Perils of a non-Hindi speaking South Indian in NORTH INDIA – Part I

It was a morning of gloom and laggardness, or rather a night for the still-unawake-sun and snoring rickshaw drivers.  Two friends or to-be-very-good-friends walked in through the gate of Tiruchirappalli Central Railway station. One was a tall and fair guy who was gifted with the power of invisibility when viewed from a distance in the early morning light. The other person was rather a kid than a man who ended up in a premier institute because of the excessive analytical skills he possesses, which even he came to know after obtaining the results. 

Now, my dear readers let me tell you that the hero of this story is not a ‘filmy’ hero. He has no superhuman qualities but became hero of this story only because this story revolves around his experiences during two months of his stay in North India. He is a Malayali; he is tall and fair. Yes, he is the above mentioned person who walked in with the kid into Tiruchirappalli railway station. Let us call him ‘Lambu’, the name by which he became popularly known among his superiors, friends and even strangers. Following the pattern, let us call the kid as ‘Chotu’.  

Lambu and Chotu reached the entrance of the station and that is when Chotu remembered “Oh... I forgot to withdraw cash from ATM!”. Cursing the stars, blood-sucking porters and pestering mosquitoes they again walked, dragging the load of all the text books that they did not get time to read during first year like an albatross in the physical sense, towards the gate where there are a couple of ATMs. It is a well-known fact that in places of high temperature, to provide effective security to the ATM machines, the guards at times sit inside the ATM enclosure. But in one of the ATMs, the guard decided to take it to the next level by closing the shutter half way. 

After withdrawing cash from the only guard-free ATM, they walked to the station and enquired about their train timings at the information desk. The sleepy officer, angry to be disturbed, asked them in Tamil to refer the board kept somewhere in the first platform for details. Chotu was taken aback thinking the officer just abused all his ancestors in some alien language. Lambu, after his usual fit of laughter which occurs frequently and even without much provocation, explained what the officer said. Chotu was not impressed with Lambu’s outbreak of laughter.  He made it clear with a look of ‘Don’t be very happy mate... your territory ends here and mine will begin soon...’ with a John-Abraham-touch when John says ‘Jungle ka sher badlega’.

Both went over to the nearby store to buy coffee and snacks to pass time until ‘Sampark Kranti Express’, which was competing to beat its own best delay time, reached. The waiting area near the coffee shop was full with passengers who were hopeful of boarding their trains on time. A young mother was having a tough time with her baby who was crying at the top of its (pardon the usage but don’t know whether the baby was a he or a she) voice. Chotu gave a look of despair, rolled his eyes and commented, in a false deep voice, shaking his head - “These kids...”. This was enough to set Lambu on his next course of laughter with another comment “Look who is talking!”. Honouring all the prayers Lambu had chanted till then, their train reached the station and diverted Chotu’s attention from him, thereby saving him from a few punches at the level of his stomach. They boarded the train and set off on a long journey to the capital of India, New Delhi.