Footprints on the Web

Every person has a personal agenda, I had always believed and been right about. As I embarked on this two-day train journey, I did not realize that this belief of mine was about to be put to a test.

The rusted windowpanes and torn seats in the train were not something that bothered me. The heat from the outside was beginning to feel not as much of an irritant as it was when I first arrived here. This trip was more than just part of getting to play a tourist and seeing and experiencing India for the first time on my own without family chaperoning me everywhere. I was on a mission to get my visa renewed. And test just how bad my comprehension and fluency of the Hindi language was. The whole compartment of the train was empty as I boarded it. Closer to departure two men entered who looked suspiciously at me. Was it because seeing a woman travel on her own in a train was an unseen sight here? Or did I have something on my face? Was I not in acceptable attire in India? Whichever it was, I had never been bothered by opinions of people in the past, dear ones or strangers. And I was not going to start now.

The train departed slightly after schedule. I had purposely booked the window seat to take in as many beautiful sights as I could as I made my way up to the north of the country over the next two days. The views were both stunning and depressing at times. The greenery in the peaks and valleys were calming to the soul and made you secretly wish that the destination would never arrive. The large number of shacks along the way with people living is less than desirable conditions made you question more things in life than a mid life crisis did. There were a few stops at stations I had never heard the name of or was simply hard to pronounce. I was too scared to get off the train and venture out for the fear of it leaving the station without me. I stuck to the little snacks and bottle of water I had packed for myself. As I saw folks get off and on the train at these stations, I noted that my compartment was still empty except for the two men.

As it got closer to dawn, I was feeling my body getting tired and wanting to lay down. I was too nervous to fall asleep for I had been warned of stolen bags being a common occurrence during these trips. I climbed onto the upper berth of the train with my bag and decided to tuck it under my head as a pillow before laying to rest. Before I knew it, I fell into deep sleep.

Somewhere in the distant I could hear the whistle of the train leaving the station and yelling of porters trying to flag down customers getting off the train with big heavy bags. I was not dreaming, was I? I opened my eyes to realize that it was bright, sunny and I had slept throughout the night. And there was a blanket on me that I did not recognize. Hearing all the chitter chatter, I peaked down from my upper berth to find my compartment fully occupied all by men. Men in uniform. One of them noticed me peaking and approached me.

“Stella, are you OK?”, asked the older gentleman in uniform.

“Umm, yes. Sorry do you know whose blanket this is?”, I said as I sat up on the berth.

“It’s ours. We came in at night and saw you shivering in your sleep. It was rather cold last night with the windows open. So, we covered you with a blanket”, he said smiling and pointing to the rest of the crew in the compartment.

I was touched and perplexed at the same time. How did he know my name? I was still groggy from waking up. Mornings have never been my thing. I folded the blanket and handed it to him saying thank you. I checked my bag to make sure it was there and to see if I had my name printed anywhere on it. Negative. I got down from my upper berth and made my way to the cramped restroom in the train to splash some water on my tired face. Indian railway restrooms are infamous for their minuscule size and overwhelming smell of urine or phenyl. And this one did not disappoint. Once I got back to my seat, I was focused on everything but making eye contact with folks in my compartment. Only I did not have a book or music to listen to. So, it was back to my favorite pastime on the train – gazing out the window and feeling the wind in my face.  But that moment of solitude did not last. One of the men in uniform approached me to offer me some fruits that I kindly declined. Well, that was the beginning of a memorable two-day train trip with a group of strangers I would never see again.

They asked all about where I was from, what the purpose of my trip was, and my final destination was. In return, each of them told me all about themselves. They were all serving the Indian army and were going home for the holidays. Many of them were married with kids and had not seen their families in over a year. They ranged in age groups from their 50s to early 20s which was close to my age. They shared pictures of their families and stories from their army lives and quarters. One of the men, Sunil who seemed to be the youngest of the bunch and very chatty, was headed home for his engagement.

“Aw that’s nice”, I said. “How did you guys meet?”

“We haven’t”, he said.

“I am sorry, I don’t understand.”

Sunil went onto explain to me how arranged marriages worked in his community. His family had been searching a bride for him and mailing him pictures of ‘suitors’. His bride to be and he liked each other based on photos they had seen of each other. All the planning and details were arranged by their families. The engagement date was scheduled for when he did be home next, and the weeding was to take place shortly thereafter. Sunil had spoke to his fiancée few times on the phone and said she sounds ‘very sweet and adjusting’. He was excited to meet her for the first time on the day of their engagement. I was trying really hard to put on my poker face and not show my skepticism about it all while he shared her picture with me.

Ashok seemed to be oldest in the group and holding a leadership position of some sort. He was the owner of the blanket I had covering me up the first night. I asked him sheepishly how he knew my name before our introductions. He smirked and reminded me that they are in the army. The first night they boarded the train, they found me in the upper berth sleeping, shivering and with no one around. They were not sure if I was lost or seeking asylum as women did not travel on their own where he was from. Few of the officers went to the entrance of the train where sheets with names of passengers are listed and made a note of my name listed by my seat number. They realized that I was in fact in the right compartment and yes, traveling by myself. The mystery was solved, and I had learned something new about Indian railways posting passenger information.

I was no longer scared and clinging onto my bag when I went to sleep that night. Being in the company of soldiers, who would dare steal from me? They told me that I was one of a kind and very brave to be traveling by myself in India being a woman. Having traveled solo before, I did not think much of this comment until the following night when we arrived at the final destination- Gurgaon, New Delhi.

The train station was completely deserted with the exception of a few stray dogs and homeless people.  The army men helped me with my bag and inquired as to who would be picking me up at the station and where I was traveling to. When I let them know that I did not know anyone in Delhi and was planning to take a taxi to the address where I was to reside at for the next two days, they looked at me like I was a lunatic. And then they stared at each other. Then Ashok went onto raise his voice at me like I was his nine-year-old daughter.

“Are you crazy?! Do you not know you are in the rape capital of India?”

I felt a pit in my stomach. I know there had been safety concerns in India for a woman traveling solo but the words ‘rape capital’ were new to me. Well, I had traveled this far and really did not have many other choices available at this juncture, I thought. As we bid goodbye to the other officers who were in my compartment, Ashok and Sunil accompanied me to the autorickshaw stand. They handed the address I was headed to the driver and asked him how much the fare would be. Then they asked him for his license. Sunil jotted down something on a piece of paper from his license and then looked over to his number plate of the vehicle and noted down that as well. Both the driver and I were standing there in confusion as to what exactly was happening.

Ashok then went onto threaten the driver. He said that it would take approximately forty minutes to get to the address from the train station and if in forty-five minutes he did not receive a call from me saying I had arrived safely at my destination and that he charged me exactly what was quoted, details of his license number and number plate would be handed to the Delhi police. I felt my throat dry up. He then turned to me and wrote down his number on a piece of paper.

“Call me as soon as you get to this address. Got it?”, demanded Ashok.

I smiled and nodded and waved goodbye to Ashok and Sunil as I rode off in the autorickshaw that seemed to be going faster than I imagined these vehicles could.

Very shortly into our drive, it started pouring.  Visibility was extremely poor and with both sides to the rickshaw being open, my feet and ankles were getting soaked. I did not know the way to my destination, but the roads seemed very deserted and nothing like main roads. Instead, they felt like alleys, back alleys at that. Nah, Ashok’s words had clouded my thinking, I thought. But I really could not shake off the feeling of eeriness on the route the driver was taking. The crushing rain was just adding to the effects of this scene that seemed like it was straight out of a mystery thriller movie. As I was engrossed in my thoughts, the autorickshaw came to screeching halt. I looked around desperately for a sign of life only to find none. The driver then reached down to grab an object and stepped out of the rickshaw into the downpour. If my heart was not pounding rapidly before, it was in my throat now and screaming was futile. I felt like I was about to get sick. My dilated eyes were fixed on the driver as he made his way to the front of the vehicle and started wiping the window shield vigorously enough to shake the whole rickshaw. He then jumped into the driver seat drenched as a wet chicken and we soared off into the deep alleys. I was not entirely sure what to feel or how to react at this point. But I did feel an ounce of guilt for making the driver out to be immoral.

After what felt like a wild bumpy ride, we came to a neighborhood with civilization. There were high rises and living beings other than stray dogs. As we got closer to one of the high rises, the driver pointed to it and said,

“Ma’am, that building is your destination.”

“Oh, that’s great!”.

“Umm, yes. The shop right there has a public pay phone”, he said pointing to what looked like a bodega.

“Yes, OK……”. I was not sure where this was going.

“Can you please call the officers and let them know that you have arrived at your destination?”

I made the call to the number Ashok had noted down for me. They had arrived home. I thanked him and Sunil once more for their gestures and company over the past couple of days but most of all for looking out for me. I paid the rickshaw driver and then hurried off to go thump in a real bed as I had a big day ahead of me the next day.

The next morning, I got an early start as I hailed an auto rickshaw and went to the Ministry of External Affairs in New Delhi. I wanted to get there before they opened so that I could be one of the first ones there. I was very anxious and nervous. I had never been to a government office in a foreign country to get something official done. I guess there is a first time for everything in life. As I arrived at the building, I saw security guards at the gate. I approached the main door and saw few people had already lined up in front of the large grandeur entrance doors. There was another half an hour for the office to open as we all waited in the blazing heat and sun anxiously. A security guard was walking past the line looking at each one of us very questionably. I looked away but could see from the corner of my eye that he was approaching me. He inquired what I was there for. I kept my purpose brief. His next question was if I was there by myself and where my family was. Once I responded to his inquiries, he looked oddly delighted. He went onto say how what I was trying to accomplish was impossible and the only way to get it done was to know someone who works in the ministry who could put in a good word for you. He then told me that he would be willing to do this for me if I wanted to go his place that night and we could discuss the details. I was embarrassed for him to be in a position of guardianship and taking advantage of the vulnerable who came seeking assistance from the government. A thought crossed my mind- I guess this was what I was warned about when I set out in my journey. I did not want to let this one incident let me lose sight of my mission. If I would be successful in getting my visa renewed today, I planned to return this evening.  I reluctantly thanked him for his kindness and declined his offer saying I was looking to return home tonight. He motioned as if to say suit yourself and kept walking down the line. I could feel anxiety building up in my gut. And right then the big, loud, creaky doors opened.

I took a number and waited for my turn to be called. It was not long before I was called to a desk by a middle-aged man with dark rimmed glasses wearing a checkered half sleeve shirt tucket out with dress pants. He truly fit my ideal image of what an Indian government employee would look like. He introduced himself as Suraj Lal. He was professional and was very matter of fact. I always appreciated that in people.

“Where have you travelled from?”

“Kerala, sir.”

“Yes, but where in Kerala?”

“Cochin.”

“You traveled on your own? On a train?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have family here or know anyone here? Is anyone here with you?”

“No, I don’t know anyone here. It’s just me.”

He looked up from the documents I had given him for review. And took a long, hard stare at me.

“Do you not realize this is the rape capital of India? What were you thinking? Things here are quite different from your home, Canada! A girl like you should not be on her own. Ever.”, he said raising his voice. Rape capital, here it was again.

I said how I was not left with much of a choice as I had to get my visa renewed and did not have a lot of money to fly back home to get it done. And that I was not going to leave Delhi until I got this done.

There it was again. That long, hard stare. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

“If you were to get this visa renewed today, will you go back to Cochin today?”

“Yes. Of course. I have no other reason to be here,”

“Wait here”, he said and left his desk.

I waited and waited. As I did, I was looking around at the furniture and wall hangings around me. The building was incredibly old but definitely had a charm to it especially the architecture from both the inside and out. I wondered what services the others who waited in line with me were there for. Wondered if they had their issues resolved. As I was lost in my thoughts, Mr. Lal came back and told me to follow him. And so, I did. He led me to an office where a slightly more formally dressed man was seated at a big desk. He motioned me to take a seat. This just got serious, I thought.

Mr. Lal went onto speak to the officer as I just sat there listening.

“Sir, this is Stella from Cochin. She has traveled by herself to Delhi on the train for two days to get her visa renewed. She knows no one here and plans to be in Delhi, by herself, until she gets this sorted out. She is twenty-two years old and has no idea what Delhi is like for women. She has confirmed that she will be on her way back today if we issue her a visa renewal. So, what say, sir?”

The officer smiled at Mr. Lal and then looked at me. He reached for something in his drawer and pulled out what looked like a stamp and seal. I was not really sure what was going on but had a good feeling about this. But why did it seem like they were going out of there way and standard protocols to get me the visa renewed today? Maybe same day renewals were hard to get?

Mr. Lal thanked the officer and asked me to follow him to his desk. Not sure what I was thanking him for, I too did the same before leaving the office and following Mr. Lal. Back at his desk, he pulled out an old-fashioned typewriter and started typing away. Once he was done, he released the paper, stamped, and signed the note before placing it in an envelope and sealing it shut. He then handed it to me with a serious look.

“Here you go, young lady. Visa renewed. Task accomplished. Now off you go.”

Wait, what? Really?

“Get to the train station and book that ticket for tonight”, he said.

I wanted to hug him. But that would have been inappropriate given the Indian culture. I smiled and waved him goodbye and walked out of the historic and elaborate building holding tight onto my envelope like I had just conquered the answers to world’s mysteries. As I walked towards the main gate, I saw the security officer who had offered to assist me in my mission. As one last hurrah, I waved at him and pointed to the envelope. His inexpressive face and lethargic wave did not appreciate my victory lap.

As I sat at the window seat of another non air condition compartment in twenty-four hours, the events of the past few days ran through my mind. Oh, how I hated to be proved wrong! I pondered on the thought that maybe it is time to start believing in humankind. That there is some good in this world after all. That there are people who know how to be selfless in doing deeds which bring them no benefits. That there are angels in disguises. And I had met a few for a lifetime.