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south. I’m not a racist, I swear. But honestly, I have had enough. I couldn’t have survived longer in that area. Be it language or people, I believe everything is good in its own way. But I don’t find myself belonging to that part of the world. It’s as simple as that. Rakesh, unfortunately, couldn’t fight against his luck. I was very worried. Mom had asked me to accompany her to the market to buy some kheera and I stood there for a few moments in contemplation while a bull chewed its way to glory on the bunch of kheeras I was holding. Mom, as usual, had rebuked me, ‘Tera kuch nahi ho sakta! It’s a waste to bring you here.’ I had been accustomed to her reprimands since childhood. I didn’t even bother to listen. It flew right atop my head, slipping past my ears. What bothered me at that moment was the email from the recruiters. Rakesh’s words kept hitting against my skull and my heart stalled on the way back home. What if I didn’t get Delhi? What if I was left to rot in the heat of Kerala or for that matter Thiruvananthapuram? What if I ended up my whole life slicing coconuts and sitting by a kiosk for coconut water every evening after coming back from office? What if a certain lungiwala came with his daughter and abducted me and forced me to marry her? What if … what if … My head was fit to burst in no time. I rushed to my room, flipped open my laptop, and fought against the anxiety running through my nerves while the mail loaded. Ultimately I saw it. Delhi. And the rest is, of course, history. Saddi Dilli, here I come!
    The train screeched and finally came to a halt at Hazrat Nizamuddin Railway Station. No train journey in India is fruitful until and unless it is late by a couple of hours. This is almost inevitable to mark as a subsidiary tribute to the legacy of Indian Railways, where time runs in a different dimension altogether. Here, though, it was four hours. This time, however, the heavens saved me. Though it ran late, I at least got my meals delivered sitting in the compartment itself. Otherwise it’s such a headache to crane your neck like a vulture and scan restaurants at each station. And the food, mashaallah! I must say, Delhi showed itself to be promising right in the beginning. All along the journey, thoughts like invisible flies kept jutting in and out of my head—baseless, meaningless thoughts which under no circumstances could affect my life in the remotest of ways. Germany is going to attack Austria again. The turmoil in Egypt must end. Nigeria is still fighting for its civil rights, what a tyranny. What a waste too! At least I’m not one of those dumb, stupid assholes who keep dreaming of either Katrina or Kareena, or for that matter Vidya Balan. Why do people even watch Bollywood films? Well, there was a lot of junk inside my head. I hoped I didn’t have OCD. ‘Arre bhaiya, could you get me another cup of chai, please?’ I asked the service boy. A group of teenagers was sitting by me, one virtually on top of the other. What will happen of this country, I wondered. I was lucky; I got the lower berth and skipped the hassle of going up and down every now and then to use the toilet, brush my teeth, or drink tea. I could easily wear my chappals and go for a stroll whenever I liked and use the toilet too. My luggage could be easily kept under surveillance, below the berth. And for now, I could slip the curtain back and let the wind play on my face as I thought of Delhi and the dreams to come.
    After some time my eyes seemed heavy. I thought of taking a nap. Just as I closed my eyes for a couple of minutes, I found the service boy standing beside me. ‘Sir, kuch chahiye? You want something? I could hardly open my eyes, though his words were clear in my ears. In my slumber, I mumbled to him to come back after fifteen minutes. I would be awake by then. He said that he could only come back after serving the entire compartment. I didn’t bother to reply.
    But to my surprise, he