Travel brings out the worst in us. As a monthly Indian Railways train commuter between the belligerence of Billi and the rancour of Rollkhata, I know this only too well. Usually, as the train trundles across the Yamuna, passengers shed their aggression (just as they assume it on cue on the reverse journey). Some cretins, however, are unable to make the transition.
The attendant, clearly new to the job, had botched up a dinner order. He agreed to bring a Continental meal but turned up with Indian instead. Of course, he promptly offered to rectify the mistake but, as a fresh order would have to be placed with the pantry car, this would entail some delay. The self-righteous customer lost his cool.
Nothing unusual so far. But what this did was to make the attendant extremely nervous. There had been two to the compartment, but one had to be dispatched—at the customer’s command—to fetch the train superintendent from the other end of the train. This slowed down the dinner service dramatically.
The outraged passenger, part of a troop, now blocked the attendant’s path, saying he would not let him serve anyone else until the super turned up with the complaint book. Phrases like ‘contacts’, ‘minister’, ‘sabka naukri jaayega’ were flung in the air. The attendant shook like a leaf in the wind and blubbered inarticulately. And then the passenger stepped aside and burst out into a hearty laugh. They all laughed. There was a young woman with a glint in her eye, who laughed cruelly with the men.
They kept at it after that: disrupting the service periodically, distracting the attendant, alternately teasing and threatening, or sending him skittering with some unreasonable demand or another. Naturally, the terrified fellow mixed up some orders and forgot to serve others.
Didn’t I say travel brings out the worst in us? The effect was osmotic. The other passengers turned openly unpleasant as well, complaining about the temperature of the food, its quality, even a rant about rats on a completely different train.
In a relationship so unequal, I wonder why they were unable to tap into their compassionate side? Why couldn’t they, as in all else, ‘adjust’? Were they unaware of their privileged status? Or were they just entitled boors?
Come morning and these blots on our species were at it again. The water for the tea wasn’t hot enough. Why couldn’t they have readymade tea? Where was the complaint book? I flipped open the trusty Macbook and belted out this piece. It felt good with the cold tea.