On the 4th of March 1967 I boarded the Delhi – Howrah Express from Delhi Junction Railway Station around 10 pm. My parents had come from Faridabad to see me off. I was the only girl from this part of the country to be studying in Ranchi Women's College. I was a hosteller in the RWC, was in my second year doing my B. A. (Honours) in Political Science.
The train had an unreserved 3rd class coach which was for Ranchi. My parents had managed to occupy the luggage rack for me by tipping a coolie – that could be used as sleeping berth in the night. The train would be reaching Patna after nearly 24 hours and this coach would be then connected to the Patna-Ranchi Express and I would be reaching Ranchi around 8 am next morning. A cycle rickshaw to college would take me to my abode till the next vacation. Journeys were mostly uneventful.
It must have been some time in the middle of the night when I noticed him from my high perch of the berth where I was sleeping. He was sitting on, presumably, a suitcase and was smoking. In the otherwise darkness of the compartment, the red glow of the cigarette tip seemed to be the only sign of life. Everyone appeared asleep except him, the glow of the cigarette tip … and I dozed off again.
It was early morning, around 7 am, when the train halted at Moori Junction. I woke up and almost as a reflex action looked down towards the place he was sitting. He was not there. Before I had time to wonder – he came in with a steaming tea in a kullad (clay cup), it looked really tempting. I descended from my perch and was thinking of getting a cup for myself, the engine gave a shrill whistle and the train chugged into motion, with a nasty jerk.
I was given the window seat and a family of three was sitting in-between him and me. After a while the little brat in the family was clamouring for the window seat. So I shifted fairly close to him – where he was still sitting on his suitcase.
He was youngish – maybe 20-25, I myself had yet to complete my 17 years. Am not sure how we started talking. He was studying in the fourth year of engineering in Birla Institute of Technology, Mesra. He discovered I was a hosteller in RWC and also discovered that he cannot meet me, as visitors were not allowed. In desperation he asked if he could write, and I was surprised at my own reaction, I gave him my postal address.
I reached college and was back in the humdrum of the routine. I had completely forgotten about him till I received a letter from him. It was quite a brief letter, more of an introduction of his, and a bit about his college. He reminded me that he was the chap who met in the train. His name was Triloki but his friends called him Cuckoo. What a stupid name for a boy.
I had not thought of writing back or replying to him, but it just happened. Maybe the loneliness of the hostel life...
