CC Devilicious #13(IO) - Page 19

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 brave tale of a veritable night owl

It is 15 minutes to midnight, and my brain is ticking fast. I'm a night owl. My brain works best in the night.

It was pretty late by the time I figured out I'm one. As a child my mother would thrust me into bed and wake me up as early as 5 a.m. to do study. What I was doing most of the days, however, was to sip the tea and doze off on the book with the study lamp focussed on my face.

A few years later when I was in college with no strict bed-time rules, I realised that night was the best time to study. When the whole house was in deep slumber and even the mosquitoes would have retired for the night, my eyes would race through page after page. Surprisingly, my eyes would be wider in the night.

Office gave me more freedom: they encouraged me to take night calls and work with U.S. counterparts. My friends teased me that I need to be in U.S. as my body clock has already tuned to that country's time. Thus encouraged, I would sleep late, wake up late " sometimes really late.

How others view it

But this is no easy life. For a girl to get up late is considered socially unacceptable. Every failure of my life would be attributed to my waking up late. You see, when the gods are on their rounds in the morning showering their blessings, I'll be sleeping instead of praying. After much scolding from my parents, I tried hard to wake up in the morning. I would set the alarm to 6 a.m. and then sit straight in the bed without hitting the snooze button.

Did you know it is one of the best methods to tune your body to wake up at the right time? So I did. I would wake up at 6 a.m., and walk around the whole day like a zombie. By six in the evening my body would have kind of stopped working and will be longing to go to bed. But I would not sleep, I will still continue to walk about like a zombie, hoping that sleep would linger on and I can go to bed early. I felt happy I was on the path to becoming an early riser.

But no! As the clock struck 9 p.m. the zombie state disappeared instantly and the rush of energy was back. The body is a tricky mechanism. Even if I go to bed early with the thought that I was just longing to be in bed a few hours back, maybe I will fall asleep if I lie down, no! Eventually I will give up staring at the fan and get up to do something. It is often said anything that is done for 14 consecutive days becomes a habit. So I made a point to wake up early every day, and after three weeks of walking as a zombie all that happened was that I fell sick.

Soon this was attributed to insomnia, the sleeping disorder. I drank hot milk, only to get fat; took hot water baths, only to feel fresher; switched off electronic gadgets, only to pick up a book. I read volume after volume, and worked out hard, only to sleep soundly but not early. I searched the Internet and found out about the circadian rhythm, biological clock, superchiasmatic nucleus, melatonin levels, and much more. Circadian rhythm controls your level of activity throughout the day and the biological clock puts it in sync. Believe it or not, your biological clock might be genetically controlled and if you disrupt it, you go for a toss.

After the research, I ruled out insomnia, and decided no longer to disrupt the circadian rhythm. Let me just dance to its tune. As I came to terms with the night owl in me, a happier, peaceful me was born. I worked during hours when there was no one to disturb me. Apart from the ticking clock and the humming fan, there was absolutely no noise. My mind became more alert than ever and came up with solutions much faster. I finished a great amount of work in the night with thoughts pouring in and energy spiked. At 11 p.m. I would be happily preparing the next day's lunch, and at midnight I would be going around drying clothes. Late evening was my time to work out. The stars and the moon were my best friends.

Trouble coping

But the world was not happy with it. The late-risers are labelled lazy ones. I would reach office late, only to be looked at with scorn. My manager would set up meetings at 9 a.m. to force me to get into the office. My mom would pull open the curtains and let the sun mercilessly beat my eyes. The point is that the body needs a minimum of seven hours of sleep, whatever time you go to sleep. And once you cut it short and rock the rhythm you turn into a zombie. The zombie would be asked to think out-of-the-box while my brain would cringe.

The larks might never understand us. Dear larks, we night owls are as productive as you are and more creative than you, so please don't give us the, early to bed early to rise' advice. I am a night owl, not a dark-eye circled insomniac.

Red is so true in my case. lolz. i never sleep before 1 am.