Too many people. The railway station is house packed with faces. Each face affixed in different heads. Each head has its own set of problems, happiness, shortcomings, complains. Passengers come and go, station remains same. Today, 'm here and tomorrow I will be somewhere else. A group of people has just dropped off the train and they are in rush either to reach somewhere out in the city or to catch another train. And, there are people, 'm one among them, who are staring at them, watching the ant rally, waiting for our turn to get out of this place.
Varieties of religions, rich, poor, ill healthy, normal abnormal, everyone can be seen sitting, smiling, walking, running under the same roof. Some are busy eating food and some are busy staring at them.
Among these all, I find it hard to see small kids begging, collecting remains of food from wastebags, poor woman carrying her child emotionally compelling guests to donate her money, and differently abled children who are acting completely different here. There are children at our homes who have this habit to choose what they don't like to eat; and there are classes of people who can't imagine their life without Pizzas and Burgers; and here are the mass whose children have never entered KFC or dominos; but they are no backward, they often get to taste those foods from the wastebins.
I find it difficult to remain here. Chaos...
Poors are tortured everywhere. First, they don't get to travel with comfort coz they can't afford costly higher class tickets, and second, even police and TTE find these people as an easy source of money. As far as I know, there is no weight limit of baggage you could carry on trains, and no exact definition of what you can carry. But poors and illeterate are often charged fine for carrying their goods. Poor people, they have no option than to donate the fee, else get ready for the charge.
It's been twenty-four hours since I boarded the train at Jogbani, and 'm not loving it. Along with me is a family whose female lead is suffering a heart disease. The male lead was complaining me the other night that he has never been in peace since he married her six years ago. I could do nothing than to express my condolence. His wife has made him spend almost sixtyfive thousand Indian Rupees until the 'Big' hospital in Siliguri suggested him to take her somewhere abroad or to Puttaparthy.
Puttaparthy is an abode of Sri Satya Sai Baba, where he has built a superspeciality Hospital especially to cure Heart disease. The special thing about this superspeciality hospital is it treats free of cost. No check up fee, no medicines charge, no operation fee, completely zero. That's the only place where this family could afford her treatment, and probably the only place in India where she could be treated. Well, we would get to see if she would get the positive result once we reach there.
Sri Satya Sai Baba, there are lots of controversies surrounding him, even after his death. There are people who worship him as an avatar of god, and there are people who criticize his every actions. Well if you ask me, I would say, it's like tossing the coin and getting the third side on. I dont hate people who hate him, and I don't adore people who like him. He is neither a god for me, nor a simple human; he stands on the third side of the coin that I often toss at times of despair.
Whatever, he is surely a god for people who get to have their disease treated free of cost in a superspeciality. In today's world where there is nothing free, specially the complex medical treatment is out of reach of poor, they become fortunate enough to cure their pain free of cost. And, then they would not care if the superspeciality is built from the Black money or white. In this world of corruption and selfishness, he is a god who does something for poor. And, then I won't care if he is fake or anything; he is god if he can gift a smile on face of poor.
Well, the twelve-hour waiting time on Howrah station has been a hectic halt. Went across the Ganges. Ganges River is considered the purest in Hindu religion. There were people who were bathing, a little far a man was washing his shoes there, and next to him a person was brushing his teeth. A few metres away, an old woman was washing her clothes and a person popped off collecting Ganga jal on a small jar that he would worship lord shiva with; a part of which he would retain for his last breath. The walk through the narrow street market named 'Bada Bazaar' was tiring. In contrast to its name, it was crowded, stinky and full of street foods. There are no rules of Hygiene and locals are enjoing every bit of street dishes.
It's 1349 Hrs now, and have my train only at 1550 hrs, and I have no other option now than to keep track of the rush in this station.
There are no beautiful girls, no high heels and plenty of housewives with dark circles accompanied by their husbands carrying at least two children and five bags.
Time for another round of chai....
Time to sign off till my next post, and that will be soon.
Missing my dearest sis; calculating the time difference everytime I watch the clock ticking; and thanking god everytime I miss her.
C ya....
