On first name terms

So I took the train to Hyderabad after all and it was alright, though I think I’ll use the train only for shorter distances from now on. It would have been better if there had been fewer roaches crawling around. I’m sure this isn't the norm in the more expensive air conditioned compartments, but this wasn't one of the better super fast trains, just an express, so this sort of thing is probably to be expected. The young man sitting on the seat opposite me complained to the conductor about the roaches and received the response that this was a common problem in the air conditioned coaches. He was not too happy with the response – he said that the conductor could have said something that conveyed that he gave a damn, such as perhaps that he would let people in the yard (where trains are taken to get cleaned) or someone else know so they could better address the problem. He also said, ‘imagine if there are foreigners on this train, what will they think?’ I thought to myself, I could care less what anyone else thought, but I could tell him a bit of what I was thinking.

I exchanged email addresses with him. He was into computer graphics and animation – that’s what he did for a living. He only had a first name – no last name. I asked him how that worked, when he applied for official documents and such. He said that so far he had been able to get away with it and on the rare occasion when official type people insisted he needed to fill in his last name on a form, he split his only name into two. It seems he was named that way because his father did not want anyone to have an inkling about what caste they belonged to and so on and use that as the basis for discrimination (negative or otherwise). So to all those who deny that problems such as these exist in India (and of course they need to have their heads examined), it seems they are alive and kicking.

He also asked me where I lived, what I did and all the usual questions – and when I told him that I lived abroad (‘O’h so you are an NRI?’) and was thinking of living here for a while, he told me he would never leave India. He said that he had not even applied for a passport, even though his father had suggested he should on several occasions. He said he that he did not believe he could live as freely anywhere else as he could in India. Other than that elsewhere he would always be viewed as a foreigner, where else, he asked, could one freely throw garbage wherever one wanted or drive or ride a vehicle with a total disregard for any rules that existed, on any side of the road? I asked him if he thought that was a good thing – and he said it was total freedom – he hadn't thought about whether it was good or not. He then promptly proceeded to remove the plastic wrapper on the lid of the water bottle he had just bought and throw it on the floor. I asked him if he was just exercising his freedom and he retorted that well, it was not like there was anywhere else he could throw it, since the windows could not be opened in these compartments! I pointed to the dustbin in the little alcove outside of the doors (of course I’d ended up in a seat at the end of the compartment closest to the loo) and said what about there? It was ultimately probably going to end up just being dumped somewhere anyway, probably get thrown all together outside the train by the person who emptied it – since there is really no system to get rid of garbage yet in India, but at least the process would be slightly delayed. And it’s probably easier to address mounds of garbage than individual bits and pieces all over the place. He grinned sheepishly but from then on used it and complimented me on my powers of observation (to the people who think I don't have those - see?).

He was telling me that he owned a flat (aka ‘condominium’ in the US) in Hyderabad and had moved to another city for work and was now moving back. He lived with his sister, who was a couple of years younger than him. She, too, worked in Hyderabad, though they were from elsewhere. So she had been living there alone for the past few months while he had been away. I was quite impressed, considering that she was probably only 22 or 23. When I asked him how he commuted to work, he said he had a motor bike and when I asked about her, he said she used an auto (autorickshaw) to get around. When I asked him how come she did not own a scooter or a moped or something to get around, he said he would not allow it. He said it wasn't safe, he’d seen so many accidents. She was free to do whatever she wanted after she got married, but until then, he said, he wanted all her limbs intact. I thought that was very thoughtful of him.

I got to read only a couple of pages of the book I had carried to keep me company (Family Matters – Rohinton Mistry) thanks to this fellow. But I guess your horizons can be expanded any which way. I also left the book on the train. Probably the universe letting me know that there are better sources of entertainment here.