Journeys:1:Silp and Slide

I always have a hard time enumerating favourites. For e.g fav food, music, actor, movie, hobby yada yada yada. My answer usually begins with a "umm........" and launches into an explanation of some categories the possible fav(s) can fall into.

But if someone asks me what I enjoy most, then surely I can say without hesitation "Traveling and exploring new places". Now that is something I am up for every time a suggestion comes up and it is always eventful and interesting.

Thinking back it is something, which comes from habit and not by choice, I suppose. I have been travelling from almost when i was born, never staying in one place for longer than 5 years.

My first trip was from Bangalore to Bombay, when I was just about 3 months old. Of course I don't remember anything about it, but my folks have told me the story enough times to know it by heart.
[Possibly the first journey was earlier when my mum came over from b’bay to b’lore, but let’s just deal with absolutes only for now :P ]

So there I was a little bundle of joy to my mum and grandparents. After the initial resistance, I was even starting to be my sister’s favourite plaything. After 3 months my mum decided to get back to Bombay and dad. So plans were made, tickets were bought etc., for the almost day long train ride to b’bay. Now in those days that was a very long journey from my grandparents point of view. Also post-natal care was the top most concern on their mind. So, all things considered, dear daughter’s luggage was nearing a truckload by the time we were ready to board the train.

Thanks to helpful co-passengers and general concern for lone mother with 2 kids, we were all safely set up in the compartment and sent off. Grandpa promptly sent a telegram to son-in-law as soon as train left;
“Family boarded Kurla Express. Stop. Reaching 8 am. Stop. More luggage than usual. Stop.”

My dad although forewarned in this gentle manner by well meaning parents-in-law took only one friend with him to the station thinking, “how much luggage can there be?”

Journey itself was uneventful. Now the great and beautiful Victoria Terminus [as it was called then, I still refer to it as VT] is a lovely mess if there ever was one. It used to be a pretty dirty and extremely crowded station. One needs special skills to maneuver the crowd and the bustle.

Train reached Bombay at expected time, there was Dad with faithful friend to pick up the wife n kids. Dad comes into the compartment and starts looking around to pick up our luggage. Turns out all that he can lay eyes on are his to pick up. Being the fan of minimalism that he is, he was instantly annoyed at the excesses of his parents-in-law, and the quiet acceptance of it on my Mum’s behalf.

Now Dad is a person who never expresses anger in loud or harsh words, he just goes quiet with a knotted expression on his face. So that’s what he did. After a grunted “hmpf!” at the collective situation, hugs and such for the kids he turned around to start pulling stuff out of the compartment with his friend. After several trips of in and out a nice little pile was formed on the platform and all that was left in the compartment was mum and I [Sister of course had happily trotted off to help the guys with the ‘hard work’]

So making sure all our stuff was out, Mum made her way to the door. You know how high those steps are in Indian Railways? Suffice to know they are pretty high from the platform. So there was Mum, trying to negotiate, purse, baby bag, baby and steps all at the same time. Dad sensing the difficulty asked her to hand something to him. Mum hands me over so that she can use both hands to hold the railing to step down.

The gap between the platform and the train was considerable and as I was being passed from Mum to Dad, a piece of luggage blocking dad’s way caused him to trip a little and I slipped out of both hands and fell towards the edge of the platform and that gap.

For a moment there I am sure both their hearts stopped beating.

But fortune smileth on self, the aforementioned piece of luggage in dad’s way was a bedroll [also called a hold-all in my grandpa’s words, which was like a carry-on sleeping bag in those days]. So baby safely landed on the bed-roll, ensuring instant relief all around.

Of course some healthy crying due to shock and surprise followed, but all in all my first journey was safe though eventful.