A train journey and two names to remember

A train journey and two names to remember 

LEENA SARMA 

Of two co-travellers 
who surprised the writer with their graciousness, 24 years ago 

 It was the summer of 
1990. As Indian Railway (Traffic) Service probationers, my friend and I 
travelled by train from Lucknow to Delhi. 

Two MPs were also travelling in the 
same bogie. That was fine, but the behaviour of some 12 people who were 
travelling with them without reservation was terrifying. They forced us to 
vacate our reserved berths and sit on the luggage, and passed obscene and 
abusive comments. We cowered in fright and squirmed with rage. It was a 
harrowing night in the company of an unruly battalion; we were on edge, on the 
thin line between honour and dishonour. All other passengers seemed to have 
vanished, along with the Travelling Ticket Examiner. 

 We reached Delhi the 
next morning without being physically harmed by the goons, though we were 
emotionally wrecked. My friend was so traumatised she decided to skip the next 
phase of training in Ahmedabad and stayed back in Delhi. I decided to carry on 
since another batchmate was joining me. (She is Utpalparna Hazarika, now 
Executive Director, Railway Board.) 

We boarded an overnight train to Gujarat’s 
capital, this time without reservations as there wasn’t enough time to arrange 
for them. We had been wait-listed.

We met the TTE of 
the first class bogie, and told him how we had to get to Ahmedabad. The train 
was heavily booked, but he politely led us to a coupe to sit as he tried to help 
us. I looked at the two potential co-travellers, two politicians, as could be 
discerned from their white khadi attire, and panicked. “They’re decent people, 
regular travellers on this route, nothing to worry,” the TTE assured us. 

One of 
them was in his mid-forties with a normal, affectionate face, and the other in 
his late-thirties with a warm but somewhat impervious expression. They readily 
made space for us by almost squeezing themselves to one 
corner.

They introduced 
themselves: two BJP leaders from Gujarat. The names were told but quickly 
forgotten as names of co-passengers were inconsequential at that moment. We also 
introduced ourselves, two Railway service probationers from Assam. 

The 
conversation turned to different topics, particularly in the areas of History 
and the Polity. My friend, a post-graduate in History from Delhi University and 
very intelligent, took part. I too chipped in. The discussion veered around to 
the formation of the Hindu Mahasabha and the Muslim 
League.

The senior one was 
an enthusiastic participant. The younger one mostly remained quiet, but his body 
language conveyed his total mental involvement in what was being discussed, 
though he hardly contributed. 

Then I mentioned Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s death, 
why it was still considered a mystery by many. He suddenly asked: “How do you 
know about Syama Prasad Mookerjee?” I had to tell him that when my father was a 
post-graduate student in Calcutta University, as its Vice-Chancellor he had 
arranged a scholarship for the young man from Assam. My father often reminisced 
about that and regretted his untimely death [in June 1953 at the age of 
51]. 

 The younger man then 
almost looked away and spoke in a hushed tone almost to himself: “It’s good they 
know so many things ...”

Suddenly the senior 
man proposed: “Why don’t you join our party in Gujarat?” 

We both laughed it off, 
saying we were not from Gujarat. The younger man then forcefully interjected: 
“So what? We don’t have any problem on that. We welcome talent in our State.” I 
could see a sudden spark in his calm demeanour. 

 The food arrived, 
four vegetarian thalis . We ate in silence. When the pantry-car manager came to 
take the payment, the younger man paid for all of us. I muttered a feeble ‘thank 
you’, but he almost dismissed that as something utterly trivial. I observed at 
that moment that he had a different kind of glow in his eyes, which one could 
hardly miss. He rarely spoke, mostly listened. 

 The TTE then came 
and informed us the train was packed and he couldn’t arrange berths for us. Both 
men immediately stood up and said: “It’s okay, we’ll manage.” They swiftly 
spread a cloth on the floor and went to sleep, while we occupied the 
berths.

What a contrast! The 
previous night we had felt very insecure travelling with a bunch of politicians, 
and here we were travelling with two politicians in a coupe, with no 
fear. 

 The next morning, 
when the train neared Ahmedabad, both of them asked us about our lodging 
arrangements in the city. The senior one told us that in case of any problem, 
the doors of his house were open for us. There was some kind of genuine concern 
in the voice or the facial contours of the otherwise apparently inscrutable 
younger one, and he told us: “I’m like a nomad, I don’t have a proper home to 
invite you but you can accept his offer of safe shelter in this new 
place.” 

 We thanked them for 
that invitation and assured them that accommodation was not going to be a 
problem for us.

Before the train 
came to a stop, I pulled out my diary and asked them for their names again. I 
didn’t want to forget the names of two large-hearted fellow passengers who 
almost forced me to revise my opinion about politicians in general. I scribbled 
down the names quickly as the train was about to stop: Shankersinh Vaghela 
and Narendra Modi. 

 I wrote on this 
episode in an Assamese newspaper in 1995. It was a tribute to two unknown 
politicians from Gujarat for giving up their comfort ungrudgingly for the sake 
of two bens from Assam. When I wrote that, I didn’t have the faintest idea that 
these two people were going to become so prominent, or that I would hear more 
about them later. 

When Mr. Vaghela became Chief Minister of Gujarat in 1996, I 
was glad. 

When Mr. Modi took office as Chief Minister in 2001, I felt elated. (A 
few months later, another Assamese daily reproduced my 1995 piece.) And now, he 
is the Prime Minister of India.

Every time I see him 
on TV, I remember that warm meal, that gentle courtesy, caring and sense of 
security that we got that night far from home in a train, and bow my 
head. 

(The author is 
General Manager of the Centre for Railway Information System, Indian Railways, 
New Delhi. leenasarma@rediffmail.com)

The above has been forwarded by Jimmy Keir.