17-December 2015

“I don’t think I can come. There are no tickets available from Jaipur, so I think I will have to drop the idea.” I told her on phone

“No! How can you even think of doing it? You have to come. Mithi and Rimli have already started making drawings for you, and my father-in-law has already started preparing for your arrival.” Lopa Banerjee was at her cajoling best.

“If you cannot get tickets from Jaipur, get them from Delhi, there are many trains. We will not take no for an answer.” This was Rhiti Bose at her practical best.

Who wouldn’t fall for the viles of these charming ladies and their persuasive and affectionate eloquence? 

So, on 16 December 2015, I was on a bus to Delhi, and from Delhi to the City of Joy and what unadulterated joy flew towards me in cascading abundance once I touched the grounds of Kolkata! Of that I will talk later, but first let me honour the cockroaches of the Delhi-Sealdah Express.

West Bengal Sampark Kranti a.k.a. the Delhi-Sealdah Express was nothing to write home about. It was infested with cockroaches of all shapes and sizes, which were competing with the rats of Pied Piper of Hamelin with incredible spunk. 
Papa cockroaches, mama cockroaches, granddad and grandma cockroaches, baby cockroaches –tumbling out from all nooks and crannies, dancing all over the walls and floor of the coach. 

“He just ran away – such a massive one.” This shout fell into my ears as a young, pleasant looking boy of about twenty almost fell onto my seat trying to capture the cockroaches in his camera, in all their feisty glory. He finally managed to shoot at least ten of them in a minute, made a collage and uploaded them on Facebook in two minutes, all the while beaming triumphantly.

“The condition of these trains is so pathetic and we talk of introducing Bullet trains. Why can’t the condition of these trains be improved first?" Said another young boy sitting next to him. 

“I am Mayank Agarwal”, said the cockroach – hunter, and am studying for my Geology degree.”

“I am Akarsh,” said the other boy sitting next to him. “I am doing my graduation”.

I had my first taste of Bengali hospitality when an affectionate Bengali lady plied me with one goodie after another from her hamper. 

“No, I will not take no for an answer.” She said handing me a piece of cake. 

“Yes, yes eat”, her husband, a retired professor from IIT Kharagpur said, nodding encouragingly.

Suddenly, the strangest figure came forth. No, it was just my imagination, or maybe my fixation with Robert Browning. Actually he was a man with a sheepish expression carrying a pathetic little spray in his hand. He sprayed all around and looked on pathetically.

“He is a journalist, he will write in the newspaper about the sorry state of affairs of this train.” The IIT professor said, pointing in the direction of the cockroach-hunter, while the latter beamed conspiratorially.

At this the spraying became brisker, the movements faster.

The cockroaches went berserk at this assault at their untrammelled freedom, and in one spurt of vindictive mischief, a robust, juicy cockroach, their leader probably, jumped and perched itself on my head. 

I could not see the look of triumphant glee on the face of the cockroach, but could very clearly see the stark pathetic helplessness on the face of the sprayer. But before he could be impudent enough to aim the spray at my cockroach-perched, unshampooed hair, I mustered all my depleting courage and flicked it away – straight into the bag of the attendant of the sprayer! 

What could be funnier than the scene of a pathetic looking sprayer frantically rummaging in the bag of his attendant, a bundle of pathetic confusion? While the adventurous roach became as snug as a bug in a rug, the two tried to hunt him down, with an incredible zeal, but failed miserably. 

The Bengali couple chuckled away, the boys cheered him on, but nothing helped, so the two turned on their heels with the cockroach comfortably ensconced in the attendant’s bag. The pathetic looking man, I noticed, had loaned some of his pathetic aura to his attendant, and they gave us a pathetically confused apology of a smile, and vanished down the aisle. Why was the attendant carrying a bag? I wondered. 

“They seemed to be very happy with their sole catch.” The Bengali gentleman quipped as his lovely wife messaged away, and all of us burst into laughter.

“The more she falls in love with Facebook, the more I fall out of love with her. She has so many friends on Facebook that I feel left out. Alas, once I used to be her only friend.” He quipped, looking affectionately at her and she gave him a smile lathered with love.

And the train trundled on.

Stations changed, landscapes changed, the scarecrows in the fields which we passed, changed attires, but the roaches in our coach kept encroaching on our freedom, jumping and scurrying about with an unchanging zeal. Every now and then, Mayank would peer into his cell-phone to see whether his cockroach collage had fetched any likes, and Akarsh talked away animatedly about everything under the sun. 

“Why are you going to Kolkata?”

“For a book launch.”

“Oh, you are a writer! All of them said in unison.

“I try to write.”

“What is your name?” 

The moment I uttered my name, Mayank surreptiously googled it, unmindful of a sly looking cockroach stealthily scurrying towards him.

Kolkata was still quite far way, and still only an idea I was in love with, but the boys and the loving couple had quickly slipped into my heart , as quickly as the roach in the attendant’s bag.

“This train is always late. It is already late by three hours.” Mayank said looking at the sly looking cockroach which was now comfortably ensconced in his lap. He frowned dangerously at it and then looked around helplessly. 

“Selfie with cockroach! That is what this occasion demands.” Akarsh said with a huge guffaw. 

“That would have been possible if it was perched on my shoulder or on my cheek.” Mayank said with a sheepish grin.

“Make him sit there. We want a selfie. We want a selfie!” Akarsh was at his naughtiest.

“But why are these cockroaches so obsessed with you? Following you like Mary’s little lamb, huh?” At Akarsh’s remark, the entire coach burst out laughing, and I almost felt an indignant fidgeting in Mayank’s lap. 

“Look at the expression on its face. It is so smug, as if it were in its mother’s lap.” Akarsh threw back his head and laughed uproariously.

‘Do I look like a cockroach’s mother?’ The expression on Mayank’s face said so.

Despite the cockroaches, we were in a happy cocoon of animated chatter, laughter and leg-pulling, but the train was getting late and I was getting more and more impatient.

“Where are you, di?” Just then there was a call from Lopa who was waiting for me in Kolkata. 

Well, before I could say, ‘with the cockroaches’, someone said that we were about to reach Asansol. Mayank was headed for Asansol, so he started getting ready. I looked at Akarsh, as he deftly wedged his tongue in his cheek and remarked, “The cockroaches are gonna miss you”.

We bid him goodbye with the promise to keep in touch.

I do not know whether the cockroaches missed him, but I sure did.

“Where are you?” This time it was Abhijit Basu, a dear friend, calling from the station, where he had been waiting for the train , which was supposed to reach Kolkata at 5.30 p.m., but was running six hours late .

“You knew that the train was late, why did you come to the station so early?" I asked him.

He mumbled something to my query, which was lost in the trundling and rumbling of the train.