After a long and tiring day, I was all set to head to Kolkata the next day to visit my cousin. And that's when I committed my first blunder: setting my alarm for 7:15 AM to catch an 8:15 AM train. Rookie mistake! To compensate for my sleep-deprived brain's miscalculation, I had to skip breakfast and perform a speedrun of a shower, emerging damp and disheveled.
I left the hostel at 7:50 AM, my heart pounding like a drum solo, and reached the IIT main gate at 7:55 AM. After parking my trusty cycle, I anxiously scanned the taxi/auto/rickshaw stand for a shared auto, the student's preferred mode of affordable and speedy transportation. But alas, after 10 agonizing minutes, I realized I was cutting it close. Time to swallow my pride and hail a rickshaw.
Now, rickshaw drivers are a breed apart. Their egos are as delicate as spun sugar, and I had inadvertently bruised every single one of them by daring to wait for an auto while they stood there, hopeful gazes fixed on me. This was mistake number two.
Just when I was about to resign myself to sprinting to the station (while lugging my backpack, no less), a rickshaw driver emerged from the IIT gates like a savior in a three-wheeled chariot. I blurted out my destination, "Railway Station?" He replied with a curt "Forty," and I hopped in, relief washing over me like a monsoon rain.
The ride was smooth, thankfully, and he dropped me off at the station at 8:15 AM on the dot. Miraculously, my train was running five minutes late. I dashed to the ticket window, breathlessly requesting an express ticket to Howrah. Next to me, a younger student was also headed to Howrah. Our eyes met, a silent camaraderie forming between two souls about to embark on a journey filled with questionable snacks and questionable hygiene.
Fueled by adrenaline and a shared sense of impending doom, we raced towards the Steel Express, which was scheduled to depart at 8:20 AM. It was already 8:19 AM, according to the ever-reliable railway clock. We chose the most direct route to platform 6: the infamous footbridge. Mistake number three.
The bridge was packed tighter than a can of sardines, filled with people who seemed to possess an uncanny ability to move at a glacial pace, especially when someone was in a hurry. As the clock struck 8:20 AM and the train's whistle pierced the air, we were still battling our way through the crowd, muttering apologies and curses under our breath. By the time we reached the platform, the train was a distant speck on the horizon.
Dejected but not defeated, we discovered another train to Howrah waiting on the adjacent platform. Armed with our express tickets, we boarded the general compartment, which resembled a human sardine can on a hot summer day. My new acquaintance, Heinslee (who, despite his name, bore no resemblance to Bruce Lee), managed to secure half a seat and generously offered me the other half. Bless his soul.
The journey itself was surprisingly pleasant, thanks to Heinslee's company and my trusty iPod. We chatted, shared snacks (thankfully, no one offered me any muri-alu chop), and laughed at the absurdity of our situation.
Upon arrival, Heinslee even guided me to the bus stand and gave me directions to my cousin's place in Pudupukur. After a series of misadventures involving questionable bus schedules and locals with a penchant for betel nut, I finally arrived at my destination, famished and ready for a nap.
My cousin welcomed me with open arms and a delicious home-cooked meal. Breakfast at noon? Don't mind if I do!
After a relaxing day, it was time to head back to my campus in Kharagpur. At 9:30 PM, we headed to the nearby bus stop to catch a bus to Howrah station. My train, the Puri Express, was scheduled to depart at 10:35 PM. Mistake number four.
Why was this a mistake, you ask? Well, I was in Kolkata, with only one hour to reach the station, which was 10 km away. And I was still waiting for a bus. At 9:50 PM, I finally gave up on the elusive bus and hailed a taxi, bidding a hasty farewell to my cousin and her husband.
I reached the station at 10:25 PM, my heart racing. I had a mere 10 minutes to locate my platform, buy a ticket, and sprint to the train, which was leaving from platform 22 (and I was currently at platform 1). To make matters worse, the train was notoriously punctual, a rare occurrence in West Bengal (or as the government insists on calling it, "PaschimBanga").
In a panic, I spotted an open ticket window near platform 1 and inquired about the express train. The clerk informed me there was no express train at that time. Turns out, I was standing in the old Howrah station, while my train was departing from the new one. Cue facepalm moment. I wasted another precious minute rushing to the new Howrah station, which housed platforms 17 to 23. Mistake number five.
With only four minutes left, I finally reached the ticket counter. To my relief, there were only two people ahead of me. I grabbed my ticket and started walking towards the platform. Mistake number six: walking, not running.
By the time I reached platform 17, it was 10:35 PM. And to my utter disbelief, the train was already moving. I thought I had missed it again. Defeated, I trudged towards platform 21, contemplating my options.
Suddenly, a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. "Not again!" I thought. "I'm not missing this train!" With a newfound burst of energy, I sprinted towards the departing train, my shopping bag flapping in the wind.
People waiting for the next train started cheering me on, their amused faces blurring as I ran faster than I ever had before. As I closed in on the train, my lungs burning and legs screaming for mercy, I spotted the last compartment, reserved for disabled people. "Well," I thought, "if there was ever a time to claim a disability, it's now."
With a final push, I lunged for the train and miraculously managed to grab hold of the railing. I hauled myself inside, collapsing onto the floor in a heap. The compartment was packed, leaving me with barely enough room to stand on one aching foot. But I was on the train, and that's all that mattered.
Two hours later, the train arrived in Kharagpur, 15 minutes ahead of schedule. I was dumbfounded. An early train in West Bengal? Wonders never cease.
I stumbled off the train, 10 rupees poorer (thanks to some shrewd bargaining with the rickshaw driver) and headed back to my hostel, exhausted but triumphant.
From this chaotic adventure, I learned a few valuable lessons:
1. Trains, like opportunities, come and go. Miss one, and another will eventually arrive. But you might have to wait a while (or sprint like a madman).
2. Even when it seems impossible, don't give up. A little bit of extra effort (and a healthy dose of desperation) can go a long way.
3. Always allow extra time when catching a train. And maybe pack some snacks, just in case you end up sharing a compartment with someone who thinks muri-alu chop is a delicacy.
