I used to enjoy, particularly, the rickshaw rides; and I still love them whenever I get a chance. But, ever since the fitness bug has bitten me, I try to walk the distance. My father still fondly remembers how once he made me walk all the distance from the bus stand to home and how infuriated I was when we reached the door! With all my Leo authority, I demanded to be taken back to the bus stand and be brought back to home in a rickshaw. That day, he had a hard time in making me reconcile with the situation, but now, I think he is the only person who could make me reconcile with and accept any situation with sobriety.
Several of my travels and also the people, in fact, complete strangers I met during these travels, are etched on my mind! One of them used to be the ferry rides across the river Ganga when we visited my father's village, Bajitpur near Hajipur in Vaishali District, Bihar. Before the construction of the bridge, Mahatma Gandhi Setu, linking Patna directly with Hajipur, people generally used the steamships, apart from the boats and canoes, to cross the river. I think, they still use them!
What used to intrigue me during these short journeys was the small fires along the bank of the river that used to shimmer so prominently in the evening. My father told me that these were burning pyres, as the Hindus consider it auspicious to cremate their dead along a holy river. They still do so, disregarding all environmental concerns. The 'soul' has a VISA-free entry into Heaven then, no matter how many BAD KARMAS they have engaged in during their life time :(
Anyway, for the the first time, this disclosure sent a chill down my body and I was dumb-struck for a moment! I was too scared of the 'dead' and 'death'! With all the bed-time 'ghost stories' told by my grandmothers, grandfathers, uncles and aunts (paternal and maternal) and also by my father (he is a great story-teller even now; my daughter and my brothers' children have also grown on these stories), I used to wish for the journey to end as soon as possible. Those pictures of the burning pyres and the sadness and fear associated with them are still engraved on my mind!
Another strong memory is about a visit to Tirupati in Andhra Pradesh with my parents and my two and a half years old daughter several years back. It was a very long train journey; and my daughter's first. She found the shaking and vibrations of the moving train very shocking. She perched herself on the seat and refused to put her feet down on the floor. It took a lot of cajoling by me, my parents, our co-passengers that she finally started walking (that too very slowly and cautiously) inside the train. Her only complaint was, “Its shaking too much and the bathrooms are shaking too.”
The only thing I still remember about this journey was the friendly help provided by a co-passenger, a tall, dark and handsome guy, who was as concerned about my daughter's fears and anxiety as me. When she refused to walk around, he made every efforts to comfort her and make her confident to walk inside the moving train. He would take her around, show her how other children were playing around and so on. I and my parents were too relieved, as earlier, she wanted one of us to sit beside her all the time. He was quite friendly!
Other co-passengers also helped us to deal with her fussy ways of eating. Everybody seemed to be concerned about and busy with her. Somebody was bringing fresh milk for her from the pantry (as she refused to drink the powder milk); another one helped by bringing bananas or other eatables from the stations where the train stopped. But MADAM simply refused to eat! Yes, every now and then, she would inquire around (with her friendly 'uncle') who was eating what and take a bite or two from them. This is how she survived her first train journey!
