New Delhi railway station platform number 15, 12 noon, the peak of summer, and a pal and I were on our way to Kanpur IIT. The pal was recently down from the U.K. and was totally put out by the dirt, noise and crowds, no small wonder considering we were precariously perched on one portion of our posteriors on a bench, and considered lucky. The rest of the humanity were either on the floor or standing with eagle eyes fixed on any place that might possibly fall vacant when someone decides to take a leak or a drink.

At our foot was a family of obvious rustic origins. The grandpa was clad in dusty white complete with a turban and a royal, quivering, white moustache. The son, a daughter-in-law and 4 granddaughters were with him. The DIL was the typical face-covered, eyes-on-the-ground type in a bright red sari and one of the girls was obviously on the way to joining the demure-gal gang. The rest of them squat on the platform with grand dad, talking nineteen to dozen. The other man of the family disappeared.

Trains came and went and all of them were filled to the rim, and each time a train puffed its way out, people ran after it or hung on to windows for dear life; travel was a tough option on that day.

The Rewa express had now been standing on the platform for several minutes and we watched whole groups of human arms and legs sticking out of windows and doors when the whistle sounded. The train spit smoke, and as it slowly dragged itself out we watched the old grand dad running after the train, clutching two of his grand daughters and dragging them by hand. The people on the train were aghast, so were we and when someone dragged him and the kids in, we sighed with relief. But as soon as we opened our mouths to comment on the last minute train-ascend of a man of obvious age that too with two young children, we saw the other man of their family running after the train, shouting something we couldn’t catch. Several people took up his words and in another second we saw the grand dad and the two kids being pushed out of the moving train on to the platform again.

It was then that we realized what had happened; the old boy had climbed into the wrong train, and had taken two of his family members with him. He came straight back to where his family was huddled and leased a torrent of words in total anger at the third grand daughter who had not bothered to accompany him. As we gaped at the family drama, we realized something extremely amusing; the daughter-in-law and the demure grand daughter had not budged from their position on the platform, nor did they appear bothered about the grand dad’s adventure; they still sat with proper decorum, eyes-on-the ground and the veil on the face, and not venturing a word to the men. I have not laughed so hard in years.

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