Going back to your journey

Anywhere is walking distance, if you've got the time. But I was short of time that day. I had to catch the Punjab Mail train from Ferozepur, Punjab, at 9.45pm. It was already 8pm and I was at Zira, nearly 80 kilometres from Ferozepur.

Sometimes travel is only glamorous in retrospect. Last July, my Shatabdi Express train from Amritsar to New Delhi was cancelled due to flash floods. I was stranded for two days in an Amritsar hotel waiting for the floods to recede and train services to resume. After discussing alternatives with the hotel manager, he suggested the Ferozepur-Delhi route.

The manager told me to take any bus for Ferozepur, but not to waste time at the bus station. If a bus for Ferozepur didn't show up within a short space of time, I should catch a bus to Zira, where there were many buses to Ferozepur.

When my taxi arrived at the bus station, the bus was just leaving. I waved, whistled and shouted, but everyone apart from the bus driver and the conductor heard me. So I caught a bus for Zira, a small town with almost deserted roads, at 8pm. There were quite a number of policemen in jeeps and on motorcycles, and some walking here and there. I enquired about the next bus to Ferozepur, and came to know that it would depart at 8.45pm. As there was no point in waiting for that bus, I looked for an alternative. But I could not find any taxis waiting for passengers.

Aid

So I looked around and approached a policeman. He turned out to be very helpful.

Ferozepur is a huge cantonment area, where there is lot of respect for army personnel. This policeman mistook me for an army officer. He took me to a parked taxi and told the driver, "This gentleman is in the army. He has to catch the Punjab Mail. Take him there, find his seat and make sure that his luggage is kept properly in the compartment". The driver, who had planned to have his dinner, started the cab and the policeman saluted me.

I tried to stop worrying about the potholes in the road and to enjoy the journey. However, in the back of my mind one thought was bothering me. What if the driver asked me where I was posted? I did not want to be caught unawares.

The cabbie, a huge man, was not only a fast driver, but also a quick talker. This made me even more alert. I decided that if he asked me about my posting, I would name some remote area, which he might not know much about. So I decided on Leh, in Jammu, the world's highest battleground.

He started telling the stories of his life. One after the other the stories involved his father, mother and brother. Before starting a taxi service he had been a heavy-vehicle driver, supplying goods from Mumbai to Kolkata. Travelling tends to magnify all human emotions. His stories made me quite emotional as he was a good story teller. Suddenly, he became quiet, saying, "I talk too much. Tell me something about you". I told him that I was enjoying his stories, and that he should continue.

Surprise

After some time, he waved his hand towards the left and said, "that is my village", and then he showed me some lights on the right side of the road, saying, "that is my son-in-law's village. He is also in the army and these days he is posted in Leh".

I was struck dumb with amazement. As we headed towards the railway station, which was still quite far off, I knew the question about my posting would come soon. At last, when he asked, I said that I was posted in New Delhi.

At the railway station he escorted me and my luggage to my compartment and happily said goodbye to me, with a toothy smile.