When I awoke, I expected the familar scent of my hometown. The crowds carrying bags too heavy on one hand and dragging along a whining kid on the other.

That’s how Salem always is. It’s a small town of poeple who love to travel. Or rather, go places. They don’t travel for the joy of traveling; they go because they have to. Social convention, you see.

Most of these people are pilgrims, who spend the weekends and summer holidays visiting temples and doting over dieties.

Their bags are filled with offerings for both the gods and the temple caretakers.

Where there’s people and children, there surely is noise. And stink. Well, you know how it is in public places. You see the working class involuntarily rubbing shoulders with the real working class.

So you can imagine my surprise when I awoke to none of this. It was dark, for once — which could only have been a terrible mistake of not setting the alarm, but I never expected to make a stop at Trivandrum.

Which, by the way, is about 7 hours past home; Salem.

First thing on my mind: Panic. With a capital P, yes.

Next thing on my mind: my mother’s yelling, and my father chanting of my irresponsibility.

I didn’t want to linger, so I got down from the train as soon as I realized my blunder.

Perhaps getting down at an unknown station in the middle of the night was a the blunder. It was 2.56AM — painfully on time — and not a face in sight.

It was unnaturally quiet for a railway station. But then it took some squinting at the station boards to realize that I wasn’t at Trivandrum but a much smaller town nearby.

My body has the worst sense of timing. I felt hungry.

It could’ve been worse, I guess. What if I had had to pee? Surrounded by unfriendly darkness, I’m glad I didn’t have the surge.

I checked the time again. 3.05 AM. Panic was scratching down my throat, and I began fumbling with my phone. My friend would be expecting me at the railway station back home, and here I was stuck far, far away.

I considered calling him. He’s the calm kind. Thankfully.

I dialed, while my free ear picked up the strangest of sounds.

Is that a twig snatching? Was someone hiding just behind my view range?

Why is the railway station so empty?

Why don’t people travel in this city? Don’t they have temples to visit, and weddings of distant relatives to splurge on?

My mind began reeling with questions too big for me to answer. It didn’t help that my friend didn’t pick up the call.

I tried again, as the panic within me reached a crescendo.

Two rings, three rings, four rings, and on the fifth ring —  he picked up, exactly as a loud whistle sounded somewhere so close to me.

I jumped so suddenly that I almost lost control of my bladder; I definitely lost control of my hands.

The phone dropped to the ground with a loud clatter. Lights flashed throughout the station, and with a lot of puffing and whistling, I heard a train come by.

The ground shook as the train whizzed past where I sat without stopping. Picking up the phone with fumbling hands, and to the voice of my annoyed friend, I spoke into the phone.

“Hey,” I cleared my throat. Is is just the fear or am I always that squeaky?

“I’m lost.” I managed in a much less squeaky tone.

No reply, but I knew he was listening. He waited, and I waited.

Once my breathing had returned to normal, he spoke. “Where exactly are you?”

I couldn’t pronounce the name. I spelled it out for him. He told me to wait, and that he’d call me back with a plan.

Oh, I love it when someone can make a plan that works! And he almost always knows what works.

I disconnected the call feeling lighter, and made a mental note to give him a special gift once I reached home.

I sat on the cold bench wondering what the plan could be. I knew I had to travel for at least another 8 hours to get home, but where would I go from here?

Perhaps it was the confidence that had now spread within me from speaking with my friend, but I didn’t notice much of what was going on around me.

“What are you doing here, girl?”

I had another panic attack when I saw that a balding, bespectacled man had slouched over to me from behind.

Poof. A powerful whif of Whiskey and tobacco knocked me hard in the face.

His khaki uniform seemed familiar — years of traveling the railways taught me that he was one of the railway catering crew.

“Waiting for the next train.” I managed to surprise myself on a monotone. My heart was ponding in its cage, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Oh. Ok.”

And he slouched off, quite noisily this time.

I like to think that at that moment, I looked like this:

I digress, I know.

I sat wondering at his slouching figure when my phone rang, making me, that’s right, jump.

“Hey!” I managed a weak smile that my friend couldn’t possibly see.

He didn’t sound as gleeful as I did. “Ok, listen. It’s almost morning, get a ticket to Ernakulam on the first train. You can get a direct train from there to Salem.”

To this day, I don’t know how he managed to say that without the slightest trace of malice.

“It’s already Saturday, and I have to get back to work on Monday morning,” I began a little tentatively. I knew I was walking on thin ice, but it didn’t make much sense to go home, and then leave again almost immediately.

I was half-hoping for an outburst from the other end, but none came. Just a deep sigh.

I was screwed.

“That’s right too. Anyway get yourself to Ernakulam, and we’ll see if you can fly back to Chennai.”

Why was he so deadly calm? It would’ve been better had he shouted at me.

I wanted to pacify him. To tell him how sorry I was. I almost confessed that I hadn’t really checked which train I had gotten into in the first place. I had arrived late at the station; the was just 10 minutes before departure, and I just jumped into the first train I saw.

But I wasn’t brave enough to tell him that. I ended with a single “Ok.”

I was about to disconnect when he added, “and this time, please stay awake.” He disconnected before I could respond.

For the first time in a really long time, I saw the sun as it reluctantly rose. From a deep violet to a lighter shade of orange and then to a bright yellow, the sun, unlike me, came up well rested.

The ticket counter opened soon afterwards, and I drowsily dragged my feet towards to the counter.

I got the ticket, and pulled myself back to my cold bench.

I drowned a few cups of coffee and checked nearly five times before I got into the train. Sitting by the window, I stared as the trees breezed by.

I had never before appreciated how beautiful Kerala was. I’ve been there on a school trip once before and for a friend’s marriage again, but on both occasions, I was fast asleep through morning.

I kept nodding off as the gentle breeze teased my tired eyes. Not wanting another episode, I forced myself to hang on.

After what seemed like an age, the train slowed down at the Ernakulam Railway station.

I prompty called my friend, and told of my successful arrival.

“Get to the nearest airport, and get a ticket to Chennai. Use your debit card.”

His instructions were clear; but executing it was the problem. After asking around, I learnt that the airport was about 20km away from the station, and the only way was the road.

Cursing the city architecture, I walked out of the station and into a city whose native language was my gobbledegook.

How I reached the airport is a blur to me, but all I know is that at the end of the hour, I stood shuddering in the airport.

There was no hurry; I took a seat. And I sat there for about 10 minutes, before I could walk over to the ticket counter.

I used to be nervous talking to people over counters, but after that day, I’m now extremely confident.

I was still mildly shuddering as I asked for my ticket.

The woman at the counter smiled mechanically, and responded in a heavy accent.

“Sure. Here you go. I hope you enjoy your travel.”

I felt too weak for anything more than a thin smile, “Thanks.”

And then came the waiting time. I called my friend again to let him know I was alright. And he sounded more like himself as he replied, “Alright. Take care, and enjoy the flight. It’s your first, remember.”

Oops! It was my first time on air, and I am terrified of heights!

I had half a mind to cancel and get a train to Chennai — however long the journey would be. But I was more scared of my friend’s reaction.

I had never been so sceptical of myself.

My heat beat accelerated for every step I took to the plane. My face betrayed no fear though; I am a woman, I could handle a flight.

I gulped as I entered the plane and the powerful whiff of recycled air hit me harder than I had expected. Stifling a terrible cough, I found my seat.

To steady my hands more than anything, I fumbled with the seat belt. Forgetting about the air, I gulped several times in quick succession before I realized I was hurting myself.

Turning to the side, I gazed at the wing just visible outside my window. In spite of the fear that had clenched my throat painfully, I enjoyed the view for the next 45 minutes.

When I walked into the familiar scorching heat of Chennai, I couldn’t help but feel happy to be back. There was something oddly satisfying about familiarity, even if it was detestable.

And there he was, my friend; my driver, waiting faithfully as ever.

It’s best to end this here, because the screaming episode that followed the welcome smile, wasn’t as pleasant.