I AM an unabashed supporter of Indian Railways. One of the reasons for this infatuation is the long-term association of a sizeable number of family members, who have made a living working with Railways in various capacities, beginning with my maternal grandfather who retired as a Station Master with Southern Railways after putting in over 40 years of distinguished accident-free service.

I faintly remember my daily ritual of walking to the Salem railway station with my grandfather from our railway colony home when I was as young as a five-year-old boy. We used to sit together on a bench and watch trains pass by and my grandpa occasionally waived to his colleague standing in the guard compartment with green flag in hand.

I eagerly waited for the annual Railway journey to our native place in summer and always prayed for a window seat. If my prayer was answered, then I would stay awake perched on the window seat till my body slipped into a state of dreams due to sheer exhaustion.

As I embraced adulthood, a strange change began manifesting in me.

Within half an hour of boarding, the sideways rocking motion of the train slowly began inducing drowsiness, eventually luring me into a state of deep sleep. In order to save oneself from the embarrassment of falling over fellow passengers (which was happening regularly), I adopted the strategy of moving to the upper berth the moment the symptoms kicked in.

I had mastered this technique to perfection leaving many of my friends and relatives wondering with regards to my whereabouts inside the train. Even the unbearable summer heat of Vidarbha could not prevent me from falling asleep. Once I boarded the Grand Trunk Express from Nagpur to Chennai around 12 noon in the month of May. Inside the sleeper compartment, I could see other occupants stuck to their seats like relics braving the 47-degree Celsius blow of hot air attacking their natural orifices. Some of them had covered their entire face under layers of cloth while others were trying to hang wet cloth over the windows under the false hope of receiving

cool air. At this exact moment, I made my move to the upper berth. With one mighty pull, I reached the top and slid my torso on to the hot layer of plastic cover and dozed off.

By the time the train tumbled into Chandrapur station, a good three and half hour’s journey, my body could no longer bear the intense heat and I landed down for a brief respite only to find the Janta staring at me in amazement. Finally, one of the gentlemen who could no longer control his curiosity, shook my hands and inquired as to how I had managed to achieve this feat. I gave him a smirk like a Yogi and half drenched in sweat and grime, moved on in the search of my evening cup of tea. My better half got introduced to my Kumbhakaran side during our Honeymoon

trip to Goa.

In the early hours of morning, she wanted me to take care of her hand purse containing precious goods before moving on to answer the nature’s call. In spite of her best efforts to awaken me after her repeated calls fell on deaf ears and raining some blows and punches on my body, I did not relent and saved my reputation.

Since then, as a thumb rule, I am allowed to sleep only on the middle or lower berth of the compartment so that my wife can shake the living daylights out of me in case I do not rise from my slumber.