Last week we had a friend stay with us. We left home pretty late to see him off and Secunderabad Station being so vast with ten platforms, the only access being via the over bridge, we were in a bit of a panic cos for some reason no one seemed to know the time of the train and there was quite a bit of unnecessary confusion. It was finally established that the train hadn't even arrived and was actually going to be late. We then settled down and I was quite distracted as I had had quite a few emotional upheavals this year and it was starting to take its toll on me. It wasn't PMS, if that's what you're thinking. I left my husband and his friend to chat and started to wander about, drawn to a noticeboard near the Railway Police Office.
It was a noticeboard for missing people. Faces of strangers in both colour and black & white stared back at me - strangers of all ages and circumstances, elderly and disabled. I had heard many stories of men who abandoned their elders in far off places where they could not even communicate to others and make their plight known. I was mostly moved by the images of the children for they outnumbered the rest, and many had been missing for years. I knew that if they were still on this noticeboard, they had not returned to their loved ones. What was their story, I wondered, as I searched their faces. Who were they, where were they, what had they become in the years that have passed them by? Did they wonder if their parents deliberately abandoned them? When we go some day, we will always have someone who knows us to tell our story. Who would tell theirs? Here's a story for you:
A young mother is off to join her husband who is settled in a foreign land. Apart from her three-year-old son placed comfortably on her hip and her six-year-old daughter who holds her grandfather's hand, she is armed with luggage which not only consists of their clothes and belongings, but kitchen ware such as idli paathrams and puttu kutti, for who knew if this foreign land had such things. She had just made an arduous train journey from Chennai to Mumbai and was on her way to a relative's house to spend the night as their flight was only the next day. These were hard times and Mumbai being as vast as it was, it seemed pointless to take a cab when the metro was right there. If you are clueless about the Mumbai metro, have a look at this amusing video ad on You Tube before you read on. In fact, any Indian metro is no different during rush hour. Amidst all the pushing and shoving, this young woman's father helped his granddaughter onto the train first and then turned to take the luggage. Before he could even turn around with the luggage, the train had started to move. The little girl, with innocent glee waved goodbye to her grandfather, mother and baby brother without a clue as to her destiny. She had no idea where this train was going - nor was she perturbed by her grandfather's shouts of panic. An adventure was what she was hoping for!
You may be wondering what happened to a six-year-old girl who goes missing in a metro station: that too of all cities, Mumbai. One often hears about the indomitable (I use this word today to honour Asterix, who has just turned 50) spirit of Mumbai on the news when a bomb blasts or when Mother Nature unleashes her fury with a flood. What ever the movies may depict to us about big cities being a bad world, this kind of spirit can only come from the goodness of one's heart and is not selective, based on caste or religion. What happened to this little girl? Did she wander around aimlessly, befriended by beggars who took her into their fold? Was she accosted by a by a pimp to live the rest of her days as a prostitute? She she grow up among eunuchs or get deposited at a convent to be raised by nuns? It all makes for a great movie doesn't it?
The little girl saw her family slowly become smaller and smaller as the train moved away at alarming speed, and then suddenly felt the warmth of a large hand grasp hers. As she looked up to see who it was, she saw a man who was waving and shouting to someone outside. When they came to the next stop, this man took her hand and led her out of the station where he stood in another queue. She had no idea who he was, nor did she protest his taking control of the situation. He then led her back to the platform, onto a train, which, while it slowly came to a stop, she saw the familiar face of her grandfather peering anxiously through every window. When they got out of the train she was engulfed in a hug, though all she was aware of was that the adventure had come to an end. The most clear image in her head is that of her grandfather hugging this stranger and thanking him profusely.
That little girl was me. I don't remember this man's face at all. In fact, I didn't think about this episode till many, many years later. No one in our family would talk about it but parts of the memory kept coming back to me. These past ten years, especially after coming to India and becoming exposed to train travel, I began to think about this man again. I don't know his name, or if he was Hindu, Muslim or Christian. In 2006, I was in SA when the Mumbai train blasts happened and I prayed that he and his family were not on the train at the time. I thought about him during the floods and hoped he was safe. For all the little stories that make up my life, this one has been the most difficult to write about because it happened very early in my life (22 years ago) and had the possibility of having the deepest impact had my destiny been anything else. The entire course of my life would have changed, and without my family, I can only think of worst-case scenarios. In fact, my father recently over heard me telling this story to a friend and I saw he was extremely disturbed by it - more so because he was not there, and so I decided to not ask my mother about it because she WAS. Mumbai Metro is as crazy today as it was twenty years ago, and with all the current technology such as security TVs and camera phones, one wonders how it is possible for any person to completely disappear. And yet, they do. So many still go missing today. But I didn't. What if God was one of us? He most certainly was there in this man, who guided me back to my family. And though I may not have become someone famous or contributed something major to mankind, thanks to this man, I had the blessing of living a good life. I was loved, cherished, appreciated, educated, well fed and well dressed. If I ever had cause to doubt God's existence in my life BEFORE the age of six, I most certainly needn't doubt Him after.
It was a noticeboard for missing people. Faces of strangers in both colour and black & white stared back at me - strangers of all ages and circumstances, elderly and disabled. I had heard many stories of men who abandoned their elders in far off places where they could not even communicate to others and make their plight known. I was mostly moved by the images of the children for they outnumbered the rest, and many had been missing for years. I knew that if they were still on this noticeboard, they had not returned to their loved ones. What was their story, I wondered, as I searched their faces. Who were they, where were they, what had they become in the years that have passed them by? Did they wonder if their parents deliberately abandoned them? When we go some day, we will always have someone who knows us to tell our story. Who would tell theirs? Here's a story for you:
A young mother is off to join her husband who is settled in a foreign land. Apart from her three-year-old son placed comfortably on her hip and her six-year-old daughter who holds her grandfather's hand, she is armed with luggage which not only consists of their clothes and belongings, but kitchen ware such as idli paathrams and puttu kutti, for who knew if this foreign land had such things. She had just made an arduous train journey from Chennai to Mumbai and was on her way to a relative's house to spend the night as their flight was only the next day. These were hard times and Mumbai being as vast as it was, it seemed pointless to take a cab when the metro was right there. If you are clueless about the Mumbai metro, have a look at this amusing video ad on You Tube before you read on. In fact, any Indian metro is no different during rush hour. Amidst all the pushing and shoving, this young woman's father helped his granddaughter onto the train first and then turned to take the luggage. Before he could even turn around with the luggage, the train had started to move. The little girl, with innocent glee waved goodbye to her grandfather, mother and baby brother without a clue as to her destiny. She had no idea where this train was going - nor was she perturbed by her grandfather's shouts of panic. An adventure was what she was hoping for!
You may be wondering what happened to a six-year-old girl who goes missing in a metro station: that too of all cities, Mumbai. One often hears about the indomitable (I use this word today to honour Asterix, who has just turned 50) spirit of Mumbai on the news when a bomb blasts or when Mother Nature unleashes her fury with a flood. What ever the movies may depict to us about big cities being a bad world, this kind of spirit can only come from the goodness of one's heart and is not selective, based on caste or religion. What happened to this little girl? Did she wander around aimlessly, befriended by beggars who took her into their fold? Was she accosted by a by a pimp to live the rest of her days as a prostitute? She she grow up among eunuchs or get deposited at a convent to be raised by nuns? It all makes for a great movie doesn't it?
The little girl saw her family slowly become smaller and smaller as the train moved away at alarming speed, and then suddenly felt the warmth of a large hand grasp hers. As she looked up to see who it was, she saw a man who was waving and shouting to someone outside. When they came to the next stop, this man took her hand and led her out of the station where he stood in another queue. She had no idea who he was, nor did she protest his taking control of the situation. He then led her back to the platform, onto a train, which, while it slowly came to a stop, she saw the familiar face of her grandfather peering anxiously through every window. When they got out of the train she was engulfed in a hug, though all she was aware of was that the adventure had come to an end. The most clear image in her head is that of her grandfather hugging this stranger and thanking him profusely.
That little girl was me. I don't remember this man's face at all. In fact, I didn't think about this episode till many, many years later. No one in our family would talk about it but parts of the memory kept coming back to me. These past ten years, especially after coming to India and becoming exposed to train travel, I began to think about this man again. I don't know his name, or if he was Hindu, Muslim or Christian. In 2006, I was in SA when the Mumbai train blasts happened and I prayed that he and his family were not on the train at the time. I thought about him during the floods and hoped he was safe. For all the little stories that make up my life, this one has been the most difficult to write about because it happened very early in my life (22 years ago) and had the possibility of having the deepest impact had my destiny been anything else. The entire course of my life would have changed, and without my family, I can only think of worst-case scenarios. In fact, my father recently over heard me telling this story to a friend and I saw he was extremely disturbed by it - more so because he was not there, and so I decided to not ask my mother about it because she WAS. Mumbai Metro is as crazy today as it was twenty years ago, and with all the current technology such as security TVs and camera phones, one wonders how it is possible for any person to completely disappear. And yet, they do. So many still go missing today. But I didn't. What if God was one of us? He most certainly was there in this man, who guided me back to my family. And though I may not have become someone famous or contributed something major to mankind, thanks to this man, I had the blessing of living a good life. I was loved, cherished, appreciated, educated, well fed and well dressed. If I ever had cause to doubt God's existence in my life BEFORE the age of six, I most certainly needn't doubt Him after.
12 comments:
Very nice story and very well written.
wow.. very well written jane.. brght goosebums :)
It was a great read Jane. Guess ppl need special training to enter trains in mumbai. It too freaky crowded. Once I took a wrong train from Pune and slept nicely, realized it only afta reaching Mumbai Victoria terminal. But then I wasn't little boy like u. I could help myself out. :) that was an interesting experience i had in mumbai.
Keep writing. tc
Arun
This is what goodness does to humans..a small gesture of kindness and humanity has made that man remain in your memories forever.
Oh Jane, As I read this, I knew this little girl was you. But I could help but cry from relief. Relief that it was you and not just another kid who got lost this way. And relief bcos you were saved.
Lovely post. I might get back and type more. when I stop crying! Hugs to u!
Thanks guys...your comments mean a lot to me.
Butterfly...I am so sorry for your tears. I know some times we hear a story and we immediately place our selves or our loved ones in that situation and cry with immense relief for our small blessings.
OMG... when i started reading, i knew that the little girl had to be you...But when i finally realized it was indeed u, the horror and relief was huge... Thank God there was a kind human there to help u out and return u to ur family... thank god nothing happened....pheww, its a little shaking story anyway...but well written... i can imagine ur grandfather's horror and all that wat he felt at that moment.
So, so glad this real story had a happy ending. U've written this so beautifully....and ur understanding of the whole situation is so right.
"What if God was one of us? He most certainly was there in this man, who guided me back to my family."
Just like how I wd have thought:-))!!!!
WHere's u?????
Gone to meet open book;-D????
Hee heeeeeee....no, but she is expected to land in Hyd any time soon. I drop by Reflections but half the time I am at a loss for words. When I am extremely distressed I want to pour it out into my blog but there are some things that just should be borne in private so I hold back. Sadly I have no good news or happiness to share and...well...guess I don't wanna spread gloom ATLEAST during the jolly season :O( ...are you on Facebook? I searched for you as Nancy Dubai :P but no luck.
U have an interesting life Jane!!! I wonder how some people have all the fun! Adventure seeks u out! Nothing even remotely exciting has ever happened to me. All I think of are the times when I sat dreamily inside the bus and forgot to get down. How exciting! And when i was 3, I shoved a nose ring up my nose :P... but lil kids do that all the time...Oh well! Now I remember a train story.. will update my blog and let u know..
Thats some adventure you had Jane !
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