I was in search of my lower berth, window side, in the 2AC compartment. I was trying to recollect the seat number. The ticket was in my shirt chest pocket and I would have to place the haversack and my suitcase on a seat to check the berth number and hope that an occupant passenger would not scream at me. I smiled politely at an elderly couple, possibly in their seventies, and lowered the suitcase on the floor and balanced the haversack at the very end of the berth and pulled out the ticket. 16-lower /window. I looked around. There, what can you say? I had come to the exact berth that I had to be on. I pointed to the seat number and gestured to the elderly gentleman that this was mine.
He smiled graciously and stood up and allowed me to take my seat and
moved across and sat alongside the elderly lady. This was worrisome, I thought.
They looked like a talkative couple and were elderly. I would probably have to
listen to all their sermons and advice and also have to rush out at the major
railway stations and bring back water and food and fruits for them if they
wanted. How could an elderly man rush out and risk it all? I would have to help
out.
“Hello, Sir. I am Doctor Venkatachalam,” the elderly man said,
waving his hand in greeting. “My wife, Mrs. Venkatachalam, Also Doctor Missus
Raji Venkatachalam. We are from Kodambakkam in Chennai. We are going to Haridwar
north of New Delhi. Do you know Haridwar? On the Ganga, near Dehra Dun. We will
take another train from Delhi. How are you, Sir? Are you also going all the way
to New Delhi? Are you from Chennai or New Delhi?”
‘That’s it! He is going to talk to me all the way to New Delhi,” I
thought worriedly. I waved and nodded.
“Yes, Sir. I am going to New Delhi. All the way. I am Sankaran Nair.
I am not a doctor, though. Only professor.”
He laughed. It was like he was gasping gently and suddenly he went
backwards and laughed and gasped loudly.
“Good joke, Sir, good joke. How can you be a professor if you are
not a doctor? We are also not medical doctors. We are PhD doctors. We worked at
the institute of technology and we retired from there. We taught engineering
and we had research projects for nearly thirty years. We lived and loved our
work completely. Our children are grown up and married and settled. Now we are
free. So we travel. We are going to stay overnight in Delhi and travel after.”
I nodded and smiled and leaned back and yawned and smiled some more.
‘Perhaps, if I did not reply, it would be ok and he would not continue the
conversation. Or I could pretend to be busy with my haversack and stuff. Or I
could help them with their stuff or purchases at the railway station only when
needed and talk to them a bit at that time.’
It was not to be. The
compartment attendant came about with the blanket, bed linen, pillows and
towels. He threw my set of clothes on to my berth and pointed as if to imply, ‘that’s
yours, whether you want it or not. But, keep it.’
He turned to the elderly couple, smiled, and bowed, well, almost. “Saar,
Madam, How are you, Saar? It has been nearly six months since you have travelled
in my coach. I always go back and tell Missus Sasikumar that my Saar and Madam travelled
with me. Going to New Delhi, Saar? Anywhere from there? I know you will be
going somewhere.”
The elderly gentleman stood up, very politely, and put out his palm
for a handshake. “Hello, Sasikumar. I was just telling Janki’s mother, that is,
Dr. Raji here, that it would be fantastic if Sasikumar was with us once again.
We can simply enjoy the entire trip to New Delhi and it was be very comfortable
and easy to travel through. Yes. We are traveling north from New Delhi. We will
stay there for two nights and then take the train north to Haridwar.”
“Haridwar?” the coach attendant asked. “Why? Are you going for some
special puja or for funeral prayers?”
I was shaken up by the direct question. I had also thought of that
but I had purposefully avoided asking it. How can someone just ask it so
abruptly? Very impolite. This was not done. Why should one go within someone’s
privacy.
Dr. Venkatachalam did not think it wrong. He replied, “No. Not for
any special puja. Funeral prayers only.”
‘I would have to say something now,’ I thought and said, “My
condolences, please. Someone close to you both?”
Dr. Mrs. Raji smiled and looked out of the window and on to the
railway platform. She was pretending, I knew.
“Not for anybody close to us,” Dr. Venkatachalam said. “It is for us
only. There is special provision in Haridwar. You can offer shraadh or funeral prayers for
yourselves. I am told that it is only available at Haridwar. Nowhere else.”
Sasikumar was not flustered at all. No, Sir. He just went along with
the flow. “Saar, I think there is provision in Rameswaram also. But it is best
in Haridwar. There you really can feel the prayers. You know what it is to have
died and for your prayers to be recited and the priest is very nice and polite
and he helps you with all the rituals and all.”
This was just getting to be a bit too much, I thought. I would have
to travel all the way to New Delhi and listen to their discussion about
comparing places and pilgrimage locations that would help conduct your own
funeral rites.
“Sir, Dr. Venkatachalam, Sir,” I said, leaning forward. “I have
never heard of this practice. But then I have not been to Haridwar. Why do you
want to conduct your own funeral rites? You said that the two of you are
engineers and researchers and have taught at the Institute of Technology. That
must be post-graduate students, then. You must have been or are very rational
thinking scientists. Is it not all superstition to want to conduct your own
funeral rites?”
Dr. Mrs. Raji smiled and said, “So it is okay for our children to
offer the funeral prayers after our death?”
I was taken aback. “That is their duty. It is part of our religion
and we are born into it. They have to offer the prayers and it is only then
that they have completed their duty towards their parents and to their
upbringing.”
Sasikumar had not gone to distribute the bed linen to other
passengers. He was just getting warmed up. “Saar, it is okay for them to go to
Haridwar and offer their prayers for themselves. How will they know that their
children will do what is necessary? Science will not help you after you are
dead and long gone. In one small moment in time, you are gone and that is all
that you can do or not do. What if your children are elsewhere and they cannot
come? What if they do not want to travel all the way to Haridwar? It is better
for you to make it easier for them. Parents are like that only.”
Dr. Venkatachalam nodded in agreement. “Sasikumar, you are correct. Our
children are settled abroad. They want us to join them and lead what they call
a ‘comfortable life’. I am worried about our afterlife. Better to take care of
it.”
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