by Reece Willis
In my carriage people bunked up in the single beds above their seats and some on the lower tiers too. I pulled my legs to my chest and rested my head against the window. Small dwellings of corrugated iron lined the track for a distance until the city lights disappeared and the night sky cloaked the landscape into complete darkness. My view was exchanged for the sleeping interior. Entering the state of Uttar Pradesh, and not far from Agra, we swung south west at Mathura.
37
Ca clack ca clack, ca clack ca clack, ca clack ca clack... 'Hello stranger.' Soft muffled words bounced lightly away from me. I opened my eyes, my vision misty, my head weighted with sleep. Long brown hair shone in the light of the overhead bulb.
I rubbed my eyes from the drowsy blur, but could hardly believe the clarity, 'Kate?' My heart skipped, 'I thought I’d lost you forever.'
'I couldn't believe it when I saw you. You looked so sweet fast asleep there.’ Her beautiful eyes reflected happiness as she tightened her hands gently around mine.
'I knew the moment I first saw you that I loved you. I've missed you so much,' I said without thinking.
Ca clack ca clack, ca clack ca clack, ca clack ca clack. The train slowed and let out a deep sigh as it halted at a barely lit station. She rose and turned to leave, 'I love you too, Sam.' Her eyes brimmed with tears. 'I have to get off here. Come with me,' she whispered and held out her hand.
The train jolted me awake as it gripped the tracks. The Sikh gentleman and his wife were asleep. The man in the bunk above them snored softly. She seemed so real. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes in hope she might return, but she didn’t.
Carrying his toothpaste, toothbrush and soap, the Sikh man opposite exchanged places with me in the bathroom. The toilet had quite a few hours of use since I last visited and the floor was now covered in faeces. I was surprised considering the hole in the floor seemed more than adequate. I held my breath, washed and cleaned my teeth.
After a brief stop at Kota in Rajasthan, the train came to a rest for a short while at Ratlam in Madhya Pradesh – the central province between northern and southern India. Some passengers including myself bought a light lunch from the on-board kitchens. What I chose wasn’t so good; a spicy vegetable burger covered in soggy breadcrumbs. Nonetheless it was enough to fill a small gap.
The train swept across high iron bridges, wide rivers gleaming below from the afternoon sun; past shanty villages, where people washed themselves next to the tracks as their children played dangerously close nearby. Cities built up and faded away amid an endless land of arid earth, sparse of vegetation and life.
I asked the Sikh gentleman if he would take my photograph. He held up the camera, the lens pointing to his face. I motioned to him with my finger to turn it around the correct way and he laughed at his mistake, 'I have never used camera before,' he said and clicked. We travelled onwards through the fertile green plains of Gujarat and soon arrived at the city of Vadodara. Two masculine looking women dressed in saris held out their hands for donations. The man in the seat next to me, suggested that to avoid a curse, I should pay the Hijras. I didn’t want to risk any more bad luck and as I handed over some money and was granted a closer look, I realised they were men convincingly dressed as women.
A young girl on the platform of Surat Station tapped away at the bars of the window, holding out her hand to me and then to her mouth. I handed her five rupees, the only change I had left. She was joined swiftly by at least eight other girls, all holding their hands out too. They became agitated and more aggressive with their demands and boarded the train when I gestured I had no more money spare. Quick to my rescue, the Sikh gentleman shooed them away as the train moved off.
Stop after stop we stayed anywhere between five and fifty minutes at stations. Familiar faces left, fresh faces arrived. The dry heat gradually turned humid and a white sky stretched out over a dull jade countryside. Masses of corrugated dwellings emerged. Small tropical islands surrounded by large expanses of water were frequent. We were nearing Mumbai.
At 6.35pm, the train squealed into Mumbai Central Railway Station. In the hectic rush hour, I had to locate a local train to an area called Dadar situated in the heart of the city. I trawled through the crowds in desperation until a sympathetic lady assisted me by pointing out the correct platform heaving with commuters. When the train arrived, it was every man for himself. I scrambled to find my place, but was shoved aside and left wondering what had just happened as the train left, throngs of commuters hanging from the doorways. The empty platform soon filled again, but this time I was ready and at the edge. I wasn't going to be caught out again and looked around me at the competition who were as eager as I was to get where they were going. When the train arrived ten minutes later, I wasted no time getting on. I hurled myself in and stumbled to find a seat. One stop later, getting off proved to be as much of an art as getting on. Joining the crowds, I was carried up the stairs by the crush of people and I didn't really have a choice but to exit on to the soaking streets of Dadar.
Once the crowd dispersed I could breathe freely again. I looked about in the pouring rain in hope I could find somewhere to make a phone call. Through the downpour, I saw a yellow sign advertising telephone services and made a dash through the ankle-deep water. The rain spattered the ink of my journal as I tried to read Connor's number. I dialled and waited for a response. The voice of a young man interrupted the ringing, 'Hello?'
'Hi, can I speak to Connor please?'
'He is not here. Can I take a message?'
'Um, my name is Sam. I'm meant to be meeting with him. We are friends from Leh.'
'I am sorry, Connor is in Manali and will not be back for at least a week.'
I went silent as I wondered what to do next, 'Thank you, ah, I'll try and find a hotel.'
The other end went quiet and I thought the receiver had been put down. As I was about to place the phone down I heard a tinny voice through the hard pelt, 'Do you have our address?'
'Yes.’
'Please come over. My mother will be home soon. She will know what to do.'
Walking the streets, I asked people if they knew where Connor's road was. A few wrong directions later I arrived at his door completely drenched. The house was very grand, Victorian in age I guessed, with wooden steps leading up to where I stood. I knocked and waited. A boy of mid-teens answered and studied the drenched, plastered haired westerner before him, 'Are you Sam?'
'Yes.'
'I am Louis, Connor’s brother. Please, come in. It is such awful weather out there.'
I shook my shoes free of excess water and placed them inside the door.
Connor's grandmother was next to greet me and offered the use of a shower and Connor's room to change into dry clothes. I came out refreshed to the living room which comprised of a large seating area and equally large dining room. On a red couch were Connor's sisters, Patrice and Titiana; two beautiful girls in their late teens, and on a red matching chair sat Connor's grandmother and Louis at the dining table where he invited me to sit opposite. The younger members of the family threw question after question with great enthusiasm about my life and my travels in India. It was all a little overwhelming, but I welcomed the friendly interrogation and answered as many of the questions as I could.
Connor's mother returned home within the hour, 'I know absolutely nothing about your visit,' she said. Mrs Reveredo was an elegant woman, in her late forties. There was an air about her that told me immediately she was the boss of this home. She studied me well, weighing up the odds of trust, 'I cannot telephone Connor to confirm your story. I am afraid you cannot stay here as I do not know you.' She paused for a moment, 'You may have a meal here and then I will take you to Connor's apartment where you can stay for the night.'
The meal was God sent, especially after what I'd eaten in the last three days. Fresh homemade fish curry, fluffy rice, warm chapatis and a cup of cardamom tea were presented. Later, Mrs Reveredo took me along to Connor's apartment one road up from the
family home. As I thanked her for her generosity, she gave me the key and said she would return in the morning to check on me. It couldn't have been a more perfect end to my long day. Of course, it would have been nice to see Connor, but the apartment was kitted out with all the mod cons and even had an electric guitar in the corner of the living room. I relaxed, made myself comfortable and watched music videos on Channel V.
A ringing telephone woke me, but I had no idea where it was coming from. Disorientated, I fumbled around until at last I found the source behind a side table. It was Connor’s mother wishing me good morning and inviting me over for breakfast. Outside, pregnant clouds rolled steadily over the monsoon sky giving birth to bouts of heavy rain. Connor's apartment was situated on the corner of a crossroads. For the most part, the view was of flat rooftops and long avenues of dense palm trees. Directly below the living room window was a taxi rank. Under limited shelter the drivers talked and read newspapers by a line of yellow roofed black Ambassadors.
I cleaned my teeth in front of the mirror and slowed the brushing to a stop, taking a long, hard look at myself. When I arrived in India I was pure white and clean shaven with a neat short back and sides haircut. Since then I’d lost a lot of weight, my hair was nearing shoulder length and I had a short beard. The fear that had always been present behind my eyes was diminishing and I could see a more confident version of my reflected self. Despite my scruffiness, I was proud of the person staring back, of all I had achieved in India.
Still uneasy, my stomach revolted at the thought of breakfast, but as I stepped over the threshold of the Reveredo's, that all changed. Sweet and savoury aromas filled the room and had me drifting like a puppet on invisible strings to the dining table. A young lady spotted me from a doorway and disappeared, returning moments later with a wooden trolley filled with various dishes. I thanked her and she shyly looked away with a smile.
'Good morning, Sam,' Mrs Reveredo said as she walked into the room and opened the French doors to the balcony. She sat down as the girl began placing the food on the table: toast, jams, marmalades, cereals, fruit, sponge cakes, chapatis and eggs: fried, scrambled and rolled omelettes. Silverware filled with coffee, tea and juices: mango, orange and apple. The young lady bowed and left us alone. 'Please help yourself,' Mrs Reveredo said from behind the Times of India.
'Thanks so much for everything. Breakfast looks amazing, I hope I haven't put you to too much trouble.' I reached forward and took a chapatti and fried egg, filled a delicate china tea cup with hot coffee and a sparkling crystal glass with orange juice.
She peered over the newspaper, 'What are you saying? I am having trouble understanding you. Are you speaking English? If so, you are mumbling or talking too fast. Please articulate and speak up.' I couldn't help but grin as I apologised and repeated myself clearly. 'That is better. It is no trouble, thank you for being polite.' She glanced down at the paper and then folded it away. 'You have travelled from Kashmir Louis tells me. Please, refrain from filling his head with your stay there. I do not wish to encourage him to see for himself what you speak of. He has been talking of nothing else since you arrived.'
'Of course, I'm very sorry,' I said, sipping my coffee meekly.
'And please, stop apologising, it is starting to become quite irritating don't you know?' She buttered a slice of toast and added marmalade, 'I have booked you on a tour of the city tomorrow, but first we must make you presentable. You will come with me this morning and shave that thing from your face and get an overdue haircut.'
I chuckled nervously. Maybe I wasn't as confident as I thought after all. 'Have you heard anything from Connor?' I asked.
'No. I will let you know if he telephones.' She got up and called to the maid, 'Lajni, we are finished here, thank you.' The maid came along and began clearing the table. Mrs Reveredo looked over to me, 'You are ready then, no?'
I was taken along to a posh barber shop and instructed to memorise the route back to Connor's apartment. She took me inside and spoke to one of the barbers and said she would meet me back at the house for lunch.
My hair was cut to a smart crop and I received a traditional Indian shave, declining a moustache and a head massage. I was about to pay, but was told that Mrs Reveredo had already taken care of it. I walked back to Connor's apartment and stayed there until midday when I set out to the family home. Mrs Reveredo was pulling some weeds at the foot of the steps. 'Thank you for the haircut and shave. Please, allow me to reimburse you, and for tomorrow's tour too.' I took out my wallet.
By the look on her face, she didn't recognise me at first, 'Ah, that is much better. Now you are beginning to look like a proper gentleman. Thank you for the offer, but please put your money away.' She turned and walked up the stairs, 'Now we will have lunch.'
'Could you tell me the nearest place I could make a telephone call from? I need to call my mother,' I asked as I was sat down at the table.
'Yes. You may telephone from here after lunch. There is a telephone in Connor's old room.'
Lajni served an incredible dhal; rich and full with fiery spice. There were additions of soft saffron rice, chutneys and rotis, and lassi to die for. 'Lajni is an excellent cook, Mrs Reveredo,' I remarked.
'I am afraid I have no experience of her cooking,' she replied. I cocked my head. 'The food you eat here is cooked by me. Lajni is only the home help. She does not cook, only assists me from time to time with the preparation.'
'In that case, you're an excellent cook, Mrs Reveredo. It's the best food I've tasted since I arrived in India.'
'Flattery is not necessary, but nonetheless appreciated.'
'Hi mum.' Titiana came in with a spring in her step. She put her rucksack down and kissed her mother on the cheek. 'Hey Sam, how are you? Wow, you look so different, very handsome.'
'Oh thanks,' I replied, rubbing my hand across my smooth face. 'A bit of a difference, huh? Have you had a good morning?'
She sat down next to her mother and helped herself to lunch, 'Yes, a very good morning. I have been to college. I am studying law,' she said with pride.
After lunch, I went into Connor’s room to make the phone call I'd been dreading. I dialled my mother's number and took a deep breath.
'Mum, it's Sam.'
'Hello darling, I can hardly hear you.’
‘I didn’t think I’d catch you, I thought you'd still be in Belgium.’
'I only came back this morning to collect some things. I'm going back this evening.' She hesitated, ‘Your grandfather is in a terrible state. He’s in intensive care and we've been advised to expect the worst.'
‘How are you coping?’
‘I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. I will take care of things here, just try not to think too much about it.'
'Thank you.'
'Hello? I can't hear you Ste...' The line went dead. I tried to call back, but it just rang and fell silent again. Patrice was on the sofa playing a pair of small tabla drums when I came out. I made my excuses and took my sombre mood back to Connor’s apartment, where I sat and recalled memories of my grandfather until sleep took hold.
38
I opened my eyes to darkness. A heavy weight bore down on my chest and there was a sheet covering my face. It felt like it had been pinned down either side. I wriggled and let out a yelp, prompting a hard knock to the side of my head. Then the sheet loosened and I could grab a few breaths of warm air before it was tight across my nose and mouth again, secured around my ears. Consumed by fear I lay still, praying for the ordeal to be over, questioning what was happening.
The burden on my body shifted and next I heard a muffled whisper, ‘Keep quiet or I’ll kill you, you little bastard.’
As the perpetrator moved again I screwed up my face and bit my lip to stop myself emitting any sound. At the same time, I was desperate for air and wasn’t sure how much longer I’d last. I was given the freedom to breathe again, but only briefly before the sheet felt tighter than ever and the weight became more concentrated around my torso and fa
ce. Death felt imminent.
Elbows and knees seemed to be digging in all over my body. It was excruciating. I then felt a hard punch in the top of my arm. All I could do was let out a whimper, I had nothing else to give. After that everything started to feel lighter and I found a gap for air.
My eyes shot open, my breath still short. I was drenched in sweat, clinging to the bed sheet below me, realising the cruel trickery my mind had performed. How could a dream feel so real? To recall in such clarity an all-too-familiar moment so long ago departed. I tried to stay alert, but the darkness took hold once again.
39
My soul still bruised, I said little to Mrs Reveredo as she guided me to the tour bus departure point outside Dadar Railway Station. The coach was already filled with Indian tourists as I boarded and we joined the endless congestion of taxis, rickshaws, cars, trucks, bicycles, and faded double decker buses – the first I'd seen in India. Our guide was in his early twenties, short curly hair and introduced himself as Chinmay. He spoke in Hindi then translated into English.
'Mumbai is capital of Maharashtra and home to thirteen million people. It is the most populous city in India and the most industrialised. The city was once seven islands of mangrove swamps and mud flats that were home only to Koli fishing communities. In 1862, the British merged the islands into a single land mass with a harbour and causeways to mainland India.'
The tour commenced at Colaba Causeway in South Mumbai where there was a striking view of the Arabian Sea, light flirting with the water’s surface in the morning sun. We were then introduced to The Gateway of India, an archway built from concrete and discoloured yellow basalt with four prominent turrets on each corner.