Tiny Travel Tale – by Helen Dsilva

It was the first night on our journey at around 3am when we stopped at the Hubli station. I glanced sleepily at my watch as I got down from the middle berth and scanned our compartment to see if any of the adults in our troupe were awake. My six year old body was in no mood of being dragged to the door of the bogie we were in thanks to the 4  1/2 hours journey from Kuwait I had made earlier. My parents had been planning this trip to Vailankanni for months and the train from Goa would take around three days to reach in time for the feast of Our lady of Vailankanni.

As I stared out into the darkness and it was raining heavily, I tried to remember how much time Mama had said the train would stop at Hubli for. My memory failing me, I got off the train quickly just to look around, even if only for a minute or two.

The silence of the night was suddenly broken with the arrival of another train. Hundreds of people scrambled on the pavement in chaos, trying hard in the downpour to get themselves out of the train as quick as possible. In the backdrop of the disarray I could make out the forms of the chaiwallas with their metal coffee and tea dispensers filled with this spicy smelling fluid that matched the lovely tan of their hands.

I was never in the habit of drinking either of the drinks they were selling but I decided to make an exception that night. I walked over to the nearest chaiwalla and using the little hindi I knew, asked him for some coffee. Handing him the change, I took the tiny cup from him and sat on the wooden bench nearby. The crowd was now far away, noisily trying to get out of the station and I was left alone once again.

I woke up suddenly to the sudden blaring of the horn our train leaving the station. It took me a second or two to remember where I was and realizing that I had dozed off, my heart pounded in my chest as I ran in the direction of our bogie. The train was slowly pacing up and my mind was struggling with the physics of the situation, trying to analyse if I could make the jump in the train or not. A hand motioned at me from a window and I could make out the face of the chaiwalla.”Get in little girl or miss the train!”. Without thinking I hauled myself into the train, grabbing his hand, making it just in time.

Gasping, I thanked him a million times. He only laughed happily and handing me a cup of warm coffee told me never to go wandering alone again. On returning to our bogie, I looked at the smiling faces of my parents in their sleep and a sudden surge of warmth filled me. Not knowing whether it was the magic of the tea or the adrenalin rush, I tucked myself back to bed.

The train was now leaving Hubli and making way for the sunlight to stream into the city.