Published by TRAFFIC LIFE, Jan 6, 2008
By Shubham Basu
Somebody once said, ‘Men think in herds’ I want to add, ‘and they agree in the end’. It’s tough being different and confronting the herd. However, rebels like Gandhi, Lincoln, Houdini, and Steve Irvin, all chose to be different. Are they not an inspiration? Below is one instance from my life when I ran away from home after a lot of Dickens, Stevenson and the need to do something new?
When I ran away from home…
It no longer surprises me, or anyone who knows me, when someone states that Shubham never wants to be home. It’s not a perennial enmity, but the sheer fact that normal is boring. Home means television, or a few games outside with the constant tug of my parents, pulling one of my feet to do math homework or toward the pile, still to be attended and marked in red warnings. I once heard my mother share her thoughts on children in their growing-up years. ‘It’s so easy to give up on them,’ she said. Her comment is still pretty fresh in my memory. I was contemplating running away from home. Rusty, Copperfield, Sawyer and Finn occupied equal shares of my mind. I just needed an opportunity.
Making up my mind – One day in 1992, fifteen years ago. The morning started with an argument between my mother and me. I was off from school, for some reason, and I wanted to buy a dozen marbles. Even after repeated requests, my mother refused. By the afternoon, I had made up my mind that I wanted to run away. Where and how far however, I did not know. I could have stolen some money to aid me, but my ego stopped me. I wanted to fulfill two purposes, by running away, one was to travel without money and the second was the patch of sympathy that would naturally follow. My attire, a shirt and pair of shorts, perhaps knit during the last durga puja, and slippers for the sake of convenience, and to be dressed in as sorry a state as possible. I remember being overwhelmed with sorrow. Poor kid; I was off to find that corner in the world where I could be understood a little better.
Charbagh Railway Station, Lucknow – I walked to the station, all the time reminding myself of the sorrow, and looking forward to a new kind of adventure. I was traveling without a ticket. In the evening I boarded the Ganga Gomti Express to Prayag. I prayed the ticket checker would not show up. I chatted with my neighbors, like I usually did, however the appearance of the officer froze me. He asked me a lot of questions and I particularly remember forcing myself to cry, to salvage myself. A gentleman in the train came to my rescue. He was sitting right across me, watching me. He eventually agreed to pay for me. I sat next to him. He touched me across my shoulders and asked me what I could do for him in return. I stared back at him. He asked me to carry his luggage home when we were at Prayag. I instantly felt that I had to disappear, the moment we reached the station. I ran and ran across the station platforms, making sure that I did not exit. I did not want to be checked for tickets again. I stayed low at a corner, and after a while slept on a bench. I felt hungry in my pits. There was a poor boy dangling his legs next to me, almost the same age I would say.
Second day, another journey – The poor boy, Madhu, and I became friends over night. I asked him what he did, and initially he hesitated but then revealed that he stole for a living. He asked me where I was from, and I told him that I had run away and wanted to travel even further. The morning of the following day we boarded the first train. The milkmen hung their bicycles by the pedals on the window bars. Distracted by it, we chose to sit near the doors, with the milk men and their canisters. In around one hour we stopped at a station whose signs read, ‘Janghai’. I jumped right off the train, and Madhu followed. We left the station, and instantly I saw samosas, imertis and sweets. I sure was hungry. Madhu asked me if I had any money, and I shook my head no. We walked around the lanes. The town was semi rural. I found an old iron gate, and I sat at the stairs. Madhu took off saying he would be back in a while. I started missing him instantly, for he was the only one I could talk to. He had accepted the fact that I was as much without money, as he was. I waited in front of that gate for a long time. In the evening a gentleman in a neat shirt and trousers walked up, perhaps he was the owner of the house. He saw me sitting and weeping. I wiped my tears off, not wanting to claim destitution. He asked me some questions. I saw two small children come out of nowhere and stand behind him. He asked me to come inside, where he continued to ask me tons of questions. Eventually I revealed that I had run away from home. I had a meal at his house, and to this day still don’t know their family name. He asked me to call him Prakash uncle. The kids I had seen earlier had disappeared to play in the neighborhood. I hung my head out of the window to watch them play. I had already given my phone number at home to Prakash uncle, knowing full well that it was out of order. It was late in the evening, when I saw Madhu walking up to the gate where I had been sitting in the afternoon. He had a paper bag in his hands. I called him aloud by his name and waved at him. Prakash uncle raised his eyes from the news paper. I told him that I had a friend downstairs, who was waiting for me. He grabbed me by my hands and eyed me suspiciously, and then asked me if I intended to go back home. I nodded my head in affirmation. He stared at me, still trying to assess whether I was being honest. I told him I wanted to go to Allahabad, to my uncle’s place. He insisted on buying me a ticket and seeing me off at the train station. We went down to the front gate where I reunited with Madhu. Prakash uncle did not pay any attention to Madhu’s presence. The poor boy offered me the paper bag. When I opened it up I found imertis and samosas stuffed inside.
Prayag station, late in the night on the second day – Madhu traveled without a ticket again, however this time I had a ticket. Prakash uncle had also given me a few extra rupees when he came to know that I needed to hire a rickshaw. Madhu had most of theimertis and I ate most of the samosas. I decided to stay over at the station itself that night. The next day I headed for my uncle’s place, early in the morning. I promised Madhu that I would be back to see him, at the same bench.
Prakash uncle had given me his telephone number, which I was supposed to use to communicate my safe arrival to my uncles. I never did. Nor did I ever go back to see Madhu. He must be as old as I am, somewhere, doing something. As I think back on everything I feel convinced about my irresponsibility during my running away experience. However, I also feel somewhat appeased for having gotten a sneak peek into other’s lives. I wonder if I could have ever had that look, if I hadn’t charged myself enough to be a little unconventional.