We had left off the last post when Day 1 had officially begun. Magadh Express reached our destination at about 9.00 and for two minutes it was utter lunacy to get off the train, get our luggage off the train, take pictures of us getting off the train, take pictures of the departing train and take pictures of taking pictures of the departing train; all done by 9.02...In 15 days 40 GB of pictures were taken with an assortment of cameras, cellphones, even webcams.
9.15 saw 30 people with tousled hair and about 70 pieces of luggage standing outside the little station called Mirzapur and inviting sniggers, stares and rudeness-riddled-curiosity from onlookers. After what felt like eternity, our supervisor and B. came back with 3 Magics: vans by Tata that claim to magically accommodate 12 people and are astonishingly uncomfortable.
Finally, after half an hour of bellowing, yelling and struggling with porcine people and beefy luggage, we were off (with B. hanging on to dear life perched precariously on a handle and hanging out of a window; happens when you have portly friends such as ourselves) to the house we were all to invade for the next 15 days. And just as a P.S., T was still hooting shrilly for sheer joy...
Within minutes of liberation from the magical Magics, the house was overrun. What had seemed from a distance to be a comfortably big house seemed to shrink and contract from our mere touch and soon what had ostensibly been a large courtyard was littered with luggage that had apparently been neighborly and multiplied en route from the station.
K., R., Z. and I shared a room with a very sweet girl who was gentle and harmless to the point of being apologetic, much like a human milk-dud. This suited us well, spear-welding devils as we were. T barreled into her room, hopped around the bit (still hooting) and then started cleaning the mattresses and mats with unbarred frenzy and a manic glint in her eyes. I sat lauding (K. R. Z. and gentle girl were tidying our room) and pitying T's poor, peace-loving roommates who frankly appeared torn between being scared and fighting the urge to impale T. on her own broom.
Meanwhile S. and B. had gone out on a knightly quest for finding buckets and pipes so damsels and lesser knights could have a wash. Our part of the house had no taps or things and our only option to obtain water was to attach a pipe to a tap situated on top floor of the house whose access and use were controlled by a very aggressive dog and an old woman who could shame the most vicious spitting cobra in bad temper and verbal barrage, respectively. Getting past this very irascible dog and very territorial woman for water would soon become part of our daily struggle for existence.
My last post mentioned a mate of ours who had played fast and loose with the boundaries of acceptable social conduct. Well, five minutes into our new surroundings, she informed us that she had forgotten the combination to her suitcase lock. Many solutions were suggested including educated guesswork and buying new clothes. Eventually someone had the sense to suggest cutting around the lock. This led to another few minutes looking for a knife or a blade. At last a kukri of sorts was procured which seemed illegal and powerful enough to cleave meat and bone and the suitcase was ripped open. This suitcase would later have to be tied with string and transported back aboard the train on the return journey.
As you can tell, water was scarce and precious. This matey then went for a wash and kept asking for more water in a piteous moan. When four buckets had been passed and consumed, we bluntly refused to give her anymore. She moaned some more, but eventually came out looking much as she had going in. This brought about insinuations that she was in fact using detergent of the stronger variety (surf, if you will) rather than soap to bathe. Nobody asked her and she told no one, so we would never know... This incident however led to new rules being made about rationing of water. Everyone was rationed one bucket each, every morning and evening.
Over the next few days, more rules would be made, even more would be broken and tempers would be tested. But then again, that is why I am writing these posts and reliving that fortnight...
9.15 saw 30 people with tousled hair and about 70 pieces of luggage standing outside the little station called Mirzapur and inviting sniggers, stares and rudeness-riddled-curiosity from onlookers. After what felt like eternity, our supervisor and B. came back with 3 Magics: vans by Tata that claim to magically accommodate 12 people and are astonishingly uncomfortable.
Finally, after half an hour of bellowing, yelling and struggling with porcine people and beefy luggage, we were off (with B. hanging on to dear life perched precariously on a handle and hanging out of a window; happens when you have portly friends such as ourselves) to the house we were all to invade for the next 15 days. And just as a P.S., T was still hooting shrilly for sheer joy...
Within minutes of liberation from the magical Magics, the house was overrun. What had seemed from a distance to be a comfortably big house seemed to shrink and contract from our mere touch and soon what had ostensibly been a large courtyard was littered with luggage that had apparently been neighborly and multiplied en route from the station.
K., R., Z. and I shared a room with a very sweet girl who was gentle and harmless to the point of being apologetic, much like a human milk-dud. This suited us well, spear-welding devils as we were. T barreled into her room, hopped around the bit (still hooting) and then started cleaning the mattresses and mats with unbarred frenzy and a manic glint in her eyes. I sat lauding (K. R. Z. and gentle girl were tidying our room) and pitying T's poor, peace-loving roommates who frankly appeared torn between being scared and fighting the urge to impale T. on her own broom.
Meanwhile S. and B. had gone out on a knightly quest for finding buckets and pipes so damsels and lesser knights could have a wash. Our part of the house had no taps or things and our only option to obtain water was to attach a pipe to a tap situated on top floor of the house whose access and use were controlled by a very aggressive dog and an old woman who could shame the most vicious spitting cobra in bad temper and verbal barrage, respectively. Getting past this very irascible dog and very territorial woman for water would soon become part of our daily struggle for existence.
My last post mentioned a mate of ours who had played fast and loose with the boundaries of acceptable social conduct. Well, five minutes into our new surroundings, she informed us that she had forgotten the combination to her suitcase lock. Many solutions were suggested including educated guesswork and buying new clothes. Eventually someone had the sense to suggest cutting around the lock. This led to another few minutes looking for a knife or a blade. At last a kukri of sorts was procured which seemed illegal and powerful enough to cleave meat and bone and the suitcase was ripped open. This suitcase would later have to be tied with string and transported back aboard the train on the return journey.
As you can tell, water was scarce and precious. This matey then went for a wash and kept asking for more water in a piteous moan. When four buckets had been passed and consumed, we bluntly refused to give her anymore. She moaned some more, but eventually came out looking much as she had going in. This brought about insinuations that she was in fact using detergent of the stronger variety (surf, if you will) rather than soap to bathe. Nobody asked her and she told no one, so we would never know... This incident however led to new rules being made about rationing of water. Everyone was rationed one bucket each, every morning and evening.
Over the next few days, more rules would be made, even more would be broken and tempers would be tested. But then again, that is why I am writing these posts and reliving that fortnight...
