Whether it was a real inn that Joseph and Mary were looking for – or whether the guest rooms of their extended families were just too full – the fact is that the new family was weary and alone and had to find a rude accommodation in an animal shed.
We experienced a little bit of that on Christmas eve ourselves.
A month ago we decided that since we had not met Amma and Appa all year – that we just had to go and meet them – even if it was only for 4 days – between Christmas and New Years. Getting tickets for the train was impossible. But since we knew a person high up in the railways – we were told that we would be put on a VIP quota.
On the 24th – we were almost in a daze of tiredness as we packed up for the 30 hour trip. Just before we left we checked what our seat numbers would be – and found to our horror that the VIP quota had not worked. We were still without a berth.
What to do? Our cell phones had been giving problems and we tried to phone the person. The taxi was at the door. We got in and left for the hour-long drive to Kalyan, not knowing what the next steps would be.
Our friend told us that he would talk to the Station Manager at Kalyan. He did. When we got to Kalyan we searched him down. He had us get an unreserved ticket to start with. With that in hand, we were then given over to the head ticket collector – he was to meet the ticket collector from the train when it came in and make sure we got a berth.
The train steamed in. We met the man. No berths available. We got in the train with sinking hearts and a hope that something would work out.
Something did work out – but not in the way that we wanted. With each step of the trip, we met the ticket collectors. They told us to wait and that they would check and see if there were any vacancies. Two of them assured us that we would at least get a berth. The kids sat down. Sheba and I took turns standing and sitting at the edges of people’s berths. Our monster suitcase and its mini-twin were next to the door. Asha’s violin was perched here and there.
Stations came and went. People kept getting in more and more. We did not have a berth. Ticket collectors came through and did not say anything to us. I went out and pleaded.
I saw notes passing hands and others gave the bribes to the ticket collectors.
Pune came and went. It was dark. The kids were tired. So were Sheba and I. We gave them a bit of the supper Sheba had made. Perched precariously in the passage-way.
People were accommodating, but there were so many of us – and of other ‘berth-less’ passengers.
I had to remember my own behaviour in the past. My statements to people that ‘this was a reserved coach’ – that people should ‘go to the general compartment.’
As the night became dark and cold, the promises of the ticket collectors rang hollow. Metallic taste in mouth. Prayers said and re-said.
Finally I went to one of the coupes and asked whether we could sleep on the ground in between the berths. It was hard to do so. They agreed. We spread out our sheet on the ground and Sheba sat down with Asha lying in her lap. Enoch was given part of a berth to sleep on by another lady. I stood and perched at the edge of the berth.
Slowly the hours past. Sheba finally slid down and lay beside Asha. I mounted vigil. It was surreal to read “The Prodigal God” by Tim Keller and “Refractions” by Makoto Fujimori – such beautiful prose – in such dingy surroundings.
The whole theatre of the absurd was made more so by my attire. I have never worn shorts on a trip (ok in the last 30 years that is), but had to do so because I had a large infected boil on my calf. So here I was, wearing shorts and dosing myself with ampiclox every 6 hours (helps to have a doctor in the house), and applying Neosporin lotion to the angry looking brute on my leg every now and then.
Half-way through the night we switched. Sheba sat up for some hours while I dozed on the floor with Asha. Then it was my turn again. Dawn came slowly.
The day continued our perching on the edge. Sheba and the kids were magnificent. No word of complaint. Christmas day found us not in the situation we had hoped for. The small gifts that we had prepared were brought out in stages. Two books for the kids from Alistair and Merryn Appleby made their appearance first. The kids devoured them. Breakfast and lunch was eked out in stages. Our neighbours basically gave up a seat for us. We rotated through it. Moving occasionally from one corner to the next coupe. All along our jumbo case had become the seat for sundry men next to the door. Sheba and I took turns catching some winks of shut-eye in the upper berths during the morning.
We were not only passing through peak time – but also through political turbulence. The day we left our friend Nalini Gabriel and her daughters had been halted in their train by striking agitationists demanding a new state of Telangana out of Andhra Pradesh. They were delayed for over 10 hours. We only ran 2 hours late when we came into Vijaywada at 4 PM – 24 hours after we left Kalyan.
I finally got a nod from a ticket collector to take up a berth in the next bogie – and we gratefully shifted over for the final 7 hours of the journey in the relative roominess of a berth to share.
And so we came to heaven. Amma and Appa’s home at midnight. Victor having picked us up in the auto. A lit tree waiting. A hot bath for us all. And sleep. Blessed sleep.
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