The Journey 3: THE ROAD

CLAIMER: The following peice of literature is 99.88% fact and 0.12% exaggeration. This is no fiction.

Fuck!! This is so wrong. You are screwed. Once more. Were you born in the hour of Devil? The voices in my head were not leaving me alone. Destiny had struck again. This time too, I was the victim. The freaking train was on time.Do you believe that? Indian Railway!! On time!! That too was not working out for me. The right time was 1 in the night. Hell!! Who in his right mind will run a train that starts at 1 in the night and stops at 1 in the night, 2 days after. This makes no sense. May Lalu rot in hell.

I am on the station. Silently cursing everybody. It was 2 full days in a smelly train, amongst smelly people. I had not bathed. Hell I didn't even took a crap on the train. I had not slept for more than 10 hrs in the 2 days, in installments. My throat is dry as cotton. I buy a bottle of water. Greedily drink the full bottle. Tastes like ORS, without the sugar. I curse the vendor. Son of a bitch. The voice echoes in my head. I had spotted a few acquaintances on the train. I am trying to find them. They are not here. Maybe they are already outside. I exit the station, and there they are, about 10 people, from my college. Where were you all this time when I was struggling to find something to save myself from dying of boredom? I scream inside my head.

Outside the station it was a totally another mightier crisis waiting for us. Bloody autowallahs and their bloodier autos. Smell of booze 24 hours a day. A wreck of an automobile. They talk in half Assamese and more often than not make no sense. This happened that night at least 4 times.

Me : Bhaiya, IIT chaloge?
AW(Autowallah) : Kahan?
Me : IIT!
AW : Wo kahan ko hai?
Me : North Guwahati, Bramhaputra cross karke.
AW : Kitne log hain?
Me : 3. (How much can you fit in this hole.)
AW : 800 rupay hone se hoga.
Me : 800 to jyada hai.
AW : 800 se kam main hone se nahi hoga. Then something about night, petrol costs, police. I am
already over to the next bloody booze smelling guy.

This one guy has a loading taxi, thinks he is the king of the jungle.

Me : Bhaiya IIT chaloge?
LTW(Loading Taxiwallah) : Nahi.
Me : Kya?
LTW : Abhi neend aa raha hai bhaiya. Abhi nahi jaayega.
Me : Arey chal lo bhaiya. 10 bande hain.
LTW : (thinking...thinking...thinking...thinking...after 3 minutes....) 10 minute sone se chalega.
Me : Arey late ho raha hai. Kitne loge batao?
LTW : 5000 rupay hone se hoga.
Me : 500 main chal loge???
LTW : 500 nahi 5000.
Me : Bhaiya 1500 main to ghar se yahan tak pahunch gaya.
LTW : To nahi chalega. Sone do.
Me : Asshole.

We were back on the road, searching frantically, for a ride. With our bags n stuff. I spotted an autowallah sleeping in his auto at a distance. Went upto him. Woke him up. "*&%@#$", he shouted. I tried not to look scared and followed the same routine. 250 he said. For three of us. He's way drunk. I thought. Me and two other guys, who will be named B and C from now on, ditched the other crowd and boarded the auto, almost crying in joy at our luck. Little did we know what luck had in store for us that night.

So we are in the auto, cramped up in whatever space there was, in very uncomfortable positions. Awkward, but relieved. At least we will get some sleep. The auto is going considerably slow. Or maybe that has something to do with my mind all messed up due to all that exhaustion and sleep deprivation and (feeling like shit)tion. Few more minutes, I spot out a pattern. This is not my mind's handiwork. The guy is searching for petrol pumps. He slows down when he spots one, everything is closed, even pumps. Now I am scared. We will be stranded on the road in the middle of the night. I rememberd what my mom told me before leaving," Beta, guwahati is not safe. Don't go to the city after 5." I start praying. That's something I do only when I am in some kind of trouble. Maybe thats why most of my prayers are blocked right at God's answering machine.

The disaster unveiled. Destiny struck. Shit happened. Bottomline : WE WERE SCREWED!!!!!!! The bloody auto stopped. 2 in the night. On a lonely road. My prayers became more frantic. We all got out of the auto. We had a clear view of his unclean face for the first time. He stank of liquor, but was walking quite sober for someone that drunk.

AW : Ek minute ruko bhaiya. Mai dekhta hai.
B : Zaldi dekho bhaiya.
AW : (Checks the petrol tank) Bhaiya petrol nahi hai.
Me : Ab kya karenge?
AW : Mere paas petrol hai. 2 minute rukne se ho jaayega.

He got a bottle of petrol from his cabinet. Poured in the tank. We all were back in the hellhole. The auto made a sound that sounded like a man on his deathbed coughing his lungs out. A few minutes, we were out on the road again. He opened its rear and tried some stuff. 5 minutes later, we were still on the road. We should try to help, C said, and went to his side. No matter how late in the night it was or how scared I was, the sight of him trying to work around the engine was really funny. It was hot. The engine, I mean. One look at his face and we knew that this was going to be bad. Real bad. The expression on his face pretty much resembled mine when I am trying Rubic's Cube.

B : Bhaiya dhakka maarne se start ho jayegi.
AW : Arey meri gaadi hai. Isko dhakka nahi chahiye. Mujhe pata hai.
He asked for water. We had some with us. Gave it to him. He poured it on the engine. It vanished into thin air. He said he wanted more water and left. We were alone. In the night. On a lonely road. Waiting, for a drunk dirty auto driver who could pretty much be an ULFA operative, on a mission to kidnap three students for whatever reasons they have. Needless to say, we were scared.

Suddenly we heard roars. I cannot find a more suitable word describing the sound that those bikes were making. They were police bikes, three of them, with six policemen on them. At least the ULFA trouble is passed, we thought. They stopped their bikes, and came to us. I swear they were as drunk as the auto driver. And encountering cops in the midnight in India is as good as encountering thugs. This had not in any way decreased the level of fright in our hearts. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" One of them said in a rather rowdy way only used by Indian Policemen and Australian cricketers. We explained the whole situation to them. As proficient as they were in hindi, we tried our best to explain.

B : "Bhaiya IIT ke student hain. Ghar se aaye hain. Taxi kharaab ho gayi hai. Driver paani lene gaya hai."
Policewallah 1 : "Ki aase?"
C : "Bhaiya IIT ke student hain. Ghar se aaye hain. Taxi kharaab ho gayi hai. Driver paani lene gaya hai."
Policewallah 2 : "OI OI TEE? Wo to Shillong main hai na."

I knew right then this was going to end bad, real bad. But by good fortune or just by chance, there was one of them who had heard of our college. He asked for the ID cards, we showed them to him. He did some 'aase aase' to other khakhi clad monsters and they were off again. Never any offer to help or any assistance with the junk of an auto. But we were relieved, soon as we saw the driver running to us with the water in a bottle. We were back in the hole, as best as we could, as he poured the water on the engine and came to the driver seat. A key moved, a spark ignited, a few hopes raised, a few hearts prayed, an engine gurgled, an auto moved, but only an inch, before it stopped. And all the dreams and hopes were crashed. I yelled out all the profanities I could recall. That kinda pissed the driver off. Then B went out, yelled at the driver, asked him to remain seated. Then he started pushing the auto all by himself. We thought about offering help
but decided otherwise. 15 meters, and the miracle happened. The junk was moving again. We were mobile and B was sweating.

Then, there came a sight that overshadowed all the frustration and anger and despair and pain. The Saraighat Bridge, standing tall above the mighty Brahmaputra sretching endlessly on both sides, vast, calm, soothing, shimmering under the night skies, the view was magnificent. Till the auto stopped again. And all of a sudden, as we were out on the road again, pushing the cart, it was not as magnificent as it looked. The river was smiling at us, silent crooked smile at our misfortunes, the stars were less subtle, laughing almost violently in the water at us. Me and C were pushing the auto, along the bridge until it started and we got in. This happened a few more times in the next 4 kilometers of the road. And we were pushing again, a few more times. We were hungry. tired, sleep deprived, and were pushing the auto in the middle of the night, in the middle of the loneliest stretch of road ever seen, with the creepiest little man driving us. We discussed with him, in great detail and all possible angles, his love and sex life. Things I better not put down here. He told us how many girls has he done and in how many states has he done them. He was drunk, and was a good passtime. We were too tired to speak, or to laugh even. We just sat and listened.

Just when I thought things could not get much worse, they did. We were pushing the auto, all four of us, with our luggage inside it. This was a spark of genious we had when any amount of pushing could not start that garbage. We were going at our own pace, a pace suitable only for three tired to death young students and a drunk to the brink of death auto driver. This was when he arrived. T-shirt and shorts. Shoes. 3 in the night. On his enfield making all those sounds that only an enfield can make. Tearing through the night at 60 kmph. And as the luck would have it, our night was going to go much worse................................


To be continued...(that is, if I dont die tomorrow)

HAPPY BUDDAY

Yes. I was born today, only some years back. So what. So were about other 0.33 billion people, if statistical pattern can be relied upon. I wonder if 'statistical pattern' is really a valid expression. What does it mean? I am not even sure it means anything at all. Anyways, got my ass kicked yesterday night. I haven't been able to sit on my arse yet. I don't really get this tradition also. What evil pigheaded motherfucking bastard must have started this extremely violent non-sense way of celebrating one's birthday. Torturing people is just no way of celebrating anything. Two of the cloud of people calling themselves my friends, who were kicking my butt yesterday have bandages on their feet. The phrase 'kicking my butt' is even very strangely queer. I mean they kicked my butt, literally, but still I get that weird sinking thing in my stomach while putting it that way. Anyways, I decided last night I would not do any class today. It is my 'happy' birthday after all. Turns out I couldn't even if I wanted to. You know, because my ass hurt. So I slept till late. But what is the point of writing all this. You dont want to read my daily diary, except when I am Amitabh Bachhan. People would pay to read his diary, I suppose. But the point is, why do they hit people? On their birthdays. I looked it up. I got a very unsatifying explaination(that is, after 2 hours of 'googling'). You know how the doctor slaps your butt the moment you are born, to make you cry, because you supposedly die if you don't cry. It's ridiculous, it's like god is a dog after all. Playing games right from the beginning. He made it sure the first thing we do after being projectiled out of a birth canal is cry. And the everlasting train of cries and sulks follow. Anyways, turns out the custom is a reminder of the initial slap. Still I am telling you, the explaination is not worth the 'pain in the ass'.

The Sandstorm

Trigger. Shoot. Kill. Do it. You can do it. You have dreamt of it the whole last year. This is your moment. You are the hero of this movie. No one can even come close. This is your story. You have no other option left. Don't lose focus. It's simple. You just have to close your eyes and pull the trigger. The gun will do the rest. You cannot chicken out now. You have to do it. If you don't do it now, you'll never be able to do it, and you'll regret it your whole life.

Right then. Click. Shoot. Bam. Game over. A sudden adrenalin rush, I wake up. I am sweating hard. The fan is running with all the torque it's got. I can even smell gunpowder. But what was that all about. Who got that bullet. You know how you don't usually remember your dreams, its for good. Because if you are having the most exciting dream of your life, and you are thrown out of the theater mid way, there is nothing more irritating. I definitely killed somebody. I was in a big, strange room. It was octagonal in shape, walls so white, they glowed. It was empty, except for a giant mirror on one of the walls. And there was definitely one more character in the story. It was standing behind me with it's hands and legs tied somehow. It could not move. Either I could not see it's face clear enough, or maybe I don't remember it.

I had the gun in my hand. A voice was encouraging me to shoot. I am pretty sure it was mine. The gun was not mine. But still there I was, with the gun, and I shot somebody. It cant be my Chemical Reaction Engineering professor, I've seen many bad papers through my life, never once have I wished to kill the teacher. It cannot be the mid semester, in some freaky impersonating way. I have not done that bad. It was definitely not a 'she'. She can be a bitch sometimes, but I wouldn't shoot her for that. I, by default, am a non violent person. Not the kind that will get a kick by shooting someone for no reason. I am getting frustrated. May be I have gone a little cuckoo in my head, but this has become really important to me. I need to know what the dream meant, I need to know who was the 'other guy'. I am a little frustrated, maybe I will try to sleep some more and complete the missing links.

What the hell! How the fuck did I get here. Blinded by the sudden flash, I can not see anything clearly, but my intuition told me I am in the room again. I try to find my feet while my eyes try to adjust to the shining white walls of the room. I feel dizzy. Slowly regaining my balance, I should start thinking, I think. My hand feels cold. I can feel the cold metal against it. I am in the same room. But this is more real. Like a movie. Everything is so solid. I can touch and smell things. I am a little scared by now. The blood in my veins is turning cold. The dizziness is not yet gone. I think I am going to throw up. That would be embarrassing, even by the imaginary room standards. But wait, where is the guy I was supposed to kill? If I am here, I am here for a purpose, and I will fulfill it.

I see him now. He is on the other side of the strange octagonal room. Tied up on the chair, unable to move. I hold on to the gun tightly. I will go over there and finish the job. And that will mark the end of this nightmare. There is still a little doubt in the back of my head. But I am going through with it anyway. With a gun in my hand, a firm resolve in my heart, I walk to his end of the room. The sight of the man's face breaks my resolve and turns it to fright. The face has a steely expression, kind of like mine. It is scarred, burnt. His eyes are closed, but I still am sure that he can see that I have come. He is looking at me, I don't know how. His eyes are still closed. "At last, you are ready. Come, fulfill your destiny." His voice, his voice sounded familiar, like the one I heard in the dream. Then, it struck. The voice is mine. Everything is blank again. Nothing makes sense. Why am I sitting on the chair. If it is me on the chair, them who am I. And am I supposed to kill myself. Questions were clouding my head. Nothing was clear. The voice was more imposing this time,"Do not think. You don't understand, just shoot me and you will be happy." I don't want to fight anymore. My head is throbbing with pain. I close my eyes and pull the trigger.


Right then. Click. Shoot. Bam. Game over. A sudden adrenalin rush, I wake up. This time, I am not sweating. I am cold. Shivering. My head hurts. I try to find a meaning in all this. Why did I just killed myself? But I guess I should stop thinking.