What was supposed to be a short stay for my father’s heart treatment in March turned out to be the longest stay at my native place (Kannur, Kerala). Thanks to COVID-19 and the lockdown, it was like removing rose-tinted glasses. It’s been a lesson in self-realisation, too, about what matters truly and what rarely does.
After much deliberation and cancelled flights, we finally decided to get back to Mumbai via our beloved Netravati Express (now known as 19 Special Express). While relatives and friends thought it was a dreadful decision to return when people were actually escaping from Mumbai, we didn’t have much choice.
A quiet coach |
And, so we reached Kannur station, bags packed with an extra one in tow carrying masks, sanitisers, tissue papers and all that which could make our journey a sparkly clean and sanitised one. Greeting us was a deathly silence and two policemen at the entrance. Three dogs walked leisurely; one limping. The masked faces, squeaky clean train station gave it an aura of a scene straight out of a movie where people were staying put at homes due to an ET attack.
After our tickets were checked, the relative had to return (he didn’t have to wait long enough till the ‘mostly late’ train arrived and he could see us off). After he left, we entered the platform. I had never seen a station like that in my entire life. Bereft of passengers, snacks, coolies and its very life, in fact. The policemen even looked happy that they had spotted humans and were happy to talk.
In fact, the station was so clean that one could literally sit down and have food there. The smell of bleaching powder wafted and reminded us yet again that we were in dangerous territory, but with our protective gear in place. Much to our delight, the train arrived before time (I couldn’t believe our luck) and saved us from the mosquito attack. As the train’s coaches became visible, we fell silent. Two, three, one, four — the number of people in each coach was now becoming evident. The train halted. We got in.
Our theory that seats in a two-tier coach would mean better physical distancing felt like a joke. My father, mother and I were the only three passengers in our coach. Dad’s face spoke of muted terror. Mom’s, likewise. I seemed to be the only happy human being there, excitedly clicking pictures of the clean coach, sanitising our seats (being 101% sure that corona won't play with us now).
Empty station |
Much to their dismay, there wasn’t another passenger till late in the night. But, that person too got down at Ratnagiri. Three others from Madgaon were a sight my parents wished for. The stations were also deserted. At one of the platforms, a donkey stood uninhibitedly, thanks to the absence of the territory builders. Other than the occasional chai, coffee calls, the train was fairly silent. A journey so memorable came to an end when our train pulled into Lokmanya Tilak Terminus. But not before I let it sink in that it were actually Thane, Ghatkopar and Vidyavihar stations that passed by.
We stepped out with the luggage and to my utter shock, LTT had not changed much. Though it didn’t reek of urine and much else as before, I immediately felt disheartened. The rough, bumpy platform (due to some ongoing facelift) terrified me as my suitcase felt like it would give up any moment. Soon enough, our temperatures were checked by two people in PPE kits. After that, on a bench nearby were two people with stamps ready to tag us as possible suspects of carrying the coronavirus. To our surprise, one of the persons (a teenager, almost) sat wearing his mask below his nose. He stamped us (content wasn’t readable) while I felt like some official document.
Donkey grazes on green grass at a station |
As soon as we exited the station, scores of taxi, auto rickshaw drivers descended to prey upon us, much to the dismay of the policeman who tried his best to guard us till he could. And then with a hand sway, we got away unhurt. My father’s friend waited for us. I poured amrit (sanitiser) into his hands and mine after the luggage was stuffed into the car’s boot. He was another warrior, for sure! While we were scared about his safety, he selflessly came to pick us up.
And, here I am, much after our self-imposed home quarantine, happy as ever and thankful, too, that I am alive to tell the tale. Cheers to all those who have been instrumental in battling a situation like this. Let’s hope that we all get to a day when this story would seem like it’s lifted from some imaginary girl’s fictitious diary.
