C1 Chapter 1

April, 2020

Now, when driven by emotions, I get down to prepare an

account of my extraordinary voyage, I cannot help but wonder

what Professor Sidhu, Rajit and Dr. Prabhakar, those fateful men

who were meant to be a part of it, were doing at that hour. That

hour, my choice for opening this account, was when I truly sprung

into action. I recall distinctly: it was a typical October noon; there

was a cool breeze all over the place, and the sun was mellow. It

does not get any better in Delhi, the city of extremes.

I lay on my back, my mind not without trouble, when the

October air, the type that lulls you into sleep, without you actually

making any effort, did the trick. My eyes closed, my thoughts

scattered, when, suddenly, my cell phone buzzed. It was Khosla,

our Class Representative, one who does all the running for a

particular department; in my case, the Industrial and Production

Department, Indian Institute of Technology, Delhi.

“Hullo!!” I said yawning.

“Were you sleeping, Tejas? Get up, yaar, I couldn’t get you ticket;

there was this long queue and little time. Do what you want to

quickly. I guess only about fifty tickets left.” That woke me up.

“Only fifty?”

“Yes.”

“Anyways, thanks, yaar, I’ll book mine. What are your seat

numbers?”

“Bogey S-9; the first twenty-seven are ours.”

I got up quickly. I had to rush to the nearest travel agent at

once. Bookings opened ten days back and the moron could find

time only now to book the tickets. What if I didn’t get mine? I

grabbed the essentials money and my itinerary that I had so

meticulously prepared on Microsoft Word. I kick-started my

Scooty; it coughed, jerked and finally started. I headed for the

Sector-15 Market of Faridabad, a peaceful place juxtaposed with

Delhi where I live with my papa, mummy, dadima (grandma),

babaji (grandpa) and Sneha – my dearest sister.

It was a spacious office. A huge multi-coloured banner

announced ‘JFK Travels – Always on the move’. A baffling name,

indeed. I recalled coming across a certain JFK Tailors once and

wondered what the properties of the ingenious brain behind this

JFK chain could be when the man inside the office called me. He

looked like a typical businessman.

“How may I help you, sir?”

“Train reservations?” I asked in return. He didn’t bother to say

yes. He simply pointed towards the board the said ‘Rail

Reservations’ at number three. Rest were air travel related. I was

not that rich. I took my seat. Without wasting any more time I

asked, “Can you book me tickets from anyplace to anyplace?”

“Certainly, Sir!”

“I mean, for example, sitting here in Faridabad, can you book me

tickets from Timbuktu to Honolulu?”

“If there is such a train, then, yes sir!”

“Fine!” I took out my itinerary and showed him the train numbers

and names and time. “I want a ticket from Delhi to Pune for 10th

December. The train reaches Pune on the 11th

. Then I want a

ticket for the train from Pune to Chennai, 11th midnight or 12

th

whatever you wish to call it, which reaches Chennai on 12th night,

8’o clock.”

He eyed me suspiciously, I thought, and said: “Only one, sir? For

you?”

I replied in positive, coolly and asked. “Are they available?”

A torrent of computer keys late, he said, “Plenty!”

“I was informed that only about fifty remained!” I said.

“No sir, about a hundred and fifty!” he said, smiling and I cursed

Khosla. I hate being woken up, especially woken up like that, with

a shocker.

“Sir, name?” he asked.

I had thought about that. I wouldn’t give my real name.

“Leave not a speck

That may cause a wreck.”

has always been my slogan. My name wouldn’t have mattered but

my surname might have. What if he turned to be my father’s

patient? My father is a doctor, by the way, and so is my mother.

And one can never afford complacency when one’s parents are

doctors. All sorts of people flock to them and while showing a

sore eye or a loony pimple, they can always blurt out things that

they should not. My father, over the years, has formed a

tremendous network of his patients, without any spying

intentions, of course. And its wretched members seem to be

everywhere. Or at least their sons and daughters are; who, being

my schoolmates, contrive to expose, without fail, that latest zero

I scored in my Moral Science or some such paper. Thank God, I

am in a college now, far away from the network which mercifully

has its limitations. So, playing safe, I said what I had thought:

“Rohit Verma.” Not a bad name, I reflected, common, any easy to

remember. But just as I began to feel good about my enterprising

skills, foresight and all that, he bowled the next googly.

“Address?”

I hadn’t thought of that. I took a pause.

“Do I have to give it?” I shouldn’t have said that.

“Yes”

I tried to correct my expression.

“Actually, I…..I….I don’t live here. I came to visit a friend for

Dussehra holidays. I stay in Delhi. Can I give that address?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Fine! D-24, Karakoram House, IIT Delhi.”

“Contact number?” I coolly gave my mobile number. Thank God. I

have one.

“Well, I want the aisle seats. And, from Delhi to Pune, I prefer a

seat in Bogey S-9, if the seat number s beyond 50. Otherwise,

book me in bogey S-8 or S-10. I hope you get it?”

“Sir, I have been in his business for then years,” he said with

pride and would have vomited matter sufficient for his biographer

had I not tactfully shouted,

“Wonderful,” and pressed hid hand. Yet I repeated all my

instructions. I wanted to make sure that they were followed. I

wanted those very seat numbers. I’ll explain all that and other

plan details, but, for now, we’ll be patient. Here, it would suffice

to say that I didn’t want to be very close to my college group as

one of its constituents was a professor, who one must avoid. Yet I

wanted to be near enough to two of my friends who knew it all.

My department was going on an Industrial Tour to Pune.

The agent informed me that I’d get the tickets the day after. As I

got up, satisfied, I remembered in time to ask him:

“What does JFK stand for?”

“Oh. They are the initials of my grandfather’s name!”

“What!” I uttered incredulously. The world was strange. How the

great man’s grandson could be employed in a travel agency across

the seven seas was beyond me. But as I began to feel good about

finally establishing an acquaintance of importance, he elaborated

with pride: “Yes, sir, Jahangir Fath Khan. He was a great man.

Always on the move. Hence this travel agency, dedicated to him,

and our slogan too: Always on the move!” Funny was the world, I

reflected.

“Do you know another great man shared his initials with your

grandfather?” I asked.

“No, sir, I have no knowledge! Who, sir, may he be?”

“Oh, doesn’t matter, he was a small man compared to your

grandfather,” I said, smiling. He smiled too and I moved out.

The cool wind greeted me, stirring in me splendid emotions,

I had the gait of a soldier who is finally on his way to meet his

lover after a ten-year war. And it is a different matter that mine

was a somewhat similar case. I had a song on my lips which is

usually the case. There is a song for every occasion, glad or sad. I

cannot recall the song but one may bet on it being a merry one.

The first stage of the plan had been executed and well. I hardly

contain my excitement. I had to tell her and tell then. The

moment should not pass. I dialed her number.

“Congratulations Shreya! I am on my way…”