GOA BY NIGHT

After having a relaxed and hearty dinner in the musical setting of ‘Canacona’, I could not resist the temptation to take a gentle stroll in the gigantic lobby of the Grand Resort. By a sheer chance, I met Arif, Nusrat and Ghulam. While chitchatting, from nowhere, we were attracted towards a Golf cart parked in one corner of the portico. When casually requested, the hotel watchman, a tall, hefty but helpful Sardarji agreed to arrange a free ride for us. Seeing the dimly-lit vast compound of the Portuguese style hotel and its golf course turned out to be an interesting experience. Towards the end, we were dropped outside the main gate. A group of well dressed village young men wanted to speak to us. They followed us gently when we wished to have a cup of tea at the only Dhaba of the remote coastal village. The owner was polite but his time was up. He was in the process of closing the shop. In the meanwhile, the young men approached us again.
Interaction with them revealed that many of them owned taxis and motorcycles, available for hire at any time of the day. Either the visitor could drive them to a location of choice or else one of them would do the job. The system sounded pleasantly different from other tourist spots of the country. One could sense a degree of trust reposed in the tourists. A number of nearby tourist spots were spelt out in addition to the packages available for Aguada Fort, the beaches of Anjuna and Candolim, Old Goa, Panaji, Margaon and a glance at the newly introduced casinos. Upon listening to the whole commentary, we decided to contact Yash, one of the owners, the following day. But he succeeded, then and there in persuading us to visit the Palolem beach, located at a distance of barely five kms. He promptly agreed when I expressed a desire to pick up my mouthorgan.
What a refreshing drive he gave! The cool breeze from the Arabian sea provided us the relief from the fatigue of a packed training day. While ensuring a smooth drive, Yash also gave us vivid descriptions of the life under the Portuguese, transforming villages, unabated construction boom, communal harmony in Goa, system of hiring rooms and cottages and an Annaconda snake which lived about three kms away from our hotel. When I finished a tune on the mouthorgan, he was quick to add that the whole area looked quiet and isolated as the tourist season was still a fortnight away. According to him, the foreigners who visited this part were mostly bag packers or the budget tourists from England and Australia. They had no worry in life. Most of them happen to be scantily clad drug addicts.
Hearing these accounts we reached the small settlement of Palolem. It was already 10.pm but the shops were open if not doing brisk business. Without losing time we walked to the beach. It was heartening to see some do’s and don’ts made prominent on a board of the local Municipal body. Though it was dark, a few steps over the sand made us aware that it was a clean beach. A few more steps took us closer to the sea waves. The mere touch of sea water lifted our spirits. A few couples were already enjoying darkness. After taking a few snaps, including of a parked fishing boat, I persuaded Ghulam to have a brush with the solitude .We sat down on sand which was partly wet. Feeling the sound of the waves for about fifteen minutes turned out to be more pleasing experience. Later we resorted to star gazing. Soon Nusrat and Arif rejoined us. We began walking towards the restaurants located along the beach. As expected, a bunch of foreign tourists were seated in funny postures. Some appeared normal, some were half asleep, while a sizeable chunk was found waiting to dance to the tune of English and Goan disco numbers, two hours later. For strange reasons, all the discos of the area become actually functional from midnight.
A peep into the Draupadi Restaurant revealed that a variety of food was available-Goan,Tandoori,Chinese as also continental. The menu offered was affordable. Having witnessed the scenario there, we proceeded to the market.
While a garment seller was calculating his day’s earnings, a Dhaba owner was busy getting a sumptuous item prepared. It was educative to talk to a curio shopkeeper and later listen to his explanations pertaining to the gems and precious stones before three deeply involved middle aged tourists. But what actually stole the show was a serious game of Billiards played between the waiter of an eating joint and a foreigner, whose bulky companion, smoking like a chimney, would occasionally curse him for ignoring her.
Seeing all this, time frittered away. Though the prescribed time of two hours was about to expire, Yash was conspicuous by his absence. Ultimately, he was located at the main entrance to the Palolem Beach. Of all the things, he was seen relishing a fight involving a few stray dogs. While we reminded him of his assignment, we were, at the same time, rather impressed with the frantic efforts of a teenaged tourist in resolving the dispute between the dogs. Her partner, unmindful of the developments taking place, stuck to their hired scooter till she succeeded in restoring peace. By admiring her concern and animal handling skills and bidding her Goodnight, we began driving back to Canacona.
I was too drowsy to play the mouthorgan again. While we did experience the cool sea breeze even around midnight, Yash switched on the tape. What a treat we received! While attentively listening to the Ghazals of Ghulam Ali, we never knew that we had returned to the hotel and it was not the hefty Sardarji but a make shift thin watchman who was unprofessionally welcoming us back. Even though we had exceeded the time limit, Yash was polite enough in realising only Rs Two Hundred. His infectious smile and good nature, won our hearts. While walking down aesthetically lit corridors, we decided to avail of the services of Yash again to discover other enchanting spots of Goa.

Waiting For a Train

After six years I got an opportunity to visit Old Delhi Railway Station. As regards volume of traffic on its approach road, I suppose, there was no perceptible change, contrary to the claims made by the civic and the Railway authorities. The old fashioned animal pulled carts still compete for space with the jet age Toyota and Suzuki automobiles. In this portion of the country’s capital, jay walkers show no regard to the traffic lights. When one gets closer to the station, there is hardly any board welcoming the private or the Government owned vehicles. Most of the entry points are in reality No Entry points. Driving, therefore, becomes a challenging proposition in these situations.
On gaining entry into the premises, a typical gothic style imposing structure welcomes you. The place is full of visible signs of renovation. Newly installed swanky flex and electronic boards give an indication of the state of preparedness for the 2010 Commonwealth Games. But what a mismatch they have with the upkeep of platforms! They are not only dirty and uneven; some of them have potholes as well.
The first and foremost information I sought, was the expected arrival time of 2817 Jharkhand Express,the train Amma had boarded for Delhi. A grave voice at the ‘Inquiry’ informed me that same was delayed further by more than an hour. It was nothing unusual. What actually shocked me instead was the flat refusal of the platform ticket. I presumed, the authorities were preempting inflow of unwanted visitors. When my turn came at the‘HELP’ counter, the reason given was the expected rush of people on the eve of the Chhath Pooja. I kept my fingers crossed, therefore, on learning about denial of platform ticket to a few persons. It was becoming irritating being in queue for nearly fifteen minutes. I along with a fellow ‘receiver’ could somehow convince the clerk that each one of us was genuinely intending to help our respective female relatives, who desperately looked forward to our assistance on account of age and safety considerations.
Having secured a platform ticket after some exercise, I was looking forward to a bout of relaxation. I would have preferred having a piping hot cup of tea. But as soon as I entered, I escaped being hit by a hand pulled cart carrying sealed parcel sacks, a scene one is familiar with since the childhood. I had not finished thanking my stars that I was disturbed by a group of middle aged men bent upon chasing a departing train. Though I was pushed aside by their rapid fire action, I watched the whole thing with a degree of amusement. Why can’t they be on time? Why can’t they have some consideration for the fellow passengers or those intending to play the role of ‘receivers’to perfection?, I asked my inner-self. While half of them could succeed in their efforts, a few hit others in the process. This included a petty hawker. He appeared to have lost eatables worth Rs. fifty. For a daily wage earner it meant a lot specially when he has to give commissions to gain entry into and sustain on a platform.
Upon being witness to what I have described, I managed to arrive on the platform number 10. A wait of fifteen minutes ensured a sort of seat for me. I prefer to call it a sort of seat as the person seating next to me was reluctant to remove his handbag on the false plea that another person was occupying it already. I pleaded, but he was not in a mood to budge. Later he realized that by not allowing me to sit properly, he was, perhaps not resorting to fair play.
A couple of trains arrived and left in the next half an hour. Each time a platform would be free, futile attempts by the sweepers would follow to clear the garbage on the tracks. Gradually, however, the stench emanating from there began becoming unbearable. It was, nevertheless, interesting to hear the casual and sometimes foolish queries of some passengers.
In order to get past the boredom ,I decided to take a stroll and thereafter establish a contact with Amma through a mobile number held by her immediate neighbor inside the compartment. The first attempt was futile. So I made a local call to pass on the news about delayed arrival of the train.
Soon the dull platform became alive with a minor scuffle between the telephone booth operator and a dirty urchin selling unlicensed, king sized saboodana papad. The former had taken away one piece apparently without even realizing a need to pay. Being hefty and in command of a better and bigger business outlet, I suppose he was in a position to dictate terms to the lesser mortals. The boy ultimately gave up after churning out choicest abuses. When it was all quiet, I wished to pay for the local call. Somehow the booth operator got an impression that I had made two calls but was willing to pay only for one. I did not surrender when he tried to charge me extra. Then he insisted on accepting only change. I was, on the contrary, possessive of same to make sundry payments outside the station. Seeing no other PCO,I had to relent. After all I was also anxious to speak to Amma in this hour of extended wait.
I could taste success in my second attempt. Not only I got a chance to hear her voice, but I was equally relieved to hear the reassuring voice of her caring ‘neighbor’.He appeared cool and unperturbed. Normally in good old days this sort of help would be forthcoming in the IInd Class Sleeper and most of the AC kind of passengers would not only act snobbish but they would be also aloof and insensitive to the fellow passengers. Maybe the magnanimous behavior in question was indicative of the enhanced purchasing power of the middle class or the said gentleman was actually nice, helpful and considerate.
When the electronic clock shows 15.55 hours, I decide to get up and look for the area wherein AI coach was expected. Finding no railway staff, the old trusted coolie comes to my rescue. All the half sleeping relatives of the passengers too come back to ‘life’. While waiting for the elusive train, a minor altercation is witnessed between a husband and his wife over something trivial. A truce is ensured in no time by timely intervention by some good soul. The catering stalls and the roving hawkers begin doing brisk business.
The scheduled time of 16.00 hours passes by but the train we were waiting for, is nowhere in sight. To add insult to our injuries, a train began departing from the adjacent platform number 8.Within a few minutes, however, a middle-aged Bengali gentleman, named Ritupurno Ghosh(RG) giving me company all along, shows a ray of hope. He notices an approaching engine. Everyone felt relieved. But our joy was short-lived. The engine in question was bringing in a local overcrowded rake. At this point of time, R.G. lost his patience. His scathing attack on the railways was not only genuine but justifiable. He was to collect a packet or two from his younger sister coming by 2817 and same was to be handed over to his elder brother departing by the Awadh Assam Express at 16:30 hours. While imagining his state of tension for a moment, I forgot my own.To console ourselves, we decided to sit down over a piece of huge railway parcel. A pouch of fruit juice gave us the needed relief.
Within a few minutes, God appeared kind to us. The time was 16:12 hours. The sought after announcement relating to arrival of 2817 was audible. We position ourselves appropriately. This time the engine and the accompanying coaches do not deceive us. Exactly at 16:18 hours, i.e. two hours and eighteen minutes behind schedule, the Jharkhand Express comes to a screeching halt. I have to run at least three hundred metres for locating A-1 coach. While doing so, I curse the Coolie in question for not guiding me properly. In the process,I lose touch with RG. Nevertheless, I pray to God for the success of his ambitious‘mission transfer’.
It takes me barely three minutes to locate Amma. She is beaming despite her extended journey. While coming out, she tries her best to overcome the pain emanating from her upper back. I lean forward to touch her feet. Seeing her after months amuses me. She reciprocates. As expected, behind her are Mr. and Mrs. Jayant Aggarwal of Ranchi, gently carrying her two bags. At the first glance,I perceive them to be very fine and benevolent. After Amma alights from the bogie with some difficulty, I take her to a vacant bench. While thanking Aggarwals profusely for their kind help extended throughout the journey, I ask if they need a lift to any point in the city. Apt comes the response that their brother,a resident of Gurgaon was already waiting outside the station. We lose no time in warmly shaking hands and conveying to each other the normal courtesy of being in touch in future.
While I begin walking towards the congested staircase leading to exit, I sincerely attempt to forget the sweet and sour experiences undergone at the Old Delhi Station for close to two hours. Focus of attention rightly begins shifting from the state of platform to more mundane things engaging my attention at home. This is how life goes on.