Page 130 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

Over dinner, she shared her deep-fried pork. In return, Choki gave her ezzay (chili pickle) she had brought from
home. The train zoomed day and night. The plains befuddled me; I had no idea which direction the train moved.
Passengers moved in and out at every station. I had to be watchful about the red suitcase under our seat. If it
disappeared, everything would be gone.
At 2:00 am the second night, a TT came to check our tickets. He was fat with a serious face.
“Which station should we alight at to go to CMC Hospital?” I asked.
“Katpadi Station,” he replied, glancing at my ticket. “Three more stations from here.”
“Katpadi Station,” I repeated.
“We would arrive there at 4.30 am. Stay awake forever. You might miss it.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll keep count on the stations, but are you sure Katpadi Station is after the three stations from
here?”
He scowled at me. “I’ve traveled this route all my life because I am a TT. Who else would know this route better
than an itinerant TT?”
The college girl peeped down from the upper bunk. When I glanced up, she rolled up the blanket over her head.
Maybe she was giggling.
“I am sorry. Thank you.” I turned to Choki. “You can go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I’m staying awake with you,” said Ata Gelong.
Every time the train halted, we rushed to the door and asked people passing by, “Is this Katpadi Station?”
It was 5:00 am at Katpadi Station. Outside, the dawn had just broken. As we disembarked the train, the woman
from Sikkim gave Choki a card.
“If you come to Sikkim again, don’t forget to phone me,” she said, grinning. “You can be our special guest.”
“Thank you,” said Choki. “We will.”
A fat and dark taxi driver said, “Taxi?”
“Yes, taxi,” I said. “Humko phone karna hai.”
“Sorry, no Hindi,” he said. “Little little English.”
“I want to make a phone call. Give me your phone, please.”
He smirked. “Want to call? No phone?”
“No.”
“Okay. Here. Call.”
I dialed the Liaison Officer’s number on his black-and-white NOKIA cellphone. The LO didn’t pick up my call.
I called him again. He picked it.
“Sir, we are at Katpadi Station,” I said.
“Sorry, I am out of town,” he said. “You can come by taxi. You can call Assistant LO.”
“That’s okay,” I said, “but which place should we head to?”
“R.J. Mansion, near Christian Medical College Hospital. The cabbie will take you there.”
I returned the phone to the cabbie. “You know RJ Mansion?”
“Many R.J. Mansion in Vellore,” he said.
I tapped my head, trying to remember the hospital’s name. “Um—”
“Christian Medical College Hospital,” said Ata Gelong.
“Get in,” the cabbie said.
After an hour on the road, the cabbie stopped the taxi beside a red building. “Here R.J. Mansion Lodge.”
“Where is Christian Medical College Hospital?” I said.
“There,” said the cabbie, pointing at the mega-structures behind me. “Many big big buildings.”
The sight of the massive buildings sent shivers down my spine. “I want to make a call again. I need your phone,
please?”
He grinned. “Twenty rupees.”
“What a devious man,” I muttered, grinning. “Okay, okay. This is not happening in my country, but I’ll pay for
it.”
“Everything is money in Vellore. Nothing free.”
“No problem.” I slogged to the corner to avoid noisy traffic. “Assistant Liaison Officer?”
“Yes, who is speaking?”
“The LO told me to call you. I have brought my baby for treatment. We’re waiting beside RJ mansion lodge.”
“Stay there,” he said. “I am coming.”
I paid the cabbie the taxi fare and waited for the ALO. Five minutes later, a fat guy carrying a white satchel,
arrived.
“Hello? How was your journey?”
“Fine, sir,” I said. “ALO?”

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