Just the Way You Are

by Sanjeev Ranjan

  After some time my eyes seemed heavy. I thought of taking a nap. Just as I closed my eyes for a couple of minutes, I found the service boy standing beside me. ‘Sir, kuch chahiye? You want something? I could hardly open my eyes, though his words were clear in my ears. In my slumber, I mumbled to him to come back after fifteen minutes. I would be awake by then. He said that he could only come back after serving the entire compartment. I didn’t bother to reply.

  But to my surprise, he returned in five minutes. At least it felt like five minutes. And asked me again if I needed something.

  I looked at him with a mix of surprise and admiration, and said, ‘Whoa! Never did I expect such prompt service in the Indian Railways. Well, that was pretty fast, ha! I’m sure the Indian Railways can surely put forward its name to be included in the Seven Wonders of the World!’

  He gave a hearty laugh at that. His upper pair of incisors came sticking out like a rat. After a few seconds, he composed himself. ‘Sir, like you, almost all the people in the compartment are sleeping for the time being. They have asked me to come after ten minutes. So that’s the case.’

  I smiled at his words and didn’t say anything. I pulled back the blanket and drew the curtains aside. The wind was on my face again. I leaned back and put the pillow behind me. It seemed to be tablecloths sewn together rather than a pillow; it was undoubtedly the world’s thinnest pillow and hurt my back. So I slid my backpack behind me and rested my spine on it. That felt better.

  All this while, the boy still waited and kept on requesting that I have my breakfast. He had the plate in his hand and held it close to my face. It was almost like a feat he had to perform—handing me the plate at this moment. He wore a pleading look. I smiled and took the plate from his hands. He gave me an ear-to-ear smile that surely must be an exact replica of what Ronaldo gives once he hits his final goal. I chuckled, watching him move ahead, sliding his basket on the train floor, asking the crowd if anyone else needed breakfast. I was about to unwrap my plate when it struck me. I called him back, ‘Oye, listen.’

  He rushed back, his sandals slapping on the floor, and asked, ‘Yes, sir. Anything you want? Sugar or milk powder?’

  ‘No. Tell me something—are you going to serve lunch as well?’ I asked, sipping the tea. It tasted insipid.

  ‘Sir, we aren’t very sure about it. If the train reaches Delhi on time then we won’t serve but if it gets delayed by two or three hours, then we will probably serve it. We’ll surely let you know by 11 am. By the way, can you tell me what is the time right now, sir?’

  In a reflex movement, I looked down at my wrist. And there was no watch. I hadn’t worn a watch for the past six years. So I quickly took out my phone and pressed it on. ‘It’s 8 am.’

  He nodded and said again that he would let me know about lunch by 11 am. I had my breakfast and looked outside. There was nothing else to do. The train had become unexpectedly slow. I could count the trees in the fields passing by. I was having about doubts about the train making it on time as it was moving at snail speed. They claim it is the fastest train of India. Well, if they say so!

  Around 11.30 am, the serving boy came to my berth and said, ‘Sir, the train has got delayed by three hours and it can be expected to reach Delhi by 3 pm.’

  ‘Expected,’ I sighed and mumbled, ‘True.’ Nothing can ever be said absolutely about train journeys in India, at least until the train actually reaches the destination. Till then everything is murky. It might even get delayed by thirteen hours, who knows.

  I thanked him. Other people were enquiring about the train timing as well. I saw him moving ahead to clarify their queries. Some of them were quite annoyed about the delay. Naturally! And then of course the criticism of the ministry was about to begin. People started cribbing about the downfall of the present government and what one should and should not do after becoming the railway minister. One of them had to catch another train from Anand Vihar and he was fuming, furiously spilling acid and slang on the system. I had a strange urge to laugh but it was fear, in truth, that held me back. ‘PILs. Damn PILs should be filed against the government, I tell you. Bloody morons,’ I heard him shrieking. It reminded me of a similar incident I had experienced around four years back. The train I was in had got delayed and I couldn’t reach on time to take my engineering entrance exam. Since then I have had this inordinate obsession to get out of this country as soon as possible. Hopefully I will be lucky someday.

  After getting to know that the train would be delayed, all the passengers drew back their curtains. I also drew back my curtain and wondered what was next in store for me.

  I didn’t know anyone in the city and it was also not clearly mentioned in the appointment letter to which centre they might post me. It could either be Noida or Gurgaon. I had always under the impression that the office might be somewhere in central Delhi. But one of my friends surprised me when I told him that the company had posted me to Delhi.

  ‘Delhi? As far as I know there is no office in Delhi except the administrative office, and that too in PTI building,’ he said. ‘It will be in either Noida or Gurgaon.’

  ‘Er …’ I silently panicked, thinking what to do now. And the very next day, I got an email to report to the Gurgaon office but it wasn’t mentioned anywhere which office I was going to get and it really confused me.

  My dad, at the time of leaving me at the station, asked me where I was going to stay for the first couple of days as he was a bit worried as we didn’t any relatives in Delhi with whom I could have stayed. I had fortunately already spoken with Satyan, one of my school friends. He stayed in Greater Noida and had asked me to stay at his place for as many days I liked. Dad relaxed on learning of this. He knew Satyan well and hence was relieved.

  ‘Did you talk to him?’

  ‘Yes. I spoke with him yesterday itself. He asked me not to worry about PG accommodation and other stuff. He reassured me that it is easily available. The only thing that I need to worry about is the location of the office. So initially, for the first couple of days, I might stay at his place,’ I said.

  Dad still didn’t find my words too reassuring. He seemed sceptical as he sank down on a chair on the platform and stared blankly ahead for a while. After some moments of silence, he came up with one of his weird solutions, ‘If it’s a matter of a couple of days, you can even stay in a hotel. You can find a good number of hotels near the station. I was there.’

  ‘Okay. I will inform you when I find a suitable place to stay.’ I touched his feet as the train came in.

  It always made me smile, sheepishly though, whenever Dad talked about his trip to Delhi. That was some ten years back. I have a very vague recollection of it. But in my memory, Dad is still young and ignorant of how the world has changed in these little years. A decade doesn’t actually feel like a decade when nothing around you changes, except for the paint on the walls or the tube-wells replaced by running pipes. As far as I could remember, it was the trade fair for which he had visited Delhi way back then. He had often said that back then Rs 100 notes looked more like today’s Rs 1000 notes. The way a Rs 1000 note gets spent the moment one steps out of home, a Rs 100 note too had a similar lifetime then. Things were different. One could not have bought everything with money back then. At least not Dad’s innocence.

  I had nothing to do except sit around and hope that the train would pick up speed, so I called up Satyan. I had to let him know about the delay in my arrival. We would need to reschedule our meeting. I took out the phone from my pocket and dialled his number.

  After few initial rings, he answered. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hey, Sameer here,’ I said excitedly.

  When he repeatedly kept saying ‘hello hello’, it appeared to me that because of the noise and commotion in the train, he was unable to hear me clearly. But soon enough, he recognized my voice.

  ‘Are you out?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay. So what time are we meeting today? I just called to inform you that my
train is late by three hours.’

  ‘Yaar, I am sorry. I am actually going home for Diwali. It was so sudden that I couldn’t even inform you. I am in Agra and will catch the train from here.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And everyone else in our flat has left for home. And it’s locked.’

  ‘So when will you be coming back?’ I asked, a bit nervous.

  ‘Not sure about it. It all depends on the availability of tickets, you see. If possible, please make some other arrangement. Once I come back, I will search for a PG for you. It’s not a big deal, trust me.’

  I had nothing more to say. ‘Okay, sure. Thanks.’ I hung up and stubbed the phone on the seat. It toppled over like my hopes. Hope. Ah! That’s surely the wrong word. Not to be found in my dictionary, at least, I thought bitterly.

  I went completely blank after that. I didn’t know what to do and whom to talk to. I could not believe that people could be so callous. He could have definitely called me once or maybe texted me. Was he lying? It’s difficult to say nowadays what kind of notions people harbour in their minds. Or maybe Delhi makes you such. Dunno! Anyway, I had to figure out the next POA now. Dad was actually right. You never know where you may end up therefore a hotel seemed to be the ideal solution for the time being. I hoped the train would reach before it turned dark. It would otherwise be difficult to navigate through the city. Plus I had no idea which way to go look out for a good, cheap hotel.

  I kept sitting by the window for a while, staring into space, and then thought of calling up Gaurav. He had once told me that in case I found myself in any trouble in Delhi, I should let him know. He knew a good number of places. Affordable ones!

  I called him. After three rings, he answered the phone.

  ‘Hello, Gaurav. Sameer here.’

  ‘Yeah, Sameer. Tell me. How are you?’

  ‘Yeah. I am fine. I am about to reach Delhi in an hour or two but due to some problem, I may have to find myself a hotel for the time being.’

  ‘Okay. No problem. Do one thing. Which station will you be reaching?’ he asked.

  ‘Hazrat Nizamuddin.’

  ‘Okay. Take an auto from there to Paharganj. And ask anyone there about Hotel Priya Palace. They know me. You can give my reference also. It’s quite affordable.’

  I felt relaxed after this.

  As expected, the train reached New Delhi at around 4 pm and with all my luggage, I somehow managed to reach Hotel Priya Palace.

  I had come to Delhi for the first time. So I was naturally very excited. I picked up my phone and soon posted on Facebook: Back to the relic root of India, with Khan’s, parathe, Chandni, minars, and of course Sameer ... on a roll with Dilli!! Hellooooooo!’

  That week was very uncomfortable for me. First, I had to stay in the hotel and commuting was really difficult. And the HR head of my company was on leave. I had to wait till she got back and literally struggled to find the location of my office. This is exactly why I don’t put much faith in companies in this country. They could have easily mailed me or it could have been a self-generating message where they could have let me know which office centre was to be assigned to me. Morons!

  Then it was Diwali. It was the first time that I had to spend the festival alone in a hotel. I was sad and flashes of home lit with candles and diyas streamed in my head like a film. The sound of crackers filled my ears and I could once again smell the familiar gunpowder-burnt air on the night, as I did on Diwalis spent at home. How might they be spending the day this year? The faces of my parents floated up like smoke in front of me and I could see the reflection of a faraway lit lantern on the wall of my room. I had a strange urge to run out and walk down the street but I was too sad. I finally decided that the perfect solution to such situations was Facebook. I logged in and scrolled down to find a shock awaiting me.

  Satyan and his girlfriend had posted pictures on Facebook in an album titled: ‘Diwali in Noida’.

  I couldn’t understand why he had lied to me. He kept asking me on Facebook how everything was. Had I found a decent accommodation for myself? Was my office centre location given to me? And if there would be any further difficulty, he would certainly help me find a better place to stay when he returned. I didn’t bother to reply. I had had enough of shallow people in my world already.

  Time never passes fast in such moments and finally I decided, after a long battle with myself, to go outside and explore Delhi. The nearest place that I could go was Connaught Place.

  I roamed around Connaught Place and found that it lit up like a new bride. As far as the eye could see, there were people hustling and bustling about and the shops were practically choking with humanity. In the darkness of night light seemed to dance everywhere, from the glittering bangles on girls’ wrists to the shining salwar-suits of aunty-jis, to pillars and posts draped in colourful banners. I tried to ease my restless heart by looking at all of it and then decided to return to the hotel. I asked the hotel boy to get me dinner in my room and decided to stay back in the hotel the next day as well. There was a two-day break for Diwali and the office would be closed. I never thought that the first year I would land a job would bring with it my worst Diwali experience. Plus staying alone somehow chafed at my heart and I couldn’t be at peace. It was indeed painful, but I guess I had no other way than to think of the good times in years gone by and smile to myself.

  Five hours of sleep was not at all enough for me. I had too much stuff going on inside my head, with all the sadness of being alone and helpless, and thanks to the people outside the hotel bursting crackers till the wee hours of the morning to the shrill tunes of ‘Sheela ki jawaani’ and ‘Munni badnaam hui’, I couldn’t get back to sleep. I tried stuffing cotton balls into my ears and pressed my pillow against my temple. But has anything ever worked against the tenacity of Dilliwallas? I finally gave up and got out of bed at 5.30 am, shaved, and showered. I looked at myself in the mirror and found myself looking worn out. I looked gloomy and pulling a pretentious smile too didn’t bring about any change. I took the metro and reached office at 9 am. I had checked the way on Google Maps and had roughly calculated the time. It was my first day of reporting and I had expected that the HR head must have returned. But she was nowhere to be found. I tried conversing with a couple of other people but they seem to have no idea where they belonged and if at all they worked in the same office. There was a boy who sat just across from her cubicle. I tried asking him if he knew about the placements or if he knew when the HR head would be coming in. He seemed disinterested, as if I wasn’t even there. He was trying to solve something with a paper and pencil and seemed to be cracking the code for an upcoming war. It was only after I had repeated the same question thrice that he raised his head and looked at me as if suddenly life had burst into this world. He looked at me questioningly. I repeated, ‘Sir, I am here to meet Ms Vatsala. I am a new associate. Could you let me in on when and how I will be able to see her at the earliest?’

  He didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure whether he was paying attention to my words or was lost somewhere, perhaps stuck in his coding. I wasn’t expecting this kind of attitude. I repeated my question again. He just nodded. I couldn’t understand what his nod meant. Was it a yes or a no?

  I waited for a few more minutes in the hope that he might come to his senses and respond properly. But hope often disappoints you. And when it comes to me, it always disappoints me. It was just the beginning for me, I believe.

  Disappointed, I left the room. I didn’t know where to go and whom to meet. I took out the appointment letter again and checked the location of the office. It was the same office. I looked for the name and designation of whom I was supposed to report to. It was the exact same.

  I came out. On my way downstairs, I passed a lady and thought of asking her. She was a bit aged and her body language was that of a top-class management honcho. I asked her. ‘Excuse me, Ma’am. Could you please tell me where I can meet Ms Vatsala?’

  ‘Are you a new associate?’ she
asked. The question rekindled a new hope within me.

  ‘Yes. I was told to report for work today.’

  ‘Okay.’ She gestured to me to follow her and led me to the same room where just a moment back I had found the biggest code cracker of the world. What a nutcase!

  He looked around everywhere as if seeking an answer out of air and then slowly opened his mouth, ‘Actually, she hasn’t come in to office yet.’

  Without waiting for me to say anything, she asked the guy, ‘Rajesh, do you know when Vatsala will be coming in?’The guy, who was pretending a few minutes back to be busy as hell, replied without the lapse of a second, ‘Um, I haven’t seen her, actually. Just check whether her bag is there at her desk.’

  ‘No. Her belongings are not here.’

  ‘That means she hasn’t as yet come in.’

  She looked at me and said, ‘Um, what’s your name?’

  ‘Sameer.’

  ‘Sameer, Vatsala is not yet in. You can wait for her in the waiting lounge. Give me your contact number and she will call you if she comes otherwise you just come here and check in an hour’s time.’

  ‘Okay.’ I gave her my number and plonked myself down in the waiting room.

  It was already full with guys and girls. All seemed to be new joinees. The company hired more and more employees every year. More than it could pay at times. That’s precisely the reason why engineers are underpaid. And with such companies coming to college campuses for placements, I was sure the number of employees would definitely surpass the population of Jaunpur or Hisar, for that matter. All of them were quiet. Pin-drop silence. Everyone looked as if they were pissing in their pants. Just one odd man sat in the middle of the sofa in front of me and seemed to occupy the entire length of it. He spoke in a voice loud enough to put many Indian politicians to shame. I looked around to scan the faces and bodies. The girls, except for a couple, were certainly beautiful. One of the guys was muttering under his breath, ‘Why is it that we always land up in the kind of batch where either the senior or the junior girls are beautiful and we are left with the ugly ones?’’ I pretended not to have heard this and suppressed a smile. After some time, the couple of so-called ugly girls also seemed beautiful to me. This was the fate of depravity! The boy was by now was busy discussing with another sitting near him how the company tricked ugly girls into a single batch so that they could hand them similar job titles and profiles and the beautiful girls were secured for the best positions. It was all about marketing and getting the best benefits.