JAB JUICE NE MERA JAAN CHOOS LIYA....

“Cheta, edhu station aanu?” I asked, exhausting 75% of the words from my self compiled Malayalam lexicon. “Chiplun” came the reply. My mind was still swimming in a sea of vagueness, a hangover from the long nap that I had just been enjoying. However, I was alert enough to correlate Chiplun with ‘Kokum juice’. So I descended from the upper berth of the train compartment, donned my chappals and made my way to the nearest ‘Kokum juice’ center on the station’s platform. But the nearest center was a bit too far. I knew that the train was supposed to wait for at least 10 minutes at this station and this backed my decision to go ahead with the venture. Only later, would I realize that I had been sleeping for about 8 of those precious 10.
This was the first station within the Maharashtrian borders to which I had been a non-unconscious spectator. So I was keen on demonstrating my ‘pakka mumbaiyya’ manners to the country bumpkin who sat at the cash counter. I suavely handed out a 100 rupee note to the chap, demanding an 8 rupee worth juice bottle in return. What follows, if properly documented and interpreted, will serve as the ideal thought flow diagram for a psychiatrist dealing with extreme disorders. In narrating this incident, I have also scaled up the concept of time so that the reader will not be overwhelmed by the rapid succession of maddening events that follow. So I peeped over my right shoulder, just in time to see the signal turn green.
“Bhaiyya, juice jaldi de do…gaadi nikal raha hai”. I received a very self-assured, snug look (Which came free with an equally comforting reply) in return, an expression that instantly transported me to the land of ‘no haste’. I waited on, as the shop assistant laboriously pulled out a bottle from the bottom of the freezer. I quickly grabbed it from his hands, and turned towards the train which had already started off with a weary “Chug.....................Chug” pace, which was still easily beatable. Psychiatrists, please note the arrival of turning point #1. I just remembered that I had actually given the dude a 100 rupee note…So where the hell was the change???
I had two choices. I could either forgo the 100 bucks, which my parents earned after much labor, enjoy Kokum juice, catch the train, go back home and just apologize to them for the loss instead. Or, I could turn back, grab the change and challenge a few speed records as I chased the speeding train. My low adrenaline levels prompted me to choose the latter. I turned back to the tobacco-chewing statue that sat behind the cash counter. “Abe saale paisa nikaal, ghaadi nikal raha hai!” (Note the ‘local’ tinge to the request). The de-icing was over at last, and the man finally began to show some signs of animation and cooperation. My pulse rate rejoiced as it finally overtook the accelerating ‘Chug..Chugs’ of the train that was fleeing behind me. Behind the thick veil of betel stench, and in the midst of my attempts at dodging the ‘paan’ arrows that were shot at me every time he opened his mouth to soothe me with his two penny wisdom, (Besides being heckled by an occasional thought of the departing train) I managed to discern something that sounded like “Abhi time hai bhai…”
That was the breaking point, “Madar$#%d, ye kya mazhak lag raha hai kya tujhe???”. He handed me the change, with a scowl. I silently reveled on the achievement of having finally discomfited him. So with the change in one hand, and the juice bottle in the other, I approached my final obstacle in the course. The train had almost pulled out of the station, with only three bogeys still to pass me. I ran after the nearest door, but soon realized that with both hands occupied, there was not a free hand to grip. For a moment I deplored the whole process of evolution. Primates had such excellent, prehensile tails. Turning point #2. Drop the bottle, keep the change and grip the door, or keep both and keep thinking (and of course running). Inspired by the TV ad for a motorbike, I ‘lock’ option B. “Is this the sahi jawab?” I calculated the velocity of the train, sought the blessings of all my mechanics professors, closed my eyes and gave one great leap. Thankfully, my basics in the subject were strong, even though I got a B grade. My feet felt the now static floor of the train.

“Sea returned Sailors yearn for solid ground,
Takla wishes to depart with the train’s sound,
If he had missed and was forced to stay,
Who would tell his parents of his GPA”

My joy knew no bounds. I felt as proud as the boy receiving the ‘Best all rounder’ award. I had escaped the dangers, while simultaneously clinging on to all that I yearned for. I waved to the ‘seer’ at the stall who showered his blessings upon me in return. As I mulled over the muddling events of the two minutes past, it suddenly dawned that I had missed a 3rd turning point. I could have simply taken the cash back, and continued with nothing having happened. But then, what fun is there in a life without adventure?