just another memory of my india…
September 1985.
We were on Doon Express,
returning to Calcutta from Haridwar.
A climbing expedition gone wrong.
Soon after reaching the peak,
our team leader had fallen and died.
The expedition had to be prolonged by a fortnight,
to retrieve him and carrying him back to the first town
with a police outpost to notify the authorities
and then perform the last rites.
We were miles away from home,
in a remote corner of the Himalayas.
Cut off from civilisation, no one could send us any emergency support.
All our reserve money had been spent
we hardly had any money left to buy food.
There was minimal corporate support in those days
all such expeditions would be on a shoe string budget.
Sad, scared, demoralised and a hungry lot,
we boarded the train late in the evening for
a 36 hour cross country trip back to an uncertain reception.
Bad news travel fast,
and he was an experienced climber, very well known.
Fellow passengers knew of the accident and left us alone.
An elderly man returning from a pilgrimage had his berth next to ours.
The following day on the train,
we just about managed enough change
to buy some tea to go round a couple of times.
We woke up dizzy with hunger on the second morning.
It was another three to four hours to our destination, if lucky.
The pilgrim gentleman with us,
with a little smile, held out a packet of Sitabhog,
something like a sweet pilau, a portion to share between the five of us.
At sometime in the early hours,
when we were still fast asleep,
the train had stopped at a station,
a place known for that delicacy a must
for all rail travelers to taste and savour.
That gentleman knew how hungry we were
and an extra single portion was all he could afford to buy.
That toothless little smile of an absolute stranger, will forever remain in my memory.
India
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