Chaudhary chai

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"Ch... ch... ch... chai, chai garam, Chaudhary chai! Chai garam!" [Tea, hot tea, Chaudhary's tea!] comes the familiar pitch from the tea vendor strolling the passageway of the second class sleeper coach of the Ahmedabad-Howrah Express train. It is not even light out yet an occasional voice can be heard requesting "Oh chaiwallah!" Probably someone who had an early morning stop to get off at and didn't want to sleep through ending up at some station further ahead.

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Who was this Chaudhary anyway that his brand-name held such sway at 4:00 AM in the morning in the dozing trains of India? The most famous Chaudhary I knew of is the comic book hero Chacha Chaudhary, his "thinks faster than a computer" brain and his proportionally-large-because-he-is-from-Jupiter sidekick Sabu.

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I am awake but drowsy. There's no sleep that comes even close to the one induced by the slow rocking of an Indian Railways long distance route. And there's no better time to catch up with it in a non air-conditioned coach than the cool pre-dawn hours. This is the beginning of the school summer holidays and we were on our annual journey across the width of the country from Gujarat to our native city of Calcutta. The day was going to get hotter, sometimes unbearably so.

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Even if stirred by the occasional disturbance like a chaiwallah or a passenger dragging his dozen odd pieces of luggage and his complaining family to the coach door for a 2:30 AM disembarkment, it is only a minor interlude in what may either be called a dream like wakefulness or awake-like dreamfulness. The rattling rhythm of the charging train and the gusts of wind bursting through the girdered windows will soon mollycoddle all dissent back to slumber.

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After much debate and final resort tantrum throwing last evening, I have robbed the middle berth of the three tiered bunk structure from my sister, at least for this the first night of the 2 night journey. I like the link chains that suspend me in mid-air as opposed to the solid structures of the top and bottom bunk. I push against them and feel them yield under my minor weight. I feel a little bit like Alladin on his flying carpet, cruising through the fading darkness on an Indian mission far away from his homeland of Arabia.

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How many towns have we passed, I wonder, and how many forests? Was there any tiger in the undergrowth watching us scream by, his terrible magnificent eyes glowing in the darkness and the long toots of the train horn carrying for miles around in the quiet of the night challenging his domain. I think ahead of the day to come. Of the many tunnels we will pass in the daytime, cut away through nature's heart, causing everyone in the train to flip the lights on. There's that comic I bought from the Wheeler's stand which I had saved up for today. And aam-panna (a unripe mango fruit concentrate) that mom will serve when the noon-time sun heats up the tin can of a coach.

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All that action is quite some time away though. Right now, almost everyone in the compartment is still fast asleep. I poke my head out beyond my bunk and look at Mom and Dad in the lower berths, beneath me and in the one opposite. Dad is tuned out totally. Mom is a light sleeper, in anticipation of that mythical thief who will whisk all our luggage away or in anticipation of the smallest moan of discomfort from her kids, but even so, she is far from awake. Not a good time to reach up and yank that loose lock of hair I see dangling very temptingly over the edge of my top bunk either. It's my sister above me and a bawling "Mummyyyy!" at this odd hour would cause a whole lot of Mom's justifiably cranky anger to be directed at me. 

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So I think further ahead to Calcutta, my once-a-year visited birthplace which for me holds all the attractions of a holiday resort. Attention and adoration from relatives for being the rarely-seen cousin that lives 'far away' expressed in the form of sumptous food, gifts and general pampering have their unique charm. Another summer of browsing the Enid Blyton and Hardy Boys treasure trove of a book collection at Bopi's (my aunt's), at least one mandatory trip to the Alipore Zoo, the New Market toy and confectionary stores - the list of wonders was never ending. 

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Before I know it, the sun is up and about. The queues at the wash-basins to brush needy teeth grow long and the train floats by strange rock formations, green fields, industrial towns belching red smoke, platforms serving lip-smacking tit-bits of food and the customary troops of waving school-children. Something about a passing train causes all children to involuntarily smile and wave. They seem to know. 

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That this train will march on to its destination. And then march back. As it had done for decades before and will continue to do so for decades after. Bringing new people to new destinations and new lives as it once did my family and taking them on to what their indefinable future held for them. The kids may have never heard a line from an Eagles' song I would hear later in life and indeed the Eagles would have never heard of the kids either yet they share a sentiment, in equal parts comforting and cautionary. 

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"You may lose or you may win... but you'll never be here again"

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[http://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2011/12/chaudhary-chai.html]