rani, Rishi, and few others. All day they roam around the platform, gathering staled chappatis and half-eaten fruits to fill up their belly. 

Now the problem is a newly appointed, highly motivated, Stationmaster who chases away the beggars and the dogs from the platform. Now the beggars had to compete with the beggars who sit near the bus stand. But it was much difficult for dogs to adjust with the Dogs near the bus stand. 

But when the station master is nowhere to be seen, the railway gang come back to the platforms in search of food.

The only human friend they have now is Kumar, who is a guard in Doon-Delhi express. He feeds Chottu with food he brought in his Tiffin and has a soft corner for Chottu.

One day, while hanging around with school students on the platform, he gets along with one of them on the train. The train starts moving. The ticket checker left him on the Haridwar station, which was quite alien for him. He roams around alone in the city to find some familiarity, but he couldn't. He desperately wants to get back to the platform he can call his home.

Will he able to reach back to the platform where he can unite again with his gang? You have to read the book to discover that.

What I like about the book

Everything - Literally everything. It was a short, simple, and interesting read. Being an ardent reader of Mr Bond's books, I was frequently travelling to the world he has created down the years. Like I was seeing that world again where Arun used to feed biscuits to a stray dog on platform number eight of Ambala Station. His words actually become a gateway to travel into his world.

The other thing I like about the book is the pictures on every page. They are very well detailed, and one should go slow and spend some time looking at each picture. I bet you won't regret it.

So this is a perfect gift for your kids this summer if you want to indulge them in reading. And it's a perfect gift for everyone who doesn't like things too complicated. 

So that's it for this post

I'll see you again.

Love, Laughter, and Peace

HRN

PS:- You can click HERE to buy the book. :-)

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