One year into motherhood, I decided it was time to pack my bags and leave. For a week. Anything more than that is code red. You can’t just check out, you know. Given all the travel books I had been reading during the hibernation, I was all pumped up to do some train travel. It has been such a long time since I traveled in a second class compartment. I missed eating the tomato rice packed by mom and the blue rexene seats. So it was decided. Tickets booked. Hotels booked. 5 nannies in the form of grandparents and husband arranged to take over the baby sitting at home. I sped off in a taxi, to catch the early morning Ernakulam express from Bangalore to Ernakulam. There was the welcoming nip in the air that I mistook for freedom from a diaper bag. Men with wind cheaters, making that ruffling noise and beanies covering their ears confirmed otherwise. I decided to warm myself with a cloyingly sweet orange coloured tea. It started perfectly. The train on time, the chair car amazingly clean and the TT very polite. A European who had got into the wrong coach was gently told off. My fellow passengers, a group of 6 people going back from a wedding made themselves comfortable. And by that I mean, started making their own coffee. They produced the whole set up out of a cloth bag that read “Sarath weds Sandhya”. Thick plastic coffee mugs with pink flowers on them, a Nescafe bottle, a Tupperware with sugar and a couple of steel tumblers to do the pouring and mixing. They smiled at me but I felt none of the bonhomie that I have come to expect of strangers on a train. However this gap in my experience was filled by the railway catering waiters. They were by my side every few minutes, offering me the choicest of them deep fried goodies. I briefly considered eating healthy. I quickly set the thought aside and polished off one plate pongal, one vada and 2 dosas. Train journeys make me ravenous. After all that was one of the reasons I was travelling. I took out the first book from the stack that I had stuffed into my small suitcase. Neti, Neti by Anjum Hasan. The catering guy decided I needed a helping of chilli bajji to go with it. As it started getting brighter, I stepped out of the cabin to stand near the door. Idly watching the world pass by, hanging out from the door. As the wind washed the traces of chutney off my face, I knew I was going to love this trip. I got back to my book and read through it as fast as the train, and for the first time in many months I got through a book in a single stretch. Pure joy, mingled with blurry purple spots floating in front of my eyes. As the train reached the final station, I had only one regret. I wish I had my neck pillow. I wasn’t yet comfortable dozing off on my fellow passenger’s shoulders. I stood behind the long line of people waiting for the pre-paid autos. Nothing was going to spoil my upbeat mood. The shy and honest auto drivers made the wait worthwhile. My plan for this trip was to relax at the hotel after the train journey and not go around town. That worked as well as the eating healthy bit. I unpacked and decided to visit the much talked about Princess Street. Only it was on the other side of the river. For 4 rupees on the local ferry, I was dropped off on the other side along with a bunch of other tourists. I walked my way up to princess street. A charming place filled with cafes, with people spilling on to the street. PhotoCredit: Babishvb It looked like another country altogether, with the throng of foreigners walking about like they’ve been living there all their life. My favourite place was the Idiom Book Store. For their collection of books by local authors. For the effort they took to tell people about their part of the world.
I walked awhile, nodding along to a background score of christmas carols. Mallu christmas carols. Now that needs a whole new post for itself. I retired soon after, the next day there was another early morning train to catch.
2 Comments
Partha sarathi Mitra
24/1/2015 02:40:36 pm
Nice read. Waiting to go through Part 2 :-)
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Aishwarya
30/1/2015 10:15:01 am
Thanks Partha! It's out now :)
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Aishwarya KalakataThe loss of and search for individualism has never been felt more acutely. Everything changed after I had a kid. But this blog is not about me being a mom. It’s about the things I do when I want to stop being a mom. It’s about telling myself that it is possible and that it is ok. It’s about my little escapades. Mostly travel - sometimes physical, sometimes mental. A desperate bid to stop my identity from being rolled into a single word. CategoriesArchives
March 2021
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