Crossing

Twice before I had already badgered my Taxi Driver to hurry up. As soon as I opened my mouth to pester him again he rolled his eyes and reluctantly indicated the closed gate at the railway level crossing. The only option was to wait patiently as this was something neither he nor I could help. But I reassured myself that we had almost reached the destination. Actually I was on my way to the Railway station to receive my daughter who was arriving from Hyderabad. While enduring what seemed like an endless wait for the railway gate to open, my attention got diverted to the assimilating crowd, the Bihari rickshaw wallas, the roadside fish and vegetable vendors, women in their big red bindi and bright cotton sarees, the sweaty feel, so characteristic of Kolkata, vouched for the humidity in the atmosphere. I realised that over the years I had become a part of this crowd, this city, this society, dressing up like them, speaking their language; I often caught myself even thinking in the language I had once worked so hard to acquire as my own. 

My thoughts took me to my first train trip to Kolkata where I was visiting as a newly wedded bride. I was apprehensive and a little scared about how I would adjust with a totally different culture. Born a Punjabi, raised in Gujarat now married to a Bengali, I was truly caught in a cultural whirlwind situation. My fate was taking me to a town I knew nothing about. It had been fascinating to read stories engraved in a certain culture, but being a part of it was a totally different deal altogether. My sister-in-law and her husband, who were travelling with us, we're trying to calm me down by cracking jokes and telling me more about the family, specially my Ma-in-law who I would meet now for the first time. My partner in crime, the husband who had hacked me by singing not Kishor Kumar, not Hemant Kumar, but Ghazals of Jagjit Singh, understood my apprehensions, so he just let me be. His intermittent carefree smile was assuring some comfort to my flustered heart. I realised that thinking too much, ahead of time, would not help in any way. So I focussed my gaze out of the window. The speeding train and the green pastures outside had a calming effect. The vegetation of this region was very different from what I had ever seen in Gujarat or Punjab. The fields were lush green, I was excited to see the rice paddy fields for the first time. The coconut and banana trees surrounded the little hutment areas. I was most amazed to see small ponds near every settlement and little boys jumping in and out of ponds chasing the ducklings around them. I was told the these water bodies were used for all practical purposes, washing, bathing even fish rearing. Suddenly my biggest fear sparked a shiver in me: Fish. Although I was not from an entirely vegetarian background, making fish a regular on my dining table was like treading on unknown grounds. A couple of times when I had entered my Bengali friends kitchen, I had seen marinated pieces of fish waiting to be cooked. The big fish head had scared me as I felt the rude stare of its eye frozen on me. A shiver ran down my spine just thinking about it. I looked around and successfully hid the beads of cold sweat on my forehead. 

As the train entered the station my sister-in-law helped me in smoothening my saree pleats. One last look at myself in the hazy mirror of the coach and I was ready for the big meeting. Was I? I could hear my heart beat galloping like wild horse. As soon as we embarked the train, a queer mix of sweat, humidity and fishy smell filled my nostrils. An influx of people speaking in a very high pitch Bengali, a language I had just started to learn, made me real nervous. We pushed through the unyielding crowd to go out to the Taxi stand. The humidity which I was just not accustomed to, was killing me beneath my silk saree. And the unfamiliar surrounding was even less helpful in calming my tense nerves. 

Suddenly the familiar ring tone of my cellphone brought me back to the present. My daughter had called to inform that her train was entering the platform. It was relief to see the Railway crossing gate open and we entered the station minutes later. I rushed inside with a gust of the familiar crowd. The glowing face of my daughter in her bright red top soothed my nerves and I darted towards her.