A TRAIN TO AJMER

 Disclaimer

Whatever plagiarism may be only in the name of the title, this journey has little to do with the sad details of the migrant population. It is my perspective of the world today and its problems.  

I had been a regular traveler between Delhi and Ajmer after my father passed away, not realizing eight hours would fly away so soon, leaving me wishing Ajmer never came.

A regular on the Garibrath Express from Delhi to Ajmer, I preferred to carry my shawl and pull it over me in the AC compartment of the train right at the beginning of the journey only to get up at Jaipur, just a few hours away from Ajmer. It helped me spend an arduous journey in relative tranquility and time to recover to resume my office in the evening.

While I made myself comfortable in the side berth of the train, a family of four, husband, wife, son, and daughter, settled in the adjacent berths; the other two belonged to an elderly couple. Their conversation made me realize this elderly couple was their neighbor, accompanying them to the Dargah, a holy shrine of Muslims where many came to seek blessings. My journey progressed.

I never wished to make an analysis, yet I did; it seemed like a middle-class family firmly rooted in traditions and values, apparent from what they had to say to each other. Silence was what I wished, but it was non-negotiable. 

The homemaker wife was accumulating gold jewelry for her future daughter-in-law. She deposited a fixed amount every first day of the month to a jeweler and redeemed it at the end of a cycle in contrast to the loss incurred by the husband in the stock market. The financial skills she possessed were acknowledged by her husband and also by this elderly couple now. This husband credited his wife for efficiently managing the house, looking after the family interests and welfare, and not forgetting the asset aggregation. Even the breakfast she served to the family on the train was meticulously planned for all ages, considering all health issues, nutritional requirements, and time conservation, as she said. That was perfect. I loved this supercharged value talk, especially about a woman held in esteem not by a man but by her husband, making me more interested in taking a leaf out of the book for later use. As if sleeping, I lay motionless, covered with my shawl, admiring the lady.

A distracted mother soon saw the worried expression on the face of her son and questioned why the boy was pacing up and down the corridor with such a harried look. A watchful mother could never have missed that anxious look. 

The rent of my house that I was supposed to transfer to Dinesh Gupta I have transferred to Dinesh Garg, said the Mumbai-based engineer from Accenture in a quivering voice.  

Was it an online transfer? A nod from the son confirmed it. I became interested and pulled the cover away from my head. His predicament had generated curiosity as online transactions were still a distant dream for me and my Ghosh! What Next?

How? many times have I told you to do online transfers in the safety of the room without distractions?; You do not heed what I say. How much was the amount? she asked. Seventeen thousand.

Oh ho, you people, murmured the angry son.

I have not transferred it for the first time.

The mother said Dinesh Gupta is your roommate. Who is Dinesh Garg? Why is his name included on the list of your beneficiaries in the bank?

Dinesh Garg is a friend of a friend to whom I had transferred money when I was in college some years ago answered the son.

Do you understand your mistake will cost us THIRTY-FOUR THOUSAND? Money still needs to be transferred to Dinesh Gupta.” said a visibly disturbed mother who could see her thousands disappear in a wisp of the cloud.

The father suggested tracing Dinesh Garg and asking him to refund the money.” That is what I am doing said the peeved boy.

 I mentally figured this to be pretty hard calling from one friend to another with such poor signals, that too on a moving train and inquisitive parents enquiring at every sight of the son. Have you been able to contact him? God grant him some Peace. I prayed for the poor soul.

Finally, the good news came. Dinesh Garg was traced and contacted. I could hear so many sighs of relief. He was informed about the problem of Transference, and he promised to look into the matter and assured him an early reply. Time was passing, the clock continued to tick, and every call that he received now generated more and more interest. Another call, but I dare not speak. Keeping my excitement contained was surprising even to me. Dinesh Garg never called back. His phone continued to be busy. At first, in a meeting flashed, soon he was out of range.

I saw through the window innumerable railway tracks signaling the approaching Ajmer junction. I began to collect my luggage to get down as the train started to decrease the speed and came to a halt. Spotting my husband, I hurried. He helped me with my luggage, and we proceeded; I halted and turned to look at the family one last time: What blessing would they seek today at Dargah?

I had hoped to be a part of their celebration when his friend would refund the amount during the journey. Destiny prevented that. I often wonder if the boy traced his funds and whether Dinesh Garg was honest enough to his one-time friend.